Page 21 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

My inner mantra is working. Or is it? Were we that close to the bank before?

I curse as I realise I must have blacked out again, then congratulate myself on remaining on the horse.

A single pink petal floats down onto the saddle in front of me, and I look up only to gape in wonder.

The muddy, stormy bank from before is gone. New blades of grass are forcing their way up and the spindly trees are already covered in clouds of blossoms. The breeze is soft, but laden with pollen, and my nose quickly fills with the scent of flowers.

Beside me, Drystan sneezes.

“I forgot how much I hate spring,” he grouches.

Good,I think, savagely. Reaching up to catch a second petal.

Jaro, however, seems to take offence. “At least my court isn’t a craggy, icy wasteland.”

“Winter isn’t meant to be pretty,” Drystan retorts. “It’s there to test your resolve and sort the strong from the weak.” He pauses. “Whatever. We need to get moving. There’s only an hour of light left, and they’ll shut the town gates at dusk.”

He swings up in front of me again and spurs his horse lightly with his heels, ending the conversation once more.

The silence resumes, and I busy myself trying to name the plants on our route as a way to distract myself from the pain.

Some of them are the same. Meadowsweet, snowdrops, toadflax, ragwort. It’s comforting to find the familiar ones, even if they are buried amongst the unfamiliar stalks of plants and trees I don’t recognise.

But the wild lands quickly disappear, replaced by fields and farms. In every field we pass, there seems to be someone kneeling with their head pressed to the earth. Every few minutes, they stand, raise their hands to the sky, cry out in joy, stomp on the ground, and then kneel again.

And they’re not… They don’t look human like Jaro and Drystan do—although even they could never be mistaken for mere men. These farmers have tusks or brightly coloured skin and, in more than one instance, fur.

Some are giant, others the size of children but with the proportions of an adult. A few have clothes, some seem to just be wearing a loincloth for modesty.

Eventually, I can’t hold my questions back.

“What are they doing?” I whisper.

Drystan doesn’t answer for so long that I don’t think he will. “They’re praying to the Goddess. Thanking her for her blessing. Before today, their fields struggled to produce anything.”

And now they’re full of bushy green crops and bright flowers. The whole land is a rainbow of colour, blooming beneath the setting sun.

Another long silence stretches between us.

“This isn’t a good thing,” he mutters. “It would’ve been easier if we could keep your return secret until we knew you were safe.”

He releases the reins and points across the fields. “See that town? On the bank of the river?”

I shift the fabric of his cloak, following his finger until I see a dark shape by the riverside in the distance. “Is that Iondell?”

“Yes. Keep your hood up and your eyes down.”

“I thought you were going to teach me how to use glamour?”

He snorts. “There’s not enough time before dark when they shut the gates. Keep the hood up and cover your clothes as much as you can. We’ll find you something better to wear once we’ve found somewhere to stay.”

He turns back around and guides his horse down the sloping path. I try to distract myself by watching how he controls our mount—hoping to learn something—but my efforts are wasted as he kicks us into a canter once more.

Iondell is surrounded by a formidable palisade which must once have been painted because the wood is covered in the colourful remnants of whatever pigments were used. The craftsmanship is amazing, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I can barely see where one plank ends and another begins.

Though the walls were clearly built to keep people out, the gate is currently standing half open. Just in front of it are two guards, wearing leather armour and dusty yellow capes.

Remembering what they said, I duck my head and cling closer to Drystan, biting my lip as doing so causes the buzz between us—which still hasn’t abated—to grow even stronger.

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