Page 50 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Rhoswyn

The talking tree is walking around the room, searching in closets. I’m still processing. She’s wearing a floaty green dress, and I could’ve sworn Titania told me what her species was while we were in Iondell, but I’ve forgotten it already.

I miss my guides. They are my walking encyclopaedia of Faerie, and without them, I’m at a loss.

What’s worse is that I feel like I know this fae. In a way that’s different to my Guard. I can’t explain it, but it feels like my best friend just walked into the room.

Except I’m a loner. I’ve never had a best friend, aside from Clair, and even she only made the effort because we became sisters.

“You speak Fae very well,” Kitarni praises, throwing open the largest closet and making an approving noise. “I spent years studying the human languages just in case, but you’ve picked it up quickly. Did Sir Jaromir teach you?”

Shit. There goes my upper hand. “I grew up knowing it,” I admit, guiltily. “But… I didn’t tell Jaro or Drystan.”

The tree lady cackles as she pulls out a pastel pink dress which matches the flowers Lore shoved at me. “Oh, that’s perfect. I’ve always wondered what males talk about when they think a female can’t hear.”

She passes me the dress, and I want to sigh in relief. I have no idea what Lore handed me, but it was scandalously short and see through, with only tactfully placed lace flowers to cover my private areas. And the underwear which went with it was little more than string.

“Well, so far I’ve discovered that Drystan thinks I’m a waste of his time,” I grumble, laying the bouquet of roses on the bed and shuffling towards her, keeping my iron grip on my blanket. “And that I’m being hunted by Fomorians, some of whom killed me.”

Kitarni grimaces and throws me some matching underwear. “Yeah, I felt that.”

“You did?”

In answer, the dryad pulls down the neck of her dress, exposing what looks like a tattoo on the bark of her chest. “As your High Priestess, I carry your mark. Whenever you die, the mark burns.”

I’m halfway through dragging on the lacy underthings she’s just thrown me—which thankfully have a lot more substance than the string Lore expected me to wear—and I yank them up my legs in my haste to take a closer look. Jaro covered his mark up before I could see it properly when he told me about it.

“That’s my mark?” I ask, squinting at the strange skull and rose design.

“Yes. It should give us some clues about your gifts.”

That would’ve been helpful to know earlier. I seethe silently as I realise both Jaro and Drystan must have known that.

“The skull probably relates to your unseelie gift,” Kitarni continues. “And the rose must be your seelie side. Perhaps something to do with plants? No, that doesn’t feel right…” She smiles and paces towards another set of drawers, digging in them for a while. “Not to worry. Now we’re together, we can figure it out. I’m attuned to you, so I’ll keep an eye on your energy and see when it spikes.”

I take advantage of her distraction, releasing my death grip on the sheet to quickly shrug on the dress—happy to find that this one goes to mid-calf rather than exposing my legs like the one I wore in Iondell—and push my way out of bed.

Kitarni instantly stops rummaging, and I blush as I realise she was only pretending to look inside so I could change.

She notices my awkwardness and offers me a soft smile. “You’ll get used to our ways in time, my lady. Until then, I will do everything in my power to make you comfortable.”

I accept her offered hand and let her hook my arm with hers and lead me to the door.

Lore is leaning against the other side. The moment I step out, he takes my other arm.

“Lorcan,” Kitarni says, her tone deceptively sweet as she leads us down a curving hallway and down a similarly rounded staircase. “Did you explain to the Nicnevin what her accepting your hat means?”

I finger the leather cap on my head and frown at him. I thought he was just being sweet when he offered it to me as a helmet, now I’m not so sure.

“Don’t you think it looks good on her?” Lore says, in place of a reply. “She even sniffed it earlier!”

I bite my lip, trying not to look guilty. I sniffed the hat because—despite Jaro’s reassurances—I didn’t trust it not to smell like blood. To my relief, it felt and smelled of normal leather, edged with his own unique scent of metal and tart berries.

“The human equivalent is accepting his proposal to marry you,” Kitarni advises me.

I stop dead in my tracks, staring at them both.

“You’ve only just met me!” I barely recognise my voice with how many octaves it’s jumped.

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