Page 8 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

I hesitate.

He knows I’m up here. There’s no denying that he could get to me easily if he wanted. Though he doesn’t have wings like they do in the stories, he’s so tall I’m sure he could just reach up to the loft and drag me down if he wanted.

A knock on the door saves me.

“Rose? Are you in there?”

Tom. Thank God.

“Or better yet,” the stranger mutters, setting the plate down on the table. “We can have someone you trust tell you the truth.”

He crosses to the front door and tosses it open, revealing my brother’s stupefied face. From my perch, I watch as Tom’s expression flits through surprise, fear, and then resignation.

“You came for her,” he finally blurts.

The fairy lets out a low, humourless laugh. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Tom?” I interrupt. “Do you… do you know this man?”

“Male,” the man corrects, absently, rubbing the back of his neck in exasperation. “Fae aren’t human.”

My brother’s eyes fly up to where I’m half-hidden behind the edge of my loft, and he grimaces. “Rose, it wasn’t… It seems worse than it is… I promise.”

My knuckles turn white and my brain goes numb. “Am. I. A. Fairy?”

I don’t often yell or snap. I’m not that kind of woman. But this is just…

The stranger sighs. “I did mention that the correct term is fae.”

My brother ignores him. “Aye. You’re a changeling.”

“I can’t be.” I’m practically shaking with the force of my own denial.

“You are,” he insists. He must read the heartbreak in my face because he hurries to add, “I was sick. Dying. Mother and Father made a bargain to look after you in exchange for healing me. It didn’t mean they loved you any less.”

The stranger cocks his head. “You forget to mention that Drystan benevolently threw in two handfuls of gold and a promise of protection for this entire village before they agreed.”

“And you knew?” I demand, ignoring the fairy.

“Only these last few years,” he admits. “Father started training me to take over as warden of the gate that leads to their world. We stop people going through, because they never come back.”

I shake my head, but Tom keeps talking.

“We honestly thought they’d never come back for you. You’d never need to know if they didn’t. You could live a happy life here. We haven’t heard a peep out of them since the bargain was made, and you seemed to be—”

“You were going to force me to marry Colbert,” I interrupt. “In what way is that a happy life?”

“He’s a good man—”

“Yes, because all good men beat their mothers!”

“You don’t know—”

“If I’m not sick, you can’t blame it on hallucinations.” I’m beyond furious. “You had no excuse not to believe me.”

“But you are sick!”

“Apparently, I’m six inches tall, like sipping milk from dishes like a cat, and can’t walk on hallowed ground.” Isn’t that how the fairies in stories are described?

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