Page 130 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Rhoswyn

“Ineed you three to fill me in,” I mutter under my breath as the maid bustles around, serving me tea.

I’m not sure if the servants know what to make of my talking to myself, but I’ve given up trying to hide it. So much of my new life is spent with people attending to me but not really talking to me—who I can’t even thank because of the stupid debt custom—that I have to speak to someone or I’ll go insane.

Kitarni tried to reassure me that it’s because the servants prefer to be invisible, but I think they’re scared of me after what I did at the ball. Either way, they never seem to respond to my attempts to lure them into conversation beyond a perfunctory answer.

Besides, now that they’re magical guides rather than hallucinations, it shouldn’t be much of a big deal.

“What about?” Mab asks, looking up. She’s been daydreaming for the last few minutes, but I have her full attention now.

“The Wild Hunt,” I hiss. “It’s tonight.”

I don’t know how I slept for the entire day, but I did. After healing Caed—who didn’t even seem to care about what Titania and I did to repair not just his hand and nose, but the scar tissue across his body as well—I passed out in Jaro’s arms halfway up the stairs.

Kitarni couldn’t tell me more than the basics: that the Wild Hunt rides across Faerie in one night, collecting souls, and the Nicnevin travels with them as a tradition, to show the Goddess’s favour to the dead.

“I don’t know where to go, how to dress, what to say…”

“You don’t need to go anywhere,” Mab replies. “And your maids have already left out comfortable riding clothes for you.”

“But what do I do?”

“Just ride.” She shrugs. “Your presence is ceremonial. Greet the Hunt if you want, but I doubt they’ll expect too much from you.”

“It’s heavily unseelie,” Maeve adds, popping into view. “They don’t do so much chit-chat.”

Great. The only two unseelie I’ve had much contact with are Drystan and Lore. Only one of them likes me, and he’s not exactly… sane.

The maid curtsies and moves away, only to stop short and drop another curtsy.

I turn, stumbling to my feet, expecting it to be Drystan, ready to start lecturing me on not being ready.

Catching myself on the side of the stone table, and narrowly avoiding spilling the tea in the process, I breathe a sigh of relief when I realise it’s not him.

It’s… oh Goddess… what is her name?

The head housekeeper, with her long black hair and pale skin. Florian introduced us when I first arrived at the palace, but in the days since, I’ve completely forgotten what he called her.

“Your Majesty.” She bows her head and drops into an effortless curtsy that’s technically flawless, but nevertheless looks strange with her too-long limbs. “I know you must be busy, but I wondered if we might discuss your expectations for the staff now that you’ve settled in?”

Expectations?I’m supposed to have expectations for servants I never expected to have? A nervous smile tugs at my lips, and I wave her into the seat beside me.

She crosses to the table, and her eyes—already wide—grow even larger as I turn over the second teacup the maids always bring in case Kitarni or one of my males is with me and start pouring her a drink.

“It’s really not necessary for you to serve me, my lady.” She takes hold of the tiny honey pot before I can and dumps a ludicrous amount of the golden liquid into the cup, swirling it with the spoon.

“I want to,” I insist. “I… I’m afraid I’m not great at being a Nicnevin. I know my mother was probably really good at being… queenlike, but I’m”—I wave a hand at myself—“just me.”

Goddess, what is her name?This is going to get so awkward really fast if I have to ask her for it. I should’ve paid more attention, but I was so overwhelmed after the parade…

She takes a sip of her tea, even though it’s still steaming, and looks at me thoughtfully.

“I don’t know what they’ve been telling you about your mother, lassie, but she wasn’t the most prim and proper sort. Especially in the comfort of her own home. I remember one time when the Fourth Nicnevin raced her Guard at sliding head-first down the bannisters in the main foyer. And she hosted more than one formal audience with the nobility nursing a hangover from drinking too hard the night before.”

I grin, because this is the first time I’ve heard anyone talk about her in a way that makes her feel real. Like she actually lived.

“My staff is used to the peculiarities of Nicnevins,” she adds. “If you’re keeping them, that is.”

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