Page 20 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Rhoswyn

We ride through the night and into the next day. I’m silent for the entire trip, and so are they. Jaro can be excused, as I imagine it’s hard to talk as a wolf. Drystan… not so much.

I get the sense he doesn’t like me. He’s stiff and tense the entire ride, and barely interacts with me except to offer me water every now and again. Even when he does that, he doesn’t look at me. His amber eyes are always fixed on a spot above my head, like he won’t lower himself to study me properly.

The horse we’re riding is unlike any animal I’ve ever known. He canters tirelessly, without stopping or even showing signs of slowing. I, on the other hand, am not so well adjusted. My unvoiced questions soon dissolve in the face of my discomfort. After an hour, my thighs start to burn and chafe. By the second, my back aches. When Drystan finally pulls us to a halt on the banks of an impossibly wide river, my whole body feels like one great big sore bruise.

The only thing keeping me from dropping off of the horse is my white-knuckled grip on his belt and my stubborn refusal to be as useless as he thinks I am.

“It’s shallow enough,” Jaro announces a second before he gently tugs back my hood. “You’ll want to see this, my lady. This is the Findwellyn. It marks the border between the Summer Court and the Spring Court.”

Without the fabric blocking my view, my eyes gobble up everything. On our side of the river, the plants and trees are lush and green, the sky is clear, and the shrubs are in full bloom.

On the other bank, the sky is blocked by heavy, grey clouds, and the land below is muddy and unwelcoming. Even the trees are haggard, their branches bare and jagged, with only the smallest of green buds peeping through the grey.

“It seems your powers haven’t extended across the border,” Drystan comments. “That could be troublesome.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and I’m left needing to know what he meant but unwilling to ask him.

“Can we cross?” I ask, staring at the wide, dark water of the river. The water is dark and loud, but I still wish I could get down and just bathe in it. The idea of cold water on the raw, burning skin of my thighs is heaven. Only pure stubbornness keeps me from doing so.

That, and I don’t trust my legs to keep me up right now.

“Easily,” Jaro replies. “But if we do, and your power restores the Spring Court, then our enemies will know where we’ve gone.”

“And if it doesn’t, then you’ll be accused of favouring the Summer Court,” Drystan tacks on unhelpfully.

“Naturally,” I mutter. “I didn’t mean to do it the last time I—”

“Don’t worry, that much is obvious,” Drystan interrupts, dryly.

Why is he like this?Evidently, Jaro is wondering the same because he raises a brow at our companion.

“My apologies, my lady.” Does he have to sound so mocking when he uses the title? “I merely meant your lack of magical experience was apparent.” He turns to Jaro and reverts to their language. “It’s her connection to Danu. It’s got to be. Her very presence is the bridge which reconnects the land to the Goddess.”

I’m doing what?

“Then there’s no stopping it,” Jaro replies. “And we shouldn’t try to. Let the Fomorians search. They don’t know what she looks like, and we’ll stay away from the places they’re likely to search.”

The wolf shifter turns back to me, stretches up, and pulls the hood over my face once more just as Drystan slips from the saddle and uses the reins to lead his horse down the bank and into the water.

“Stay put,” he orders, switching back to English. “Water gives the Fomorians the advantage.”

“Why are they attacking us?” I ask. “Aren’t they fae?”

Drystan coughs and splutters in outrage. “Never say that again. They’re the scourge of the realm. They’re nothing like us.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

He ignores me as the water comes up to his thighs, forcing him to wade through slowly. Soon, it’s sloshing over the tops of my shoes, soaking my woollen stockings beneath.

It’s cool, but not freezing. In fact, it’s almost pleasant.

When we’re about half-way, the cramping from before hits. Just like when we first came through the gate.

I suck in a harsh breath, losing my grip on the saddle in favour of clutching my chest.

Just keep breathing through it. Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.

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