Page 63 of Across an Endless Sea

“I’m okay,” I promise, in a whisper. “I’m surviving.”

Maeve—as always—is more focused on my physical wellbeing than my emotions. She pulls Titania away while making an exasperated face before giving me ‘the look’ and pointing at my wings.

Oh, right. I can do the exercises Florian taught me now.

All of the muscles in my back, and a few in my chest, scream in protest as I go through the motions of lifting, then lowering my wings. Sweat pours off me by the end of it, and I wipe it away with my hand as I collapse on the floor.

Maeve gives me a satisfied nod, then holds up her hand with her fingers splayed.

“Five minutes?” I huff. “I need twenty.”

She doesn’t budge—of course not.

I hold up my shackle. “Can’t you cut me a little slack?”

Titania gets between the two of us, waving her own hands as she says something I still can’t hear. Then Mab joins in, though she doesn’t leave her seat. A minute later, Maeve throws both hands up in the air in a gesture of surrender.

The workout she puts me through this time is one of her older ones, designed for when I was in the mortal realm. Dodging her strikes is still exhausting, but as much as I want to bitch and whine, I keep my moaning to myself. I don’t want to wake Caed, so I only speak when I need her to clarify things.

I’m halfway through her endless drills, holding my imaginary sword high, when a voice behind me says.

“Your legs are too close together. You’re going to overbalance if you try that with the weight of a real sword.”

I whirl, almost falling over as I take in Caed, leaning casually against the door frame, fully dressed, with his armbands back on.

“You’re passable at dodging, if nothing else,” he continues. “But I’m curious as to who the fuck you were talking to.”

I shrug, cursing my inability to lie as I stand there silently and guiltily.

Caed’s eyes gleam. “I think we need to have a discussion about what exactly your magic is—”

A knock on the door saves me, and I can’t help sagging in relief as Caed’s hand drops to his sword and he brushes past me, heading for it.

On the other side is an entire contingent of Fomorians, all armed. All frowning.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise this isn’t a friendly meeting.

“Blade Prince, you’ve been summoned by the king,” they announce.

The tension in Caed’s body doesn’t dissipate, and there’s something strange in his gaze as he looks over his shoulder at me.

“Alone,” the soldier at the front adds, following his gaze.

“Fine,” Caed drawls. “Just let me get my coat.”

The gang of people waiting for him don’t seem to know what to do with that response, which allows him to turn his back on them and pass me.

“Wait here for Prae,” he growls under his breath. “Don’t let anyone else in.”

I can’t even touch the door handle without burning myself. Does he expect me to host a party in his absence?

But there’s too much tension in the air for me to voice the snarky retort, so instead I just nod jerkily as he grabs his coat and follows them out of the room.

The door slams behind them, and I swear the temperature of the room drops.

“That doesn’t sound good,” I mutter, even though my guides—who’ve remained beside me the whole time—can’t reply.

After pacing for what feels like hours in front of the metal door, I cross to it, holding my hand out to the handle, only to snatch it back as my fingers begin to heat.

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