Page 93 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Drystan

Ipace in front of the small fireplace below Rose’s personal quarters, resisting the urge to snarl. The space is something of a neutral ground and meeting area connecting her Guard’s rooms. Amongst the plants are comfortable seats, a sparring ring, and even a bar. If the large round table and chairs are anything to go by, it might even once have served as a planning place for the previous Guard.

Lorcan and Jaromir are already seated, and now we’re just waiting for Bricriu… wherever he is.

This latest development is more than just problematic. It’s downright disastrous.

What was the Goddess thinking?

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” the redcap asks, grinning irreverently from his perch on the back of his chair.

Why can he not just sit normally? And could both of them stop glancing at the stairs in the middle of the space that lead to Rose’s room? I’m doing my best to ignore its existence, and having them turn to check on it every few seconds, as if they’re expecting her to waltz down and visit us, is doing my head in.

“Wait.” I’m not repeating this again when the púca finally turns up.

Jaro is uncharacteristically silent. Perhaps because he recognises that, for a winter fae like me, pacing is the equivalent of having a full-blown meltdown.

The púca’s dark wings fill the sky for a second before he lands between us, sliding into his seat at the table with a carefully blank expression.

“I know what her unseelie power is,” I begin, glancing at the skull on my hand. “And it’s going to cause problems.”

“More problems than the fourth Nicnevin’s empathy did?” Jaro asks, critically.

I brush him off. “Soothing a few ruffled nobles with her gift is nothing compared to summoning the dead.”

Silence falls as they process what I’ve just said.

“Are you sure?” Bree asks. “That seems… unlikely, given her temperament.”

“How can you be sure?” Jaro presses. “She used lightning in Siabetha.”

“Back in the Court of Blades she told Kitarni she was seeing people who weren’t there,” I begin. “When Kitarni and I questioned her in the temple, she said she’d been seeing three women since she was born. Fae women who taught her our language.”

“Seeing spirits doesn’t necessarily mean necromancy,” Jaro objects. “She could be a medium—”

His optimism is misplaced. I’ve met plenty of mediums. None of them can do much more than communicate with the spirits of the dead.

“She’s seeing the old Nicnevins. I know because I saw them. She was listening to the Second Nicnevin’s advice the entire ride here.”

Seeing Queen Titania perched on the back of my horse after centuries of seeing her face staring down from the temple statues was a shock that I still haven’t quite gotten around to processing. We’re lucky we were riding Blizzard, who’s used to being around the dead. Any other horse probably would’ve bolted.

As the Lord of the Wild Hunt, I’ve seen my share of spirits. None of them were as powerful as she was.

The other males have gone silent in the wake of my revelation, so I shake off my thoughts and continue. “Lightning was one of the gifts of the First Nicnevin, and then Rose healed Bree, which was the seelie gift of the Second Nicnevin. She’s summoning spirits and using their gifts. Necromancy.”

“Shit.” Jaro seems to grasp what I’m saying.

Lorcan, on the other hand, doesn’t. “Are you really surprised that she’s special?” He blinks into a different chair. “She’s perfect.”

I wish I was a psychopath. I imagine that life without giving a fuck would be simple.

“The nobles are going to freak,” Jaro shudders. “Regular fae necromancers are treated with suspicion, and their power is limited to whatever they’re born with. Hers…”

“She could raise an army of the dead using her connection to the Goddess,” I confirm.

“Pretty Rose has thorns.” Lorcan looks almost… aroused by the idea.

His pupils are blown wide, and on his head, his knit cap springs upward into a stovepipe hat in a disturbing display that makes me grimace.

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