Page 89 of Across an Endless Sea

“He killed dozens of fae,” I whisper, tugging harder on the short strands as the memories resurface, catching and clawing at my throat as I try to exorcise them by sharing them. “His father ripped off a female’s wings in front of me.”

I turn to Drystan. “What happens to them if they die and the Hunt doesn’t collect them? We didn’t cross the sea when we rode on Samhain. Are they all trapped beneath the mountains forever?”

The huntsman freezes. “I’ve… never thought about it.”

“I reconnected the mountains to Danu,” I continue, and everyone else stiffens. “Fellgotha was part of Faerie. Without me—or any Nicnevin—visiting, it was barren. The Fomorians were starving. That’s why they raided us. They’ll probably continue, though. Prae was right, even with crops, none of them are really farmers, and Elatha is an asshole obsessed with glory…”

It feels important that they should know the war wasn’t just a hate-filled desire to raid and destroy. I know that understanding the Fomorians’ reasons won’t erase the damage that three wars and years of raids have caused, but perhaps it can soften the senselessness of the violence.

I’m still fiddling with my hair. Now that I’m back home, the short length feels like a horrible reminder of everything I saw and went through beneath the mountain. My discomfort must be obvious, because Kitarni picks up on it straight away.

“From the records I’ve read, the restorative power of Danu’s cave only works on living tissue. She fixes scars and wounds when you’re reborn, but hair and nails are a different issue.” She pauses, then offers. “I can mix you something to grow it back quickly, if you like.”

She can do that?“Yes, please.”

I don’t even have to consider it. I want my hair back. I want the memory of Elatha standing behind me, and the crawling feeling of him touching me, banished.

Kitarni, hearing the urgency in my tone, stands and bows. “I’ll get started right away. Your males can fill you in on what we’ve been discussing while I’m gone.”

A trail of blossoms fall from her hair as she strides away, and I say a silent thank you to her. There must be something I can do to repay her.

“She won’t take long,” Jaro ventures as his thumbs resume rubbing up along my arches, making me sigh.

“Hair cutting isn’t a traditional method of Fomorian torture,” Drystan begins, drawing a glare from both Bree and Jaro.

“Let her talk about it in her own time,” Bree hisses.

Drystan snorts. “Fuck that. I need to know exactly how to pay back Caed for those haunted smudges in her aura. Retribution works best when it’s targeted.”

I blink, looking at him in shock.Why would he bother?

“But you hate me,” I whisper. “Why would you…?”

Drystan frowns, but still doesn’t look at me. “What in all the realms gave you that idea?”

This time, it’s Jaro’s turn to snort. “Winter Court unseelie aren’t exactly friendly and open.”

“I offered to teach her to ride,” he protests. “Brought a Goddess-damned barghest into the palace!”

“Practically sonnets of devotion,” Lore quips. “I can write you better poems if you want, pet. How about we leave this lot and go on—”

Jaro shuts Lore up with a look that clearly says I won’t be going anywhere. I can’t disagree. No part of me wants to be away from the four of them for any period of time for the foreseeable future.

“Rose was raised mortal,” Jaro reminds Drystan. “Winter fae can seem standoffish, even to other fae.”

“You’ve insulted me from the moment you first saw me,” I add. Drystan’s perpetual grumpiness and dislike can’t possibly be a cultural thing. “‘Mortal in fae skin,’ remember? You didn’t exactly try to hide it.”

“I’m blunt,” Drystan agrees. “I don’t believe in lying to your face to spare your feelings. Spend a week in the Summer Court and you’ll be begging for someone to tell you the truth.”

“You don’t even like to look at me,” I continue. “You think I’m beneath your notice. That was how I knew…”

“Knew what?” he demands.

“That it was Caed pretending to be you.” I don’t know why I admit my own stupid mistake to him, especially when I know how he’ll mock me for it. Then, to make it worse, I blurt out more. “When I died, I hid and glamoured myself while I waited for you to find me, but Caed tricked me. He has glamour, too, and he used it to make himself look like you. I only figured it out because you hate looking at me, and he wouldn’t stop staring.”

A strained silence fills the air on the heels of my confession. Drystan himself looks positively pained by the revelation, meeting my eyes for a fraction of a second before he wrenches his gaze awayagain.

My heart gives a sad little thump in my chest.

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