Page 154 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

We move across the sky in silence for a few minutes, the rest of the host moving at a more subdued pace behind us. It seems they, like me, have run out of energy after such a long night.

“We’ll return to the Sanctuary, which will return us to the palace,” he says. “Now that the spirits have reached the Otherworld, time will begin flowing normally again.”

I nod, looking down at Wraith. “We’re going home,” I tell him, forcing a smile onto my tired face.

Now that we’re not stopping in every village, the ride back to the Winter Court is short. Soon enough, the great mountain looms in the distance, its snowy white peak piercing the starry night.

A good thing too, because my tired brain is turning foggy, and a headache is just starting to spring up behind my eyes.

I wince as the pain gets sharper and my brain seems to fog over for a second.

Wait… this feels awfully like…

“Something’s wrong,” I gasp.

The familiar flickering in my chest begins, and I turn back to stare at Drystan with my eyes wide.

“Rose…” His warning tone is telling me not to follow that instinct, to reach out towards the bond.

“It’s Lore,” I whisper.

Is that reedy, whimpering voice really mine?

“The moment you touch it, it will drain you.” His voice is reasonable, but I haven’t missed the way he’s dug his heels harder into Blizzard’s flank, spurring the horse to go faster.

“He needs me.”

Everything in me wants to reach for our bond. It’s a compulsion stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.

“He needs you to stay awake and able to defend yourself in case we’re about to return to a trap. He can’t die. Being in pain a little longer won’t make much difference.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts,’ Rhoswyn.”

I can see the mountain rising above us, throwing the land beneath it into shadow. The rest of our landing is a blur of hoof beats and shouts as the host thunders back into the cavern in a rush of bone, fur, and feathers.

Some of the host dismount as soon as they touch the stone, nodding once toward Drystan before disappearing. Others remain in place, chatting.

Drystan doesn’t wait or join in. He takes his head from the bag on the saddle and places it back into the space behind his mask. As soon as the ribbon has scrolled back into place across his neck, he nods once in the direction of a few of the fae he spoke to earlier, and we disappear.

The sucking, drowning sensation from before returns, but it barely registers compared to the tearing, spiking pain raking my insides apart. The moment the sensation of travelling dissipates, it springs up even fiercer within my gut.

We reappear exactly where we left, in the stone courtyard, surrounded by tiny candles. But no one is there to greet us.

My hands fly to my chest, trying to force the breaking pieces within me back together.

“Where the hell is everyone,” Drystan demands, before turning his head towards the servants’ quarters and yelling, “Get your asses out here and help your Nicnevin.”

He’s barely finished speaking when a second pain, new and distinct from the first, springs up.

“Caed,” I whimper.

My eyes snap upward, magnetised to the platform where I can feel them.

At the exact moment that an explosion rocks my room above us.

“Rhoswyn.” Drystan’s warning growl is drowned out by the arrival of servants.

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