Page 70 of Across an Endless Sea

I press my hand against his inked scales again, trying to understand what happened, but I can’t speak to my animals. I can get a vague sense of his emotions—namely that he’s spooked—but beyond that… nothing.

Running my hand against him to soothe him does nothing, and I’m left to guess what this means. My numbness has gone, replaced once more by worry for Rose. I stroke Lox, summoning my wings so that I can leap into the sky.

Flying helps. It uses just enough concentration that I’m forced to crawl my way back from the abyss or risk hitting a tree. On the bad days—like today—I soar over the wall and across the Fomorian camps beyond, letting them shoot at me.

Wondering if they’ll get lucky.

Only this time, I stop before I reach the wall, frowning as something odd catches my eye.

There’s a line of brown through the vineyard, cutting through the perfect rows of green. That alone wouldn’t have caused me much concern. Crops die sometimes, even with magic. Withered vines are nothing to worry about, yet a hundred feet to the left in a neighbouring wheat field, there’s a similar line of dead crops.

Perfectly straight. Unnatural.

It feels off.

It’s impossible to know if the line continues on the other side of the wall, because the moat is directly beyond it, and past that, the Fomorian camp has well and truly killed off the grass, their iron killing the land.

I land on the wall, but there aren’t many soldiers on this section. The south-eastern part of the wall hasn’t seen as much action as the north and south-west where the gates are. The Fomorian army has surrounded the entire city, but they’re spread thinly here too.

“Guard,” the nearest soldier acknowledges me with a bow. “Do you need more men to deal with the brothel?”

I shake my head. “What is that?” I demand, turning her attention to the two lines.

“Blighted crops,” she shrugs. “Nothing unusual, sir.”

Perhaps she’s right, but that strange urgency is telling me it’s more than that.

“Call for reinforcements.” I’ll deal with Jaro’s wrath later if I’m wrong. “I’m going to fetch someone to get a second opinion.”

“Yes, sir.”

The soldier must think I’m crazy, but as a Guard, I outrank everyone except Jaro and Florian, so she does as ordered, heading to the nearest tower with haste.

I take off once more, heading back to the palace. Jaro isn’t in the war room, nor is he in his office for once—which is strange. Much like me, the wolf has been working himself to the bone since Rose was taken.

When I finally track him down, he’s in the kitchens, tied to a chair, and surrounded by three tall females who are taking it in turns to shove spoonfuls of steaming food into his mouth. I initially worry that he’s in danger, but Rose’s barghest puppy—now the size of a large dog—is relaxing on its back, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Surely the beast wouldn’t be so relaxed if Jaro was in any true danger?

I sneak closer, drawing glamour around myself, just in case things are more nefarious than they appear.

“… my brother—knight commander—and the court is whispering he’sunderfed!” The female at the stove curses, brandishing a large wooden spatula at him before returning to her cooking.

“Aerla,” Jaro protests. “I eat! I swear!”

“You’ve lost weight,” one of the other females insists, poking at his ribs playfully.

“What the fuck are you doing with the food I send up there?” the chef continues. “Feeding it to Wraith? Is that all my meatloaf is good for? A fucking barghest?”

The other chefs give her a respectful distance as she curses her way through sauteing vegetables. They’re apparently used to the tempestuousness of their chief, and not one of them bats an eye at the sight of the knight commander tied to a chair and being forcibly fed. Wraith opens one eye at the mention of his name, but closes it again when it’s clear he’s not being offered food.

Ah, this must be the fierce head cook I’ve heard so much about. I dimly recall Jaro mentioning that she was his sister, but the information must’ve slipped my mind.

“She’s right, you know. I didn’t believe Fionn when he waltzed into the library telling me you’d been inspecting the walls in a baggy uniform, but you’re wasting away.” The tallest of the group tuts, thrusting a spoon full of what looks like stew in his face. “Really, Jaro, you shouldn’t worry Ma like that.”

“She wouldn’t be worried at all if Fionn and Oren could keep their Goddess-damned mouths shut,” Jaro retorts, only to receive a mouthful of stew for his efforts. “Jesus, Ena. That’s hot!”

“It would be cold if we waited for you to eat it,” she says, as she spoon-feeds him the next bite.

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