Page 18 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

My eyes snap up like I’ve been burned. Cheeks burning, I force myself to stare pointedly at the stranger’s back. Is my breathing shallow? Can Jaro tell I was staring?

More importantly, what devil did he make a deal with to be so blessed?

I pity his poor wife.

My body jerks at the thought. Is he married? Was I just ogling some other woman’s husband? Surely he must be. Knights must be incredibly eligible, and Jaro certainly isn’t hard to look at.

Guilt sits low in my stomach, accompanied by the bitter taste of disappointment. I berate myself for being so stupid.

We’ve just been running for our lives and all I can think of is his body.

“They’re gone for now, but we need to get out of this forest and lie low,” Jaro mutters, disrupting my internal lecture. “Can you glamour her eyes?”

“She can’t do it herself?”

My back bristles… actually bristles. Tickling sensations run up and down the length of my spine, and the itch between my shoulders intensifies until it’s almost unbearable.

Oh God. Is that… my wings?

I twist, trying to resist the urge to pull off my kirtle and look. My hands flail, trying to reach the spot.

“It’s not like she spent her time in the mortal realm learning to use glamours,” Jaro grumbles. “My Lady, are you… feeling all right?”

I meet his eyes, only to remember he’s naked and turn scarlet all over again.

“Fine,” I squeak. “Sorry. My back is just…”

“Her wings are bound up in the stupid human clothing.” The stranger realises, though he has yet to actually look at me. “She’s going to give us away the second she steps into any town, even without her eyes. Look at her dress. Is that wool?”

I cringe, drawing my sleeves further down my arms. “What’s wrong with wool?” I spent hours weaving and sewing this. I hated every second, and I made so many mistakes that my fingers bled, but still. Who is he to criticise?

He doesn’t answer my question. “Take this.”

A heavy weight settles over my shoulders, and I realise he’s given me his cloak. He barely waits for me to buckle it across my chest before he tugs the hood over my head, restricting my vision and filling my nose with the familiar scent of leather, smoke and horses.

“Drystan…” Jaro sounds exasperated. “She’s not to blame.”

So his name is Drystan? It suits him. Moody and dark.

“No. We are.” He tchs at his horse, spurring it into motion. “Shift back. We’ll head for Iondell—”

“To reach Iondell, we’ll have to find a shallow place to cross the Findwellyn and we’d be going in the opposite direction to Elfhame,” Jaro objects. “Give me one good reason we should cross into the riverlands instead of just taking her home.

There’s a heavy pause before Drystan sighs. “The capital is under siege.”

“What of Florian?” Jaro demands. “Surely he—”

Drystan cuts him off, but not in English. “We’ll discuss it when she’s out of the open.”

He’s using the same language Mab, Maeve, and Titania do.

I’ve barely come to terms with that when Jaro speaks back to him in the same tongue. “We shouldn’t exclude her like this.”

I like Jaro more and more by the second.

“Look at her, Jaro. She’s not a Nicnevin. She’s a skittish mortal wearing fae skin. You haven’t even told her about the war with the Fomorians, have you?”

“She’s just found out her life has been a lie. Forgive me for being considerate of her feelings.”

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