"I hate signing autographs," Percy muttered. "Bloody waste of time."

His cousin ducked under an overhanging sign with "The King and His Mistress" emblazoned on the peeling wood. Jax sped up. Exerbury was swelting hot today; people rushed through the cobbled streets, stopping by Porter's Emporium for a healing draught or Mundie's for a cool lemonade. Thatched buildings leaned against each other like drunken friends. Carriages rattled over dusty streets. The smell of cinnamon sticky buns drifted from the bakery, mixing with hay and manure.

"You didn't have to sign that pocket square," Jax said.

Percy kicked a pebble. "Of course I did. It only takes one idiot telling everyone what a stuck-up arsehole I am to ruin my reputation."

"Who cares?" Jax asked.

"What?"

"Who cares what they think of you?" Jax skirted around a fruit stand. "It doesn't change anything."

Percy gave him a "don't-be-an-idiot" look. "You're adorable, Jaxy, but you're wrong. Public opinion changes everything."

They turned on to a busy thoroughfare. Bibi flapped her wings, hovering for a second before tumbling back to Jax's shoulder. The pegapiglet let out a little huff of frustration. Jax patted her head, being careful to avoid her broken wing.

"Oi!" A deep voice drifted across the street. "Percy!"

They turned.

A burly-looking butcher leaned against a greasy shop, a stained white apron slung over his shoulder. A bloodied carcass churned on a spit. Jax sniffed the air. Cow? Pig? Hard to tell; he'd been vegetarian since he was thirteen, and all meat smelled the same to him. Which was to say, disgusting.

Percy lifted a hand. "How's it going, Roan?"

The butcher stroked his beard. "I heard you killed another monster. Nice one."

"Just doing my job," Percy said, for the second time. Jax wondered if his cousin was trying to develop a catchphrase. Probably.

"Good luck tomorrow," Roan said. "Bloody brave of you." He jerked his thumb toward the firepit. "I'll have a hog roast waiting for you when you're back."

"Cheers, mate," Percy said.

They passed by the shop, inhaling a fume of smoked meat and steel. Percy lowered his voice. "What a wanker." His cousin was still smiling. "He just wants to hang a sign in his shop. Persophecles eats here. I've seen it all before."

Jax shrugged. "Maybe he just likes you."

Percy ruffled his hair. "You really are adorable, Jaxy."

Jax glanced back. He could just make out a slim figure through the smoke, poking and prodding at the roasted animal. She was dressed in a clean white apron, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. As if she sensed him watching, the girl looked up; her eyes were an arresting shade of green, so bright that they cut like acid, and Jax quickly looked away.

"Who's that?" he asked.

Percy plucked an apple off a cart. "Who?"

"Her," Jax said.

His cheeks burned. Percy glanced back and snorted. "Romes? Don't even think about it, Jaxy." He patted his shoulder. "She'd eat you alive."

"How do you know?"

Percy bit into the apple. "I've met her once or twice. She helps out at her father's shop." He looked back, slower this time. Appreciative. "Pretty little thing, but she's got claws on her. Still. That's one beast I wouldn't mind conquering."

Jax followed his cousin's gaze. The girl — Romes — was concentrating on stoking the fire, the iron poker flashing in her hands. Her arms were laced with bruises. Or maybe that was just the smoke, Jax thought; sometimes it cast odd shadows like that.

He turned back to Percy. "Why do you do that?"

"What?" Percy asked.

His cousin polished off the apple. Jax's throat felt dry.

"Every time I show interest in a girl, you..."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "What?"

His blue eyes were hard gems. Was he thinking about Maggie, too? Was he recalling that picnic? Probably not, Jax thought warily; Percy rarely dwelled on the past. His cousin was too busy leaping into the future, slashing it apart with a sword.

"Never mind," Jax said.

"Chin-up, Jaxy." Percy punched his shoulder. "Some girl will fancy you eventually."

Percy doubled his pace. The sun was slipping over the city, bleeding over the thatched straw like a cracked yolk. They took a left at a pond, following the familiar dirt track down to a stone cottage with pumpkins scattered across the lawn. A single chimney smoked like a tea kettle. Jax pushed open the door.

"Mum?" Jax shucked off his shoes. "We're home."

Light footsteps pattered down the corridor. Hettie Blackwater appeared, dressed in a yellow sundress. His mother was holding a single needle, which could have meant that she was either knitting, putting her hair up, or fishing for lost rings behind her bedroom dresser. She sucked in a breath.

"Oh, Percy," Hettie said. "You're hurt."

She reached out, gingerly touching the red line on her nephew's cheek. Percy smiled.

"Just a scratch," he said.

Hettie withdrew her hand. "What happened?"

Percy slung an arm around Jax, grinding his knuckles into his head. "Jaxy got himself into a spot of trouble. Nothing we couldn't solve."

Percy released him. Jax stumbled back, trying to avoid slamming his pegapiglet into a fourteenth-century oil painting. Bibi gave a squawk of protest, her good wing fluttering indignantly. His mother's eyes widened.

"Monsters?" she asked.

Jax rubbed his head. "It was just the one."

"Well," Hettie said, "thank goodness you were there, Percy. If you hadn't been..." Her grip tightened on the knitting needle. "But it's not worth thinking about. Come on, darling." She patted Percy's arm. "You must be starving."

Hettie led them toward the dining room. Not, Jax thought, that there was much chance of getting lost; their cottage was a modest three-bedroom affair. Not because Antonius Blackwater couldn't afford a nicer place — as the king's former strategist, he could afford to buy most of Exerbury — but because he liked people to see him as a humble man.

"Percy?" A deep voice drifted from the dining room. "Is that you?"

"Yes, sir," Percy said.

Antonius was sitting at the head of the table, his reading glasses perched on his nose. A book lay open in front of him. Jax snuck a glance at the cover; a man was tied to four horses, writhing in pain as the creatures pulled him apart. The book was entitled, "The Art of Torture: What You Didn't Know Before."

"Sit down." Hettie flapped her hands. "It'll get cold."

Percy sat, piling his plate with chicken and thick gravy and potatoes. Jax scooped the last potato on to his plate. He was about to ask for the salt when Bibi launched herself off his shoulder, furiously flapping her wings before landing unceremoniously in the gravy dish.

Glass shattered. The room exploded.

"The gravy!" Hettie howled. "Someone get the gravy!"

"Was that the wedding china?" Percy asked.

His father rose. "That stupid little—"

"I've got it!" Jax shot out of his chair. "Sorry, just one second."

He rolled up his sleeve, fishing around in the boat until he retrieved the pegapiglet. Bibi was licking her lips, looking supremely satisfied with herself. Jax sighed. He plucked up a napkin, being careful not to drip gravy all over the table.

A vein throbbed in his father's head. "Jaxon. Get that infernal pig under control."

"Sorry," Jax muttered.

He placed Bibi on his shoulder. The pegapiglet nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, and Jax felt himself soften. His father waved a knife.

"That thing's a menace," Antonius said. "What's the point of a pegapiglet if it won't grow?"

"She," Jax said automatically.

Silence fell. The napkin felt clammy in Jax's hand. When Antonius spoke, his voice was so quiet that it was frightening. "Pardon?"

Jax's throat felt dry. "I just meant... well, Bibi's female."

"That thing," Antonius said slowly, "should be put down."

His father lowered his fork. The utensil was polished and gleaming, which was unsurprising; Antonius Blackwater upheld a certain standard. If a clock didn't tick, he smashed it. If a plant wouldn't grow, he ripped it up by the roots. Antonius had little patience for broken things; even less patience for broken things that couldn't be fixed.

Antonius stabbed the fork in the air. "I don't want it in my house anymore."

Jax exhaled. "But—"

"Just get it out of my sight," Antonius said.

Jax retreated. His mouth was dry as he climbed the stairs; the pegapiglet was shivering in his hands, still damp from her swim in the gravy. Jax pushed into his room, laying her gently in the nest he'd cobbled together from his mother's old dresses.

He stroked her back. Bibi yawned and closed her eyes.

A lump rose in Jax's throat. Bibi was a menace. She knocked over Jax's potted plants, and peed on his bed, and ate anything she could cram into his mouth; that list included dust bunnies, buttons, and — once — his mother's best emerald earrings.

But he loved her, Jax thought; he loved her enough to forgive her for anything, and he couldn't say that about many things in this world.

"I'll be back later," Jax said. "Alright?"

Bibi blinked, rolled on to her back, and began to snore. Jax sighed. Bloody typical. Still, Jax was careful to shut the door quietly, slipping back down the stairs. Percy's voice drifted up as he reached the landing.

"We'll start by sailing north across the Glass Sea. It's the fastest way to reach the Lair of the Lost."

A fork scraped a plate. His mother spoke. "And that's where the oracle lives?"

"Yeah."

"She'll tell you where to go?"

Percy stabbed a carrot. "Apparently so."

"The oracle," Antonius said, "has been advising heroes for thousands of years. She'll tell him what to do. It's usually three trials." He took a bite of potato. "Once Percy completes his quest, we'll have a better idea of how to exterminate the creatures."

"Why can't the oracle just give him the answer?" Jax asked.

Jax took his seat, cutting his potato into smaller portions. Most of the dinner plates had been cleared away, replaced with warm apple crumble and sticky toffee pudding with salted caramel sauce. Percy's favourite desserts. His mother must have gone to special effort, Jax realized, since it was his cousin's last night at home.

He took a bite of potato. Three faces stared at him.

Jax lowered his fork. "What?"

"I have to do the trials," Percy said.

"Says who?"

His cousin straightened his shoulders. "Heroes have to earn their answers. Anyway, the prophecy says—"

"I know what it says," Jax said, an edge to his voice. "Can't you ignore it?"

Percy exchanged a glance with his father. "You don't understand, Jaxy. It's not that simple."

"Why not?" Jax asked.

"It's just not," Percy said.

Hettie patted her nephew's hand. "We're so proud of you, Percy. When your parents died in that carriage accident..." Her throat bobbed. "I was so worried that it would shatter your world. But it's been such a privilege to watch you grow into the man that you are today. You're like a son to me. To both of us." She glanced at Antonius, who took his wife's hand. "I hope you know that."

Percy squeezed her hand. "You're my mother, Hettie. In every way that matters."

Her lip wobbled. "Oh, Perce."

"You know what?" Jax set down his fork. "I'm not actually that hungry. Being attacked by a monster has really taken the shine off these potatoes." He shoved back his chair. "If you'll excuse me."

His heart pounded in his chest. Jax could feel the potato sticking in his throat, an irritating, immovable lump. Nobody noticed as he turned for the door, pushing his way blindly up the stairs. Bibi looked up as he entered, her good wing fluttering softly. She looked glum, Jax thought; the pegapiglet hadn't even chewed up any of his shoes, which was a telltale sign that she was on death's door.

"I'm sorry," Jax murmured. "Dad didn't mean it." He stroked her spine. "Well, he did, but I wouldn't take it personally. He doesn't like most people."

Bibi made a snuffling noise. Jax unwrapped a napkin, revealing a lump of crumble. He held it out. "Do you want some apple?"

Bibi turned her head away. Jax nudged her gently.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "It has cinnamon."

The pegapiglet's ears pricked up.

"And it was cooked in butter," Jax added. "Yummy, fatty butter."

Bibi climbed to her feet, sniffing at the napkin experimentally. Apparently satisfied, she stuffed her snout into the crumble. Jax patted her head.

"Good girl," he said.

Jax crossed to his desk. Pages lay scattered across the surface, along with a quill, pot of ink, and a half-drunk cup of tea. His latest manuscript — "Handsome King Jaxon Wins a Jousting Tournament" — had a cloven hoof print on it. He held the page up to the candlelight.

"What do you reckon, Bibi?" Jax asked. "Would anyone want to read this?"

The pegapiglet looked at him, looked at the manuscript, then went back to munching on baked apples. Jax sighed.

"No, you're right." He balled up the page. "This is crap."

Jax pitched it toward the bin. The paper struck the rim of the basket, rebounded, and rolled under his bed. He sat at the desk, picking up the quill. "Maybe I should start a new series. What do you think?"

Bibi made a little mewing noise. An affirmation, Jax decided. He pulled a fresh sheet of parchment across the desk, his quill hesitating over the blank page. Then he wrote, "Handsome Warrior Jaxon Saves Princess Romes From Danger."

Jax paused. How to open it? A high stakes battle on a drawbridge? A mysterious love letter slipped in a saddlebag? A body found in the castle wine cellar? No, he decided: an unassuming flower shop. Today's skirmish would make for excellent writing inspiration.

Slightly cheered by that thought, Jax began to write.