Page 145 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Just like Maeve, Mab, and Titania, they have that slight glow to their outlines, but unlike my guides, they’re translucent and almost completely colourless. Like a faded painting.

This is what I expected ghosts to look like.

When they reach our column, more mounts appear out of nowhere, these ones just as translucent as the spirits themselves. Unlike the black skeletal horses the host rides, these animals come in all shapes and sizes. Everything from elks to bears kneel in mid-air to allow the spirits to climb onto their backs.

Are these the animals who died in the past year as well? Ready to join their kin in the Otherworld just like the fae?

That thought is oddly comforting.

Soon the gathered spirits are crowding the sky. Everything from high fae to brownies and redcaps. Some so old they have to cling to the barghests’ fur to walk, and some so young they’re carried carefully in the beasts’ powerful jaws.

Only…

There are far too many young ones for a race who, according to Kitarni, struggle to have children. Almost a dozen. Most of them are not even out of swaddling yet.

“Why so many children?” I whisper, unable to contain the question.

“Fae live because of our connection to Danu,” Drystan mutters. “When the Nicnevin—the source of that connection—disappears for twenty-five years… this is the result.”

My hand flies to my mouth. “This is because of me?”

“I would argue it was only indirectly, and you had no choice in the matter.” Drystan’s cold words are actually reassuring for once. “But your mother would’ve known the cost of sending you away to safety.” He pauses. “The moment you crossed back into Faerie, these things stopped happening. Next year, their numbers will be far smaller.”

As I watch, the barghests leap up, handing the babies to the other spirits, who cradle them gently, with smiles on their faces. They wait patiently while the beasts round up the rest of the spirits.

The entire thing is beautiful to watch. When no more spirits join our ranks, I expect Drystan to turn and ride away.

He doesn’t.

“If you’re easily upset,” he says instead. “Or plan to make a scene, let me know now so I can leave you behind.”

Easily upset? “I want to learn.”

“I’m serious. You need to be silent and stay on Blizzard’s back at all times. You won’t be harmed, but you cannot interfere.”

I nod once, gripping the saddle harder.

Drystan spurs Blizzard forward, and suddenly it’s not just the barghests and valravne soaring through the ice walls of the winter city, it’s us. We’re as intangible as the spirits we hunt as Blizzard and the other horses of the host gallop through the rooms, following the sounds of the baying hounds.

The deep beat of those drums seems to permeate the entire city, adding urgency and adrenaline to the stallion’s steps as he canters through the candlelit rooms. One of Drystan’s arms leaves the reins and extends out into the air, summoning his whip of fire and bone into being.

The flames hiss and spit as we round the corner, and Drystan himself seems more tense than I’ve ever seen him.

When I see the first spirit, I understand why.

The dead fae lunges for us, sword drawn. All around him are snarling barghests, some with fresh wounds across their faces. He’s wearing ragged armour that was clearly once well decorated and cared for, and I can only assume he was some kind of knight when he was alive.

Now, though, he’s outmatched. Something which becomes painfully clear as the bone whip wraps around his blade with practised ease, dragging him off balance.

That’s all it takes.

The barghests pounce on him, snarling and snapping.

He’s dragged out to join the host in the sky, kicking and screaming.

So that’s how it works. The animals must round up the willing spirits, and then the fae go in to herd out the difficult ones.

The next spirit isn’t fighting, but she’s clearly terrified. The dryad female huddles in a candle-strewn corner, her pine-needle hair shedding in fear as she desperately whispers prayer after prayer into her own clasped hands. The two barghests around her aren’t snarling, but they’re laid in front of her with their heads on their paws as they try to shuffle closer without upsetting her.

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