Chapter 21
21
M Y EYES OPEN TO A dark sky. The stars have waned, and low, sinuous clouds drag their bellies across the forested canopy.
“Zephyrus?”
Pushing upright, I peer around the glen. An imprint in the grass beside me suggests someone has lain there. The West Wind, however, is nowhere in sight.
A chill courses through me, though the air itself is pleasantly warm. In the distance, the fires have died. Night sounds, hushed and drowsy, blanket the village. As suddenly as it manifested, the gathering has reached an end.
My attention shifts to where the shadows are thickest. Nothing stirs. The air holds itself in suspension. I am alone. And yet, I am certain someone or something watches me.
Climbing to my feet, I brush off my grass-stained dress, limbs loose and mouth bruised. My glove-clad fingertips press softly into my lower lip, tender to the touch. I remember the drag of the West Wind’s tongue, the abrasiveness of his unshaven cheeks. His taste lingers, a honeysuckle sweetness.
I touched a man. Kissed him. Ran my fingers across his muscled torso. It was a reckless act, driven by emotion rather than logic, too rash for the life of a novitiate. And if it ever comes to light, I will lose—everything.
Brielle .
I whirl around. No sign of whoever called my name. “Hello?”
Where are you, Brielle?
The call seethes through the forest undergrowth, rough with pain. My stomach takes a sharp dive. It sounds like Zephyrus, though he knows better than to speak my name aloud.
Grabbing the hem of my skirt, I race across the clearing, plunging into the wood, the trees closing at my back.
A few paces ahead, the grassy path appears, brown with age. By the time I reach the trail’s end, my breath draws short and I stand before the entrance to a cave. My name drifts from its cold, black depths.
Nervous energy jitters beneath my skin. It tells me no . It reminds me of all I have to lose. But if Zephyrus is in need, who will help him, if not me?
I duck into the low-ceilinged tunnel. Keeping my hand to the cool, damp stone, I follow the warren as it descends beneath the earth. Thankfully, Zephyrus’ roselight keeps the gloom at bay.
When the tunnel empties into a large, moonlit chamber, my footsteps falter. I have been here before. A field of pink flowers embraced by silver-painted walls.
I quickly scan the vacant chamber. “Zephyrus?”
“He is not here, young novitiate.”
My attention snaps upward, and I lurch back with a frightened cry.
The Orchid King clings to the ceiling with his grub-like roots, those horrible, open-mouthed buds oozing a clear liquid. He hangs suspended in the vines, the gleaming white skin of his upper torso rippling with strength as he twists around, evaluating me as though I am a particularly compelling enigma. A messy silver braid snakes over the curve of one muscled shoulder.
“Do not be frightened,” he soothes. “You are safe here.”
“You will not punish me?” One of the carnivorous blossoms erupting from his shoulder snaps its mouth shut. “I’m forbidden to enter Under except on the tithe.”
The Orchid King finds amusement in my concern. His eyes cut like shards of ice. “I do not care to punish you, my dear. My relationship with Mother Mabel takes precedent. I do not wish to taint it by penalizing one of her charges.”
I do not trust his word, though his reasoning makes sense. “Where is Zephyrus,” I say once my pulse slows, “and why was I called here?”
The Orchid King cants his head in puzzlement. “You tell me. You arrived—uninvited—into my home. There must be a reason for it.”
“A voice called my name,” I say with far more calmness than I feel. “I followed it.”
“Whose voice?”
“Zephyrus’.”
A vine drops to the ground with a slap, followed by a second, third, and fourth. Grunting, the Orchid King lowers himself from the ceiling, the span of his roots extending from wall to wall. I shuffle backward to put distance between us.
“How curious,” Pierus replies, and the tip of a curved, blackened nail dimples his chin. “Have you considered whether the voice was your inner self nudging you in this direction?”
“Why would my mind lead me here?” I swore after witnessing Zephyrus’ torturous ritual never to return, but the entrance I came through held no familiarity. This time, there was no waterfall to pass behind.
The Orchid King shifts his bulk through the field of flowering grass, then clambers atop the mound of dirt heaped against the back wall. “Who is to know? The world is full of mysteries.”
He settles in, white roots diving into the soil like hungry worms. Blue eyes placid, he sinks down with a sigh.
“If Zephyrus is not here,” I say, “then where is he?”
“I cannot answer that question, my dear. Has he finally abandoned you?”
A long moment passes before I’m able to speak.
“Zephyrus gave his word to help me find Meirlach. He would not break that promise.”
“Meirlach.” He drags a claw idly down one cheek, expression ponderous. “This is why you have returned to Under?”
At once, I realize my error.
The Orchid King sits as an asp in its nest, flush from its recent meal. “You do not seek this weapon for yourself. Who sent you? Mother Mabel?”
I am remembering Pierus’ visit to Thornbrook, how my peers flinched in the presence of this peculiar creature, neither plant nor man, something caught between two worlds. But mostly, I am remembering the clench of Mother Mabel’s hands at her front, her obvious disdain for him.
“Do not fret, my dear. You do not have to answer. I understand your need to protect those you love. But I’m concerned for your safety. You see, I do not think the Stallion will welcome you, not after its last visitor. Oh, it was long ago, but a kelpie’s memory is longer still.”
Does he imply I will be unable to enter the Grotto? If this is an attempt to throw me off-balance, I daresay it is working.
“But,” he tacks on, “perhaps this time will be different. You are, after all, a novitiate. A servant, lowly in the church. Perhaps the Stallion will spare your life, if you ask nicely.”
“I am not in the habit of asking nicely for that which is rightfully mine,” I say with impressive finality. “I know only that the Stallion guards Meirlach, and I am to obtain the blade.”
The Orchid King sighs, the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers. “I would not expect Zephyrus to divulge such an important detail. After all, he wants to ensure you reach the Grotto. Without you, he’s completely out of luck.”
It makes no sense. If visiting the Stallion puts my life in danger, wouldn’t Zephyrus be in danger, too? Although, Mother Mabel’s order to kill the beast makes a lot more sense now. Better it dead than me.
I voice these thoughts to Pierus.
“He is a god, my dear. Immortal. He cannot die.”
“Even so, that doesn’t explain why he wouldn’t warn me of the steps I’d need to take to reach the Grotto safely. Withholding information puts me, and his own opportunity, at risk. I’m going to find Meirlach. He knows this.”
“And how do you expect to acquire Meirlach?” He searches my gaze. When I do not immediately respond, he nods, as if my lack of comprehension was to be expected. “I imagine the Stallion would allow you to take something if you provided a decent replacement, though I doubt you will view it as a fair trade.” He peers at me with those piercing blue eyes. “But Meirlach? A sword forged by the gods, for the gods? It will not part with a treasure so rare. You are wasting your time.”
“Enough,” I growl, stepping forward. “You’re trying to confuse me. It won’t work.”
Tilting back his head, Pierus briefly studies the ceiling, the distinctly human gesture of a man seeking patience. “I understand we have not known each other for very long. I’m aware you do not trust me, and believe that I lead you astray. But have you weighed the risks in allowing Zephyrus to accompany you on this journey?”
“I am aware of the risks.” Deep in my core, the trembling manifests, first as hairline cracks, then greater waves. “He has his reasons for traveling with us.”
“And those are?”
“He didn’t say. Just that he seeks something that will change his life.”
At this, Pierus smiles. “Have you considered that Zephyrus wishes to claim the sword for himself?”
The idea forces itself inside my mind, past my defenses, and slots into place, a suspicion I’d previously denied. Why would Zephyrus wish to claim Meirlach? I’ve asked myself this question before.
A cant of Pierus’ head as he takes me in: curling red hair, my borrowed, ill-fitting dress. “Tell me what you know about the sword’s properties.”
I cross the room, needing space from the Orchid King. The small, gnashing teeth of those opening buds escalate my disquiet. “It is said to pierce any armor. It can cut through walls, shields. It claims mastery over the winds.” Since Zephyrus already has power, it seems pointless he’d want to acquire more of it. “It also demands the truth when held to the throat of another.”
As I speak, I pace. I cannot run, not when there remain questions unanswered. No, I must see this through to the end.
“You know nothing else?” Pierus inquires. I shake my head. “Then let me inform you that should Zephyrus claim Meirlach, he will be able to sever our contract by killing me. Only a weapon forged by the gods can kill a god.”
“I see.”
“Do you? My dear, let me explain. As soon as Zephyrus gets his hands on Meirlach, he will no longer have any use for you.”
A chill creeps along my skin. “He wouldn’t betray me. We had an agreement.”
The Orchid King shakes his head in mild sympathy. “You do not know the West Wind as I do. For a chance to free himself from his captivity, he would stop at nothing.”
Zephyrus knows how much becoming the next acolyte means to me. Whatever my reservations, I’ve moved past them. I have given him pieces of myself. Was that a mistake?
“I told him he could accompany us to the Grotto, but I could leave him behind, right? He wouldn’t be able to follow us.” Since he is neither mortal nor a woman, he would be barred from entering the Stallion’s lair. I could ensure Harper and I reach Meirlach first.
“That depends. Does he have access to your blood? Entering the Grotto requires an offering of mortal blood to the River Mur.”
“Of course not.”
Pierus inclines his chin, as if he anticipated the pushback. “Are you certain?”
My pacing slows. Something nags at me, sliding deeper, so deep I am forced to peer inward, down and down and down. My sickness. Zephyrus mentioned requiring my blood to barter for the remedy needed to heal me after I was attacked by the darkwalkers. I thought nothing of it.
“I don’t understand. Why blood?”
The tips of his talons connect, forming a bridge in front of his mouth. “The blood of a mortal,” he says, “contains powerful properties. You humans and your beliefs. They are strong enough to take a life. Strong enough to save one, too. If the Stallion is feeling generous, your blood would appease him, for however short a time.”
I brace a hand against the wall. I feel old in this moment, the years of a bygone era pressed upon my shoulders. I’m not sure whether to cry or scream, deny or repent. How could I have known this was Zephyrus’ plan? If I cannot trust the Orchid King, if I cannot trust Zephyrus, or Harper, then who can I trust?
Pierus must know how I’ve grown to rely on Zephyrus. He has his reasons for planting this uncertainty. What does he seek? Control. He will do whatever is necessary to keep those spidery fingers wrapped around the West Wind’s neck.
“No.” I push away from the wall. “You’re trying to manipulate me.” Raised chin and crossed arms. Why, I can almost imagine myself as Harper in this moment.
The Orchid King wrenches his roots free of the soil and slithers forward, pushing upward to give himself additional height. “I am not trying to deceive you, young novitiate. Zephyrus is a god, and gods do not change.”
Quiet: a place where doubt takes root.
More frightening than standing here alone with Pierus is the knowledge that the West Wind, the person I have come to know these past weeks, has revealed only a shade of his true self. What has been true? What falsities have erected the image of Zephyrus in my head? With no evidence to hold its shape, my image of him begins to crumble.
The Orchid King crawls toward a shelf carved out of the damp, glistening rock. He removes a small book, saying, “From what I understand, you suffered a great loss as a girl. It is a terrible thing, wandering the earth motherless.”
I did not think it possible to shrink further. “How do you know that?”
“I have known Mother Mabel for years. At times, she has confided in me. She has told me of her loyal, red-headed bladesmith, and speaks of you fondly. Your abbess is concerned for your well-being.”
I’m not sure how I feel about Mother Mabel informing the Orchid King of my painful past. He offers me the book, which appears to be a diary. “I’ve marked the page. Read it. Let history guide your decision.”
Curling my fingers around the soft leather, I slip it into my dress pocket.
“There is good in Zephyrus,” I say, more to myself than Pierus. “I have seen it.” With that, I take my leave, striding toward the exit.
“You have seen what he wants you to see,” the Orchid King calls to my retreating back. “You and I both know your trust in the Bringer of Spring is tenuous at best. What has he given you except his lies?”
Something splinters in my chest, a great fissure within me. The world is vast, and there is much I do not know. The tithe nears. Harper and I must return to Thornbrook, Meirlach in hand. I cannot presume Zephyrus has been telling the truth. If I am wrong, everything I’ve fought for will be lost.
I turn to face Pierus, his long, angular face awash in wan moonlight. “What is the quickest way to the Grotto?”
He seems pleased by my question. Those scarlet blossoms gush from his alabaster skin like fresh wounds. “You will need to take a boat upstream. When the River Mur diverges, go right. Eventually, you’ll pass through a gate and reach an island of sand, where you must disembark. It marks the boundary to the Grotto.” He takes me in a moment longer. “Another word of advice? Offer the river your blood. The Stallion will at least hear you out before deciding to kill you.”