Page 152 of Griffin Food

“Ineed Fenix,” Overseer Barnes says from the doorway.

I pause mid-pot-scrub and glance at the cook. A strange prickling starts at the back of my neck. This isn’t the usual time to feed the prisoners.

The cook nods—it’s not like she has any more choice in this than I do.

“Come with me, lad,” Overseer Barnes says before he pivots and strides off.

Great. Some new grim task likely awaits me. I wipe my hands on the rag tied around my waist—an apron of sorts—and hang it on the hook beside the sink.

When I get to the doorway, I pause and glance back.

Everybody has stopped and is staring at me… like they will never see me again.

It’s not like I fucking like the kitchen. We just toil from the moment we get up to the moment we go to bed. Only this strange, mismatched lot has become a family.

I tear my gaze away and hurry to catch up with the overseer.

Questions burn on my tongue as I match his brisk stride. I keep them to myself. I may have grown over the last few months—be taller than him now—but I’m nothing but skin and bone, and he has hands like fucking shovels.

Still, my heart is hammering. Something about this feels off.

No—everything does.

“You’re to accompany the war party,” he says brusquely.

My mouth opens on an almost question before I can snap it shut.

He cuts me a glare. “Don’t ask questions, lad. Do what you’re told, when you’re told. Keep your fucking head down and your ears open.”

The fact that he says this much tells me my life is about to take a turn.

We enter the hall—the one I only ever come to for the inspections—to find it packed with guards and groups of servants. He cuts diagonally across the room to a guard with five servants gathered around him.

The guard looks me over, his lip curling like I’m not worth much. Finally, he lifts his chin at Overseer Barnes. “He’ll do.” Then to us servants. “Follow.”

He leads us along corridors and into parts of the citadel I’ve never seen before.

My stomach churns.

A war party, Overseer Barnes said. War parties go to war.

My eyes feel too damn wide as we cross paths with rushing servants and purposeful soldiers. We emerge through two great wooden doors.

A vast stone arena stretches out beyond them, the ground packed hard and sandy beneath my well-worn boots. High walls rise on every side, hemming it in, the stone dark and weather-stained.

At the far end stand two great pillars of pale stone, carved with strange markings. They loom over everything like they are waiting for something.

Soldiers line the space in ordered ranks, armor catching the light. Wagons with lines of servants busy filling them with sacks and crates. Scattered among it all are mounted dark fae cavalry, their horses beautiful, sleek, with rich, glossy coats.

We are directed to an empty wagon near the back and stacked supplies beside it. “Get to work,” the guard says.

We lug crates and sacks onto the wagon, stacking them under the guard’s watchful gaze.

A sudden boom shatters the air, followed by a flash like lightning. I duck, head swinging toward the sound. Between the vast stone pillars is a great, undulating oval that spits sparks of light.

A portal?

“Get back to work!”