Page 85 of Across an Endless Sea

I search out Caed instead, knowing that he’s well practised at appearing unfazed by dying fae. Unfortunately, it appears he left his nonchalance in Elatha’s throne room, because the Fomorian’s cold mask cracks, then splinters, his expression consumed with anguish.

Ignore him, I coach myself.Got to draw the knife out, otherwise this death will be slow and painful.

With shaking arms, I grab the handle and yank.

Maeve’s hand disappears from mine as I collapse, only to be caught by a pair of strong arms as curses fill the small cave. Hands are grabbing me on both sides, but I know it’s Caed who’s managed to claim me because my back has already begun to blister and burn. I flinch, crying out as the pain from Caed’s armbands hits me. Somehow, it’s worse than the stab to the chest I just delivered myself. Yet, that agony is a blessing in disguise, because I pass out after only a few seconds.

Despite it all, I close my eyes with a smile. I’m going home. To safety. To my Guard.

Finally.

Twenty-Seven

Jaromir

My hand starts to burn mid-way through our retreat. Soon, it’s a pulsing roar that makes it hard to hold my sword, a fiery pain that cuts out as soon as it starts, until all that remains is a dull ache. Rose is dead once more, and the Call is silent for the first time in over a week.

Despite two days of endless fighting, the outer wall has fallen. The farms are burned to ash, my men are tired and drained, and the Fomorians have taken both gates from the inside. In the end, there were over a dozen tunnels, and they poured through them, attacking us from within.

“Has everyone been evacuated to the inner city?” I demand as I cleave another in two. “Are all the civilians accounted for?”

“If they’re not,” Cailu roars, “Then they’re dead, Jaro. Fall back before the rest of us join them.”

I sweep out, using my magic to shield me and the few who remain as I retreat with the twins to the final ladder. Those two have been by my side the whole time, but I’ve lost sight of Bree and Lore.

With any luck, the two of them are already on their way up. I won’t risk Rose a second time, and Lore is our best chance to get to her.

Our queen is coming home.

I just pray her city is still standing when she gets here.

The second we’re at the top of the wall, the final ladder is drawn up. Our archers are still firing down, keeping the Fomorians back… for now.

“Keep watch for tunnels,” I order them. “The second the grass starts dying…”

I don’t know what we’ll do…

There are houses built right up on both sides of the inner wall, giving them plenty of cover to hide their next trick.

“Aye, knight commander.” The soldiers salute me, anyway, and I’m hit with a crushing weight of their trusting expectation.

I’m the first knight commander to be responsible for one of the three great walls falling. Florian would’ve seen this coming. Would’ve ensured the patrols paid attention to what was happening on both sides of the wall. Would’ve noticed patterns in the dead crops.

I stalk down the steps, exhausted and hating myself for it. What right do I have to be tired when so many good soldiers just died because I—?

“Jaromir.” Drystan’s hard tone cuts right through my morbid thoughts. “She’s gone.”

As if I don’t know that. “Lore will get her.”

The winter court fae raises an eyebrow. “I am certain Rhoswyn would prefer a more stable presence after what she’s just been through. By all means, use the redcap, but he’s hardly the most comforting member of our group.”

He’s right—of course he is—but that doesn’t mean I’m capable either. Right now, I can barely comfort myself. My wolf is exhausted, and he lets out a mournful howl for our mate in my mind.

“Get cleaned up,” Drystan orders, brandishing his half-regenerated hand in the direction of the palace. “Take a nap, for Goddess’s sake. Eat some food. You fought hard today.”

I scowl, then sigh. “You’re right.”

Of course he is. Maybe if I weren’t so tired, I would’ve noticed the damned tunnels. The winter court fae has fought alongside me since he returned, but he looks better than I do—missing hand notwithstanding.

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