Page 33 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Rhoswyn

The trio of small green men stumbles ahead of us as Jaro pulls me into the crowd. They are vaguely human, in that they have the same basic features as I’ve come to expect, but they’re green and their ears are huge, easily the same size of their head. Each lobe is decorated with almost a dozen piercings, and so are their brows, their lips… even the bridges and nostrils of their strangely flat noses.

I tear my eyes away, only to see a female tree walk past. She even has leaves in place of hair. Then a tiny flying creature whooshes past my head.

“The green ones are goblins,” Titania whispers. “Excellent jewellers. The lady who looks like a tree is a dryad. They’re normally quite insular. That one over there”—she points at an enormous, potbellied creature with horns—“is an ogre. The smaller ones are pixies. Do not piss them off or they will try to eat you. That soggy one over there is a kikimora. They normally don’t leave their swamps…”

On and on she goes. I have no idea where the other two are, but Titania doesn’t leave my side as Jaro pulls me through the market towards a large building on the opposite side of the street.

I’m grateful he pulled my hood back up, if only to hide what must be the most embarrassingly awed look to ever grace my face.

After last night, I made the decision to stop feeling sorry for myself. Yes, I’m still going to be overwhelmed, but I’ve got to give myself a little bit more grace. There’s literally no going back. So I’m determined to love my new world. And seeing it like this—bustling with life and normalityinstead of blue warriors trying to kill me—definitely makes it easier.

It helped that this morning—for the first time in my life—I woke up feeling fine. There was no soreness. No breathlessness. Whatever I’ve lost, I refuse to ignore the gift which is finally being free from my mysterious illness. I’m walking without my stick, for goodness’ sake. Not two days ago, that would’ve been an impossible dream.

I have nothing to lose by immersing myself in my new life, and absolutely everything to gain.

I’m so caught up in trying to see everything that I forget to be nervous about how much of my skin is showing. When I see the huge ogre wearing nothing more than a loincloth, I decide I’m actually dressed fairly conservatively.

After rushing us through the bank—where I can’t stop staring at the leprechauns behind the counter—Jaro leads me back outside and straight into the market.

“Here’s breakfast,” Jaro announces, pulling me towards a stall full to the brim with baked pastries of every kind. “What do you fancy?”

He seems to have forgotten that I just had breakfast. Maybe he’s not eaten yet and wants company? Or perhaps he just eats more than I do—which would make sense, given the sheer size of him. Still, the pastries do look yummy. Maybe I should try one, just to appease him.

I nibble my lower lip, wondering if he’s thought about the fact that I can’t read any of the labels, but too nervous to mention it. I end up pointing at the smallest purple-looking triangle in the middle of the display, which makes Jaro grin.

“Good choice.”

He pays for our pastries and hands mine to me. “It’s sweet,” he tells me. “Most fae love their sweet things.”

I bite into soft, flaky pastry and nearly moan as sugary jam bursts onto my tongue. Whatever fruit this is made with, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before. Not quite peach, but that’s the closest thing I can think of. Suddenly, I don’t care that I’ve already eaten. I polish the triangle off in seconds.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” I whisper, uncaring that my mouth is still full.

Jaro smiles, a true, full-fledged grin that makes him look ten years younger and twice as wolfish.

“I’m glad. Come on, let's get you some more clothes. Something sensible for riding in.”

I stumble to a stop. “I don’t have any money.”

Food and hand-me-downs are one thing, but new clothes?

Jaro smirks and leans down to murmur in my ear. “You have plenty of money. Consider this a gift. After all, you look beautiful in that dress, but it’s hardly practical for the road.”

Titania huffs. “Not to mention it’s second-hand, hardly the couture of a Nicnevin.”

I’m beginning to think she’s a bit of a snob, and I roll my eyes at her. She knows as well as I do that, before today, I’ve only ever owned two second-hand kirtles and the crooked hemmed one I made myself, which is now ash in the fireplace.

Without giving me a chance to protest, he leads me through the market to a small shop on the far side of the square. A bell jangles as we enter, and the small grey-furred lady at the desk on the far side looks up and calls out a welcome.

“That’s a brownie,” Titania comments, inspecting the shelves of fabric with interest.

Jaro bows to the lady and pulls me forward.

I drop a curtsy as he starts to explain what he’s looking for, reeling off a list of requirements.

Doing my best to look oblivious, as though I can’t understand a word he’s saying, takes all of my meagre acting skills. In reality, I’m hanging on every word.

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