Page 80 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Jaromir

The knight commander’s report on the situation at Elfhame is… grim, to say the least. Goddess, I never expected it to be so bad.

By some miracle, the city’s outer wall is still standing, and thanks to some serious forward thinking by our ancestors, the city has been self-sustaining since it was built. But no one can get in or out. They’re completely surrounded. When Lorcan blinked right into the city, he was the first outsider to enter in months. If the Fomorians do somehow manage to topple all three of the great walls, there’s nowhere to run.

Kitarni’s plan had better work. Otherwise, we’re leading Rose into a trap.

Now, as we wait for the high priestess to finish with whatever it is she’s doing in the temple, I can’t help checking on Rose on the back of Drystan’s horse. She’s obviously distracted. Her fingers keep creeping up to the delicate tiara of flowers Kitarni placed on her head like she can’t believe it’s there. Then, when she’s reassured herself she isn’t imagining it, her hands inevitably flutter down to worry at the fabric of her violet dress.

At first, I thought Florian’s request that we blink to the southern gate at noon and ride to the palace was a good idea. A way to give her a tour of the city that’s going to be her home while boosting the morale of the fae who’ve been stalwartly defending it.

Now… I’m not so sure.

Rose hasn’t been raised knowing how to operate under the spotlight of public scrutiny. Her time in Faerie so far has been violent, but she’s handled it better than I could’ve hoped. So it seems strange to think that this might be too much for her. The people already love her, but she has no idea the waves she’s about to make. She’s already the least conventional Nicnevin Faerie has ever seen, with two under fae and a damned Fomorian as part of her Guard…

Speaking of under fae, they’re not helping. Bree is currently staring at the horse he’s been given, like he’s forgotten how to ride. He’s declined every offer of help to mount it, and to be quite honest, the horse doesn’t look too certain of him either.

I know the feeling. A lot of horses don’t like the scent of predators. Bree might not be a shifter like me, but he has three big predators living on his skin. The horses must be able to sense that.

“Respectfully,” he mutters, reaching to pat the horse’s muzzle for the third time and watching with sadness as it skitters away to avoid him. “I believe I have other methods of transportation which are less likely to… throw me.”

One of the waiting stable hands accepts the reins back, leading the mare away to the temple stables. Bree looks towards the rest of us, frowning.

“If your mounts are nervous, you might want to back them off. He’s been cooped up for a while.”

Drystan raises a brow, as if Bree’s issued him a personal challenge. “Blizzard doesn’t scare easily.”

“You’re going to scare my pretty little pony?” Lorcan gasps in mock horror.

Today his cap is a stiff, felted top hat, perched daintily on the side of his head. Almost like he’s made an effort to be formal, and then failed with the rest of his leather ensemble.

Clucking in disapproval, I tug lightly at the reins of my mare and put a handful of extra paces between us and Bree. Unlike those two, I’m not a moron unseelie who needs to ignore advice in order to maintain the illusion that I’m tougher than everyone else. If whatever the púca is about to summon disturbs horses as much as he does, then he can have all the space he wants.

Bree’s fingertips trace along the side of his stomach until they find the head of his cat-sìth tattoo. Taking a deep breath, he flattens his hand against the image of the shaggy feline.

The darkness bursts from his skin and into the world in a cloud of black smoke. Like ink, the vapour spreads through the air until it forms into the shape of the enormous cat that closely resembles a panther, but far larger, with a white spot on its chest. The cat-sìth is easily at eye level with my horse and might even be the same size as my wolf.

Impressive.

Damn it, Jare, stop comparing sizes before you start comparing other things.

The cat-sìth stretches its full body out in a lazy gesture that makes the púca grin. Then it turns and full-on head butts him in the abdomen.

“Cut it out.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen the slightest hint of a smile grace his face. Suddenly the moment seems a little too private, and I turn to check on Rose to give the púca and the animal piece of his soul a second alone.

Our Nicnevin is staring at Bree in wide-eyed fascination. Not a hint of fear at the giant predator before her. Her body language practically screams her questions at all of us, and I have to work hard to bury my grin.

When the cat-sìth abandons the head scratches from Bree and turns to face Rose, her smile lights up the courtyard.

She looks to Bree for permission, then back at Drystan. At their matching nods she reaches out from Blizzard’s back and extends her hand to the beast in offering.

“Does he have a name?” she asks, petting the cat-sìth’s nose softly.

“Naris,” Bree admits, looking away.

Dimly, I hear him quietly begin to explain to her about the huge feline, which is native to the Winter Court, but I can’t pay attention to that right now.

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