Page 71 of Across an Endless Sea

They must be his sisters. I can’t imagine any other fae—female or otherwise—getting away with this otherwise.

“Letting my fucking food get cold,” Aerla mutters, stabbing at the pan with a vicious jab, and I swear a cook on the other side of the kitchen winces in sympathy. “Do you know how many hours I pour into creating these? I spent decades perfecting that stew!”

“I have—”

“Important responsibilities, yeah, yeah, yeah.” The one Jaro called Ena turns to the sister beside her and rolls her eyes. “I seem to remember this lecture from somewhere, don’t you, Cam?”

“It does ring a bell.”

“You’re lucky Janey has been keeping Ma from coming to deal with you herself,” the smallest says sagely.

Another spoonful of stew gets shoved into Jaro’s face.

The entire scene is so domestic and bizarre that I’ve forgotten my purpose entirely. It comes back with a rush, and I drop my glamour.

Jaro’s eyes widen, and his three sisters almost double over with laughter. The head cook, however, is not amused.

“I don’t care which guard patrol has lost their Goddess-damned helmets,” Aerla begins, advancing on me with her spatula pointed at me like a sword. “Or which snooty nosed duke thinks he needs to suggest some strategy his great-grandmother used in the war of seasons to the knight commander ‘this instant’; my brother isnotleaving this kitchen until that bowl is empty.”

She slams the wooden implement down on the large workbench like a gavel as she says it, and I wince.

Jaro, however, isn’t cowed. “Aerla, Bree wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t—” He shakes his head and groans. “Fuck this.”

Ripping one hand free of the ropes with pure strength alone, he grabs the bowl and chugs the entire steaming lot, earning him some raised brows from his remaining sisters.

His other hand is freed in quick order, and I watch as he deftly unbinds his legs before dashing over to Aerla, handing her the bowl and pressing a quick air kiss to her cheek.

“That stew was perfect,” he promises. “I promise I’ll be back for breakfast. If not, you can unleash the others on me again.”

“You’d better be.” But the cook is obviously mollified.

Jaro goes to grab my arm but thinks better of it when I dodge and instead waves me towards the door. Wraith gives a huff but trots after us, keeping his white, shaggy body pressed against Jaro’s leg.

“What’s the problem?” he demands, the moment we’re in the corridor.

“There’s something going on over at the south-east wall—” I begin.

“There’s been no activity over there,” he interrupts, frowning.

“I know. I have this feeling…”

Jaro pauses. “What prompted it?”

Meeting his eyes for the briefest instant, I almost sigh in relief when I don’t see any scepticism there. Just concern.

“Dead patches of crops in perfect straight lines. They run straight from the wall, all the way into the farmland. It could be nothing…”

High above us, the deep, sonorous blare of a horn cuts through what I might’ve said. I don’t have to be a soldier to know that it’s a bad sign. It’s written in every panicked line of Jaro’s face.

“Shit.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, slowly.

Jaro shakes his head. “It means the Fomorians are inside the walls. Come on.”

He draws his sword, running for the courtyard. As soon as he’s out of the servants’ corridors, where the kitchen is hidden, soldiers flock to him, and chaos invades every space. Knights are readying themselves, servants fetching bandages. Yelling fills the air, and I start to shrink in on myself as people try to shove past.

The only blessing is that no one will dare shove Jaro, so by staying close to him, I manage to avoid most of the accidental contact. A page straps on Jaro’s armour without being told, another gives him a sword and straps a spare to his belt.

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