Page 78 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

“You need to regain your strength after the amount of magic you used,” he insists.

“More importantly,” Drystan grumbles. “Someone needs to explain to her why she passed out in the first place.”

I look up, questioningly. “I thought I just did too much? Drained myself?”

Jaro takes over, sighing. “He’s right. That shouldn’t have happened. You are the Nicnevin, your power is Danu’s herself; limitless. You let go of the connection to her too soon and started fuelling your incredibly powerful gift with only your innate magic.”

“Innate magic? But I thought all my power came from Danu?”

“Not all of it. You have the same natural reserve that all fae do,” Jaro explains. “Your own personal well, which replenishes with rest and food like all energy. You didn’t draw on the Goddess to use glamour, did you? Because those kinds of small illusions aren’t draining, so you can fuel them with your own power. But your magic can run out, and when it does things will get dangerous.”

Kitarni nods. “If you were any ordinary fae, it could’ve killed you. You started draining your life force.”

Oops. I duck my head and shovel a mouthful of some kind of vegetable between my lips.

“Next time,” Drystan continues, darkly. “When we tell you to let us handle something, let us handle it.”

Maybe he can read the silent rebellion in the way I square my shoulders, or perhaps something in the way I focus intently on my food gives me away, because he growls.

“I swear to the Goddess, I’ll—” he cuts off, takes a deep breath, and adjusts his jaw. “You won’t do it again. Swear it.”

I don’t know what possesses me. I really don’t. But I swallow my food and glare up at him.

“Make me.”

His amber eyes catch fire, along with the napkin on the table beside him, and actual smoke wafts from the ribbon around his neck. Kitarni rears back, eyes wide with fear and fixed on the flames growing in size across from her. I have no idea what would’ve happened next if Lore hadn’t taken that moment to blink onto the middle of the table, whistling.

“You’re awake!” He grins as Drystan curses and clicks his fingers at the napkin, extinguishing it. “Next time, can I help blow up the building? Pretty please? Standing on the sidelines was so boring.”

This time, both Drystan and Jaro growl, the sound so loud that it makes me want to cover my ears. Kitarni takes no notice. She’s still looking at the charred napkin as she tries to regain her composure.

“She will not be blowing up any more buildings,” Jaro says.

At the same time, Drystan adds. “And the next time you blink us away from her when she’s putting her life in danger, I’ll drag your soul to the Otherworld myself.”

Lore just beams wider. “You have to catch me first.”

Poor Drystan. If he clenches his jaw any tighter, he’s going to break his teeth.

“There will be no violence in the temple,” Kitarni says, taking a neutral stance as she finally looks away from the charred piece of cloth. “Lorcan, sit down and let the Nicnevin and Bree eat while you tell us how things are in the capital.”

He shrugs, blinking onto the bench beside me, shoving Drystan to one side.

“It’s fine. The outer wall is taking a beating, but that hoity toity prince you wanted me to get the letter to doesn’t seem too concerned. Well, he didn’t until he read the letter, but after that—”

“You spoke to Knight Commander Florian?” Jaro demanded, all anger forgotten. “How the hell did you even…?”

Lore shrugs. “I blinked onto the back of his horse and held up my hands”—he mimes doing it, displaying my blood red mark on his alabaster palm—“like this, and then I said, ‘oh hey, I’m going to fuck your sister.’ After a brief, failed tour of the dungeons, where he got pissed because I wouldn’t just stay in one cell, he finally read the high priestess’s letter and gave up on his kinky bondage fetish.”

I frown, because I’m not sure I understood half of that.

“Bondage fetish?”

Kitarni snorts and all of my men suddenly have somewhere else to look, except Lore, of course.

My redcap leans forward and plucks his woollen cap from his head, plopping it onto mine with a gentle pat. His red eyes pierce mine, heating until they’re magma.

“I have lots I can teach you, little pet.” It’s a dark and husky whisper, designed for my ears alone.

---