Page 141 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Probably both.

I’m so caught up in the weight of their stares that it takes a second for what she’s said to process.

“Do not draw parallels between you and that thing,” I growl. “You were weakened by circumstance… that thing is—”

The clicking, scraping noise of the hawkmistress’s clawed footwraps greet my ears a second before her voice grates against my eardrums.

“As fascinating as your drama is…” Annis clicks the metal talons she likes to wear against one another in impatience. “Are we going to ride any time this century?”

“Annis.” I sweep a hand out. “Nicnevin Rhoswyn. Rose, I’d like you to meet our resident necromancer.”

Rose’s entire body stills as she turns to regard the kikimora. Annis is dripping with water, as usual. Her wet hair hangs in mud-strewn ringlets beneath her cat-skull mask, and the strips of vine that serve as coverings for her emaciated frame are equally soaked.

Annis cocks her head to one side. “You play with spirits, child?” Her voice has a hissing undertone that always rubs me the wrong way.

“Oh, ho ho.” Ogrim chuckles. “So she’s got that dark power, has she? That’ll shake up the stuck up palace folk.” He nudges me. “Care to give me a hint about her seelie magic? I’ve got a betting pool going with the others in the inn. Almost everyone thinks it’s strength, like the Third Nicnevin, after her display during the ball. Now, it’s pretty obvious she’s not some terrifying warrior hellbent on revenge, like they’re all saying—”

“Excuse me.” Rose cuts him off, eyes wide. “People think that?”

Jaro must have told the others to keep it from her. Shit.

Ogrim scratches at his tusks. “Well, I no longer do,” he says.

It’s the worst evasion ever, but no ogre has ever been accused of being subtle.

Annis reaches out and grabs a lock of Rose’s hair between her metal claws. “Always the same,” she says. “One for war, one for peace, one for war, one for peace.”

Rose swallows, and I want to laugh. “That's a coincidence,” I retort. “Look at her. Does she look like a warrior queen to you?”

Annis smiles, a cruel expression which exposes the copper spikes she’s used to replace her many missing teeth. “I see raw potential and untapped power. It only needs the forge to grow hot enough to shape it.”

Rose shivers, edging closer to me until her hair falls out of Annis’s grasp. Even I have to admit, the kikimora is creepy, but most of her kind are.

Still, the Nicnevin is brave enough to ask. “Will you teach me how to use the power?” She glances back at Ogrim. “We don’t know what my seelie magic is yet.”

The ogre grumbles in disappointment, and I want to grimace. Why is she so quick to admit her weaknesses to people she’s just met?

“Can’t teach.” Annis shrugs.

I raise a single brow at her, wondering if “can’t” is really “won’t.”

“Besides, we’re late. Hardly time for lessons.” She clicks her claws together again and turns her back on us. “Your valravne are ready when you are, Lord Huntsman.”

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