Page 19 of Across an Endless Sea

Next to me are four neatly worded letters of refusal addressed to Florian. Each one bearing the royal seal of one of the courts. The stubborn, proud fools won’t help us unless Rose collects their oaths, and Rose…

Is getting farther away.

I can feel it.

Every single inch draws my wolf closer to madness and the man closer to despair.

So, I’m not surprised when Drystan and Bree trudge into the office. I pin both of them in place with a look and point at the sleeping white pup in the basket beside the fire. Wraith only just stopped trying to eat my boots twenty minutes ago. If they wake him, I’ll kick both their asses.

Most of the servants won’t go near him. Barghests have a reputation as terrifying soul-eating beasts. But Drystan said Rose brought him home. If the creature is important to her, then he’s staying.

I’ll just have to keep my good boots hidden until he grows out of the teething phase, and hope he doesn’t move on to chewing on souls next…

The two of them hover by the door as I extract myself from the desk and tiptoe across the toy-strewn room towards them. When I reach the door, I shut all three of us on the other side before I speak.

“Why are you here when she’s still out there?” I demand.

The three of us are suddenly surrounded by one of my golden shields, and I dismiss it with an annoyed sigh. My magic has been acting out more and more recently. Given the scorch marks on Drystan’s coat, I’d say he’s suffering the same. I eye Bree critically, wondering if he’s having the same trouble, but I have no idea what gift he has—beyond that it’s seelie.

“Because she’s on a ship, sailing up the Torvyn river,” Drystan retorts. “Surrounded by an armada. We might’ve been able to get her out of there, butsomeone”—he glares at Bree—“rushed off ahead in a half-cocked rescue attempt that put them on their guard.”

“We need Lorcan,” Bree mumbles, rubbing at his wrist.

He doesn’t deny Drystan’s criticism. In fact, he seems so distracted that he’s missed it entirely.

“One problem,” I grind out. “He’s still in the infirmary.”

“No change?” Drystan scrubs a hand down his face.

I sigh and jerk my chin for them to follow me. They can see for themselves.

The infirmary is part of the knights’ wing of the palace—for obvious reasons—so it’s not a long trek from Florian’s office to the cavernous, airy room. I pick my way through the lines of wounded towards one of the private rooms just off the main ward.

If Rose were here, she’d be staring at everything with those beautiful wide, curious eyes, demanding to know why we put our wounded on mossy mounds rather than beds. Asking about the white curtains made of spidersilk that hang from beams across the vaulted ceiling for privacy. Our curious Nicnevin would want to know everything.

But she’s not here, and my wolf is clawing at my skin, demanding I find her.

Elduin is standing guard, and he nods at us as he opens the small, unremarkable door for our group. I assigned the twins to protect the knight commander, despite the healers’ protests against having armed guards in the infirmary. After seeing how easily Caed got past our security before and the disturbing realisation that there are Fomorians out there who can use glamour, I’ve decided that there’s no such thing as being too cautious.

“Knight commander,” he greets me as I pass, and I stiffen slightly.

Goddess, I can’t get used to that.

But the door shuts behind us before I can remind him that I’m only acting knight commander. I’ll be giving up the position the second Florian walks out of here.

Rose’s brother lies on the mossy mound on one side of the room, and Lore on another opposite him. Both of them have been dressed in pale white pyjamas that I’m not sure either of them would be caught dead in were they awake, and Lore’s red hat has been hooked up to a small glass tube that’s drip-feeding it blood. Even with that, the fabric is paler than I’ve ever seen it—salmon pink instead of its usual bold scarlet.

Of the two of them, it’s hard to tell whose condition is worse.

Florian’s body is riddled with black veins which have spread from the many wounds he took in the fight, to the point where even his wings are streaked with poison. His hands—which took a beating from the Fomorian weapons he used—are pressed deep into the moss and slathered in ointment because they’re so riddled with iron that they’re black and withered.

Our healers are doing everything they can, but iron poisoning is famously resistant to magic, and at this stage, it’s starting to affect his organs.

“Knight Commander Jaromir.” The healer on duty—a faun with daisies woven into her hair—bows as I enter. “Guards.” She offers the other two matching bows. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

I move over to Lore as she leaves the room. “He’s not going anywhere,” I mutter. “Let alone into the bowels of an enemy ship.”

The redcap’s good eye moves behind the closed lid. The other one—the one which was pierced by a shard of iron that travelled all the way to the back of his skull by Praedra’s damned bomb—might be moving too. It’s so tightly wrapped in bandages that it’s impossible to tell.

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