Page 114 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

“I’m all sweaty,” she protests meekly.

“Don’t care.” He draws a piece of her hair behind her ear. “We’ve been going about this all wrong, haven’t we? You don’t want space to process.”

She bites her lip and slowly shakes her head as Lorcan sing-songs, “I told you so.”

The redcap’s knitted hat turns into a brilliant scarlet rendition of an ancient Autumn Court warrior headdress—complete with feathers—which he deposits on her head with a grin. I allow myself one full glance—just long enough to take in the effect—before forcing my eyes away again. Jaro grumbles a bit, but Rose’s hands go straight to the feathers, trailing softly through them as she thinks.

Show off.

The very idea of this timid little queen as a warrior is almost laughable. Rose will be going nowhere near any kind of combat. Yet, everyone else is watching her as if besotted, so I force down the grumble which threatens to break free of my throat.

“So if it’s not bad, why were you all so nervous about telling me?” she asks, her voice getting quieter as she speaks.

Kitarni answers this one, thank the Goddess. I’m not sure how to sum up centuries of superstition and toxic attitudes to death, but hopefully, the high priestess has a good idea of where to start.

“We haven’t covered fae beliefs about life after death yet,” she says. “But in short, every year, on the night of Samhain, the Wild Hunt rides through the sky to reap the souls of those who have died.” She glances at me, as if expecting me to speak up.

I don’t.

There are too many others here. Too many ears I don’t fully trust.

The Hunt was once decimated because our leader spoke too openly about our sacred duty and our membership. It was before my time, but the lesson was learned. Fae have long lives and longer memories, and so the fear persists.

“The fae believe the souls are then taken to the Otherworld, a paradise which Danu created for our kind to rest. Referring to the deceased fae by name is thought to disrupt their afterlife and summon them back to this realm again.”

“Jaro told me,” Rose admits. “It’s why you don’t refer to the old Nicnevins by their names, right?”

“It’s a superstition,” I grumble.

Kitarni raises one grassy brow. “A powerful one, almost universally accepted. Disrupting the peace of the dead is considered to be against the Goddess’s plan for them. It’s seen as defying her will.”

“As if the Goddess didn’t gift necromancers the power in the first place,” Florian adds, surprising me. “The very fact that she gave this power to her High Queen should put those rumours to rest.”

Of all the Seelie, I assumed he’d be the most reticent to accept her gift, but it seems he’s not as uptight as I feared.

Rose is too busy thinking to notice his display of loyalty. She’s gone quiet enough that I risk another glance up.

Only to find her staring at me. Her eyes flick back to Titania and then to me.

“She called you ‘huntsman.’”

“We’ll discuss it later.” She flinches at my harsh tone, but I’m too on edge to apologise.

Kitarni takes over, launching back into her explanation with a glare at me. “Because of the superstition, fae with necromancy are often regarded… poorly. Which is why your Guard is keen for you to keep this quiet until you have full control of your magic.”

“I don’t like keeping secrets,” Rose murmurs reluctantly

“It won’t be for long.” Jaro strokes her arm soothingly. “Just until you’ve mastered the basics.”

“And what about my other gift?” she asks. “The seelie one?”

Kitarni shrugs. “You’ve not shown any signs of it yet.”

“But if the necromancy is the skull part of my mark, then it has something to do with the rose, right?” I glance down at the image on my hand as she says it. “What if it’s just gardening?”

Leaves fall to the floor as the dryad shakes her head. “That doesn’t feel right to me. Do you have a connection to plants? Or living things? The First Nicnevin had a similar gift, and I don’t think the Goddess would bless you with one, when you could easily call on her through your necromancy.”

“Flowers then?” Rose says.

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