Chapter 29
29
“T ELL ME EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ,” I say, stirring the fire to life. “Leave nothing out.”
The West Wind, dressed in clean, dry clothes, watches the flames gorge on the dry wood. While he rested, I had gone to collect firewood and scout the area. I’d observed no signs of intrusion, but I didn’t linger, returning to our shelter in fear of something catching my scent. A block of cheese from my bag settled my gnawing stomach.
Tossing a branch onto the fire, he says, “Without my blood, the tithe will remain incomplete. I’m sure Pierus has already learned that I’m gone, and why, though he will stall for as long as he can. He hates to appear foolish.”
It’s been hours already. Mother Mabel must know something is amiss.
“Wouldn’t he call for you?” As far as I know, Zephyrus cannot deny the compulsion, not for long.
“He would, but he hasn’t. My return is not enough. He would want to punish those responsible for helping me escape the cleansing ritual as well.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he slumps lower against the outcropping. “That can only mean he’s sent for the hounds.”
“The hounds?”
“Unfortunately, you are now marked by the Orchid King.”
A chill licks at my flesh beneath the heavy wool of Harper’s cloak, which Zephyrus has returned to me. “What does that mean?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose in a rare sign of distress. “Pierus will do everything in his power to hunt you. Your only chance at survival is to leave Under and never return.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
“You’re not listening. You cannot outrun the hounds. No one can. They are bred for one thing only: to catch their prey. The tallest peaks, the widest rivers, the deepest chasms. No matter where you run, they will find you.” His hands fist, long fingers enclosed within the strong, callused palms. “I would not see you torn apart by darkness.”
It begins subtly: a prickle in my throat, dampness beneath my arms. Nerves fray, and I struggle to catch my breath. “They wouldn’t kill me. Mother Mabel would never allow it…”
“Brielle.”
My name drifts like a fog, and the fire spins into threads of color and light, the ground sliding out from beneath me.
“Look at me.”
I turn, and there is the West Wind, the heat of his breath thawing the chill tightening my cheeks. Grasping my braid in one hand, he pulls the tresses free, allowing his fingers to slide through, cupping the back of my skull.
My chest sears with sharpening pain. “My heart—”
“Is beating steadily,” he says, pressing his palm to the rise of my breast. “You are safe.”
Knotting my fingers with his, I crush his hand harder against my sternum, as if it might punch through skin and bone, take the place of this failing organ. Beneath his gaze, my pulse slows, descending from its treacherous high. Then the blackness retreats, giving way to fire and light.
Watchful and troubled, he tucks a russet curl behind my ear. “My darling novitiate, will you sit with me?”
The endearment stirs a flutter behind my ribs. “I’m already sitting with you.”
“I’m afraid I must disagree,” he says, that old charisma returning. “You sit next to me, but I wish you to sit with me.”
Now I understand. The difference lies in the choice.
I nod, and he tucks me against his side. Quietly, he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”
I am no stranger to my body’s reactions, however ill-informed they are. Do I want to talk about it? Not especially.
“I can’t remember a time when I did not feel overwhelmed.” I rub the back of my hand across my eyes. Unsurprisingly, it comes away wet. “It’s hard to describe.”
“You write a lot in your journal.” A pointed gaze, nonjudgmental, merely curious—the simple desire to know.
“Yes.” I remember the humiliation of Harper reading my private musings. Likely Zephyrus does, too. “Putting my thoughts to paper helps when I feel myself spiraling.”
“Does this happen a lot?”
How often is a lot? Weekly? If so, then yes, but I am used to it. At this point in my life, it is woven into the fabric of myself. I am not Brielle of Thornbrook without it. “I started experiencing these episodes when my mother’s mental health began to degrade. Gradually, it bled into other parts of my life.” Confrontations, looming decisions, things vast and complex and beyond my grasp.
His expression turns inward for a time. “That makes a lot of sense. I struggle with a lack of control in my life as well.”
This isn’t about me. I will survive, as I have always done. If the Orchid King has sent his hounds, I will face them. But I worry for those I love.
“What about Mother Mabel, the Daughters of Thornbrook? Are they in danger?”
“I doubt it. Pierus wouldn’t risk tainting his relationship with your abbess. The power in my blood is paramount to Under’s survival, but the blood of virgin mortals is equally necessary. Your faith strengthens this realm. It is something the fair folk lack.”
The reassurance settles me. Their safety means more to me than my own. “Then we have the advantage. We have time to plan our escape.”
I expect enthusiastic agreement. In the end, I receive lukewarm resolve. “Maybe we should reconsider.”
“What?” By the Father, he’s serious. “Why would you say that?” And after everything?
He gazes out longingly, trees blanketing the ground from sight. “Although your friends will be safe in Mother Mabel’s company, I cannot say the same for you. Pierus could kill you and blame it on an unfortunate accident. I would not put it past him. If we return to Miles Cross, he will probably let you go, provided that you leave in the abbess’ company.”
“What about you?”
“Unlike you, I cannot walk free so easily.” It is grim, his smile. “I will face the consequences of my actions.”
“You would still be bound to Pierus,” I argue. “That is no life.”
“I am aware of what awaits me.” The words seethe, too cold for comfort, and I stiffen against him. “If I do not return and complete the ritual, I will waste away to nothing. What is a mind without a body to do its bidding? I would rather not subject myself to that torment.”
“You are a god, ” I state. “Are you telling me there’s not a single person who could help you cure the paralysis?”
Zephyrus lifts a hand. Together, we watch short bursts of air weave around his fingertips, silver thread in the darkness. “Two people come to mind, but I have seen neither in centuries.”
Two prospects. It’s a start. “How are we to find them?”
With a sigh, he drops his hand. “The first is my brother Notus. Unfortunately, I’ll likely succumb to the venom before we reach his realm.”
A handful of days if we are lucky . And we’ve already wasted the night. “How far is it?”
“Difficult to say. We would need to venture beneath one of the mountains to the south. One of the four original entrances into Under lies there. It will lead us to Notus.”
“These entrances. Does each lead to one of your brothers’ realms?”
“They once did, yes. But as far as I know, my brothers remain unaware of their existence.”
I nod in understanding. “What of the second contact?”
“His name is Yakim. He’s a poison dealer in the wilds of Under. It’s possible he’ll have an antidote, something that could slow the venom until we reached my brother’s realm.”
The tips of his fingers drift up my side, a slow, indulgent touch that draws warmth to my cheeks. “How do we find him?” I ask, a bit breathlessly.
“Oh, I know where to find him. The problem is whether he would agree to meet with me.”
I wait until Zephyrus’ gaze returns to mine. His attention is heady in a way I’ve never experienced before. I don’t shy from it. I welcome its touch. “Let me guess,” I say, with a sigh of exasperation. “You wronged this person in some way.”
“He and I had a falling out long ago. I’m not sure if he would remember.” Then he tilts his head, considering his words. “Actually, there’s a good chance he will.”
I will not question the why and how. Obstacles have never stopped the West Wind before. If nothing else, I have confidence in his ability to manipulate a situation, place his pawns where they are most beneficial.
“If Yakim is our only means of reaching your brother’s realm in time,” I say, “I think we should find him. What have we got to lose?”
“For you? Everything.”
And here marks the struggle, the desire to remain tight-lipped, invulnerable, and the compulsion to bare all. “Zephyrus,” I say, with all the compassion I possess. “I have lost more in my life than I care to admit. I will not lose you, too.”
He turns to me then, sweeping his palm over my cheek. He does not speak, but what need have I for words when all is clear in his eyes? It means something that I care for him. It means more than he lets on, I believe. Whether or not Zephyrus reveals what lies in his heart, I know this to be true: I am seen in all ways, and perhaps, if I dare to consider it, loved.
Catching his hand in mine, I lower it onto my lap. “Where can we find Yakim?”
He hesitates. “It’s not safe, Brielle, not for a mortal. It’s best if I go alone.”
The moment I reforged that broken sword, I made my decision. “I’m going with you,” I say. “And whatever awaits, we’ll face it together.” Just as the Father shadows me in life, so too will I walk this path with the West Wind.
The dilapidated two-story house squats over a massive spreading bog, its foundation submerged in murky water. A wide wraparound porch skirts the front of the structure. The front door hangs off its hinges like a broken limb.
“Yakim lives here?” My voice emerges in a half-gasp, for the reek of this place forces me to breathe through my mouth.
Standing beside me on the drooping boardwalk, which connects the house to a handful of muddy islands, Zephyrus responds, “The Estate acts as a crossroads. For some, it is a gambling den. For others, it is a tavern, a place to order a hot meal and unwind. For the select few, there are lodgings within that cater to only the most exclusive circles. Yakim is one of their preeminent clients.”
It had taken half the night to reach the bog, endless miles crossing difficult terrain, the trees clumped like shadowed specters, hunched with age and rot. Zephyrus sent a message to Notus via a stream of air—apparently an effective method of communication between the Anemoi. Despite all odds, we’ve made it, sunrise still hours away.
Someone pushes aside a curtain from one of the second-story windows, revealing the silhouetted curves of a woman’s body.
“Right on time,” Zephyrus murmurs.
“Who is that?” I ask, more suspiciously than I intend to.
He lifts a hand in acknowledgment, smiling as the woman pushes open the window and calls out, “You were never fond of knocking, old friend!”
“How did you know it was me?” he hollers back.
“Roses. Nothing smells that good around here.”
He laughs.
I wrap my arms across my stomach, glaring at Zephyrus from the corner of my eye as my mood darkens. Who is this woman, that she is able to pull a shred of unspoiled joy from the West Wind?
“I hope my arrival isn’t an inconvenience,” he says.
The woman grins, a white crescent against her shadowed face. “None at all. Come on up. And bring your friend.” The window slams shut.
Zephyrus is still chuckling when I demand, “Are you going to answer?” After saving his skin, the least he could do is acknowledge me.
His eyebrows wing upward in surprise at my waspish tone. “You have to ask a question in order to receive an answer.”
It’s not intended as a blow, but I endure it as such. “I did,” I choke out, “or were you sleeping when I said, Who is that ?”
His eyes clear. For a time, he regards me. “You’re jealous.”
“I am not.”
“You are.” He sidles closer, eyes dancing.
I hold my ground. “If you want to stare at a naked woman, that is your prerogative, but after the trouble I went through tonight, I would have expected you to be more concerned with your deteriorating health.” I’ve risked everything to be here. I’d hoped he’d realized that.
Pushing past him, I tromp down the boardwalk, avoiding the sagging planks. Zephyrus captures my hand, tugging me around to face him.
He draws me close, pressing my palm flat over his heart. It taps an eager pace. “I am concerned,” he says lowly. The pad of his thumb brushes the back of my hand in soothing strokes. “Her name is Ailith. You will have to trust me when I say there has only ever been friendship between us. Anyway, her wife would castrate me if I ever behaved inappropriately.”
My face burns brightest red. “I assumed you two…”
“Never. She loves women. Always has. Can’t really blame her, can you?” He winks, and against my better judgment, I’m charmed. “To be honest, I’m partial to redheads.”
“Stop.” My voice drops, and I lick my lips. “You’re trying to distract me.”
His thumb slides beneath my palm, pressing into the callused flesh inside my glove. “Is it working?”
“No.”
He grins. “Liar.”
The lies surface more readily, it is true. I’m not sure how I feel about it.
“Shall we?” The West Wind offers me his arm, which I accept, allowing him to steer me along the boardwalk.
The woman, Ailith, awaits us on the front porch. She isn’t naked as I first presumed, but she might as well be, with her dewy olive skin exposed but for scraps of sapphire cloth covering her chest and backside. The curve of her stomach reveals a brutal scar. Small white horns protrude from the top of her skull, cutting through her inky tresses.
She frowns as we climb the steps onto the porch. “That’s certainly your unruly hair and flouncing gait,” she says, examining Zephyrus in confusion, “but what happened to your face?”
“It’s not permanent.” He rubs the tip of his crooked nose with a grimace. “At least, I hope not.”
“I see.” Her frown deepens. “Shouldn’t you be at the tithe?”
He smiles. I’m impressed by his ease. “Nothing to worry about, my dear.”
“I will have to take your word for it.” Though she addresses the West Wind, her dark, uptilted eyes rest on me. I’m so fixated on her presence I don’t think too deeply on the exchange she and Zephyrus shared. “You’ve brought company,” she mentions. “A mortal woman? This pleases me.”
“Calm yourself, Ailith.” The words thrum with suppressed amusement, yet warning, too. “We’re not here for your services.”
“You bring your pet to my place of business, dangle her before me like ripened fruit, and claim no interest in my services?” Her gaze slinks eagerly over my ample chest. “What a waste of beauty.”
“She is no pet.” His kindness has frozen into a far more dangerous expression.
Low conversation drifts through the open door. Someone pulls aside the curtain, peeks through the wide bay window, then vanishes.
“I see.” Ailith retreats a step with a muffled clack. “If she is not your pet, then what is she?” Two of her fingers skim up my arm, across my shoulder, where they alight like small birds. “Because as far as I’m concerned, she is too good for the likes of you.”
“You would not be wrong. She is a Daughter of Thornbrook,” he responds, and the woman’s smile reveals a pronounced gap between her two front teeth.
“One of the faith? Even better.”
Zephyrus snorts, though remains close to me, a hand on my lower back. “Do you have a minute for a pair of weary travelers?”
Ailith winks. “For you, my dear? I will give you seven.”
The front porch, cobbled together from buckling boards, creaks as we cross the threshold, the yellowing door stripped of paint. A bell chimes upon our entrance.
Despite the neglected facade, the Estate’s interior is well-maintained and tastefully decorated, with white satin curtains draping the tall windows, the space cloaked in the haze of candlelight. A lemony fragrance offers relief from the putrid reek outside. Unlike the front porch, the wooden floor gleams with fresh polish beneath the rugs, and the bar tucked against the far wall shines impressively.
The fair folk gather around low tables, busy smoking, gambling, drinking, and conversing. A blaze blackens the central fireplace, having attracted a group of sprites relaxing in upholstered armchairs, passing cards from hand to hand.
“Back in a moment,” Ailith says. “Make yourselves at home. Drinks on me at the bar, if you wish.”
As I press nearer to Zephyrus, the hand on my back slips lower, grazing the curve of my backside, and I momentarily cease to breathe. “Has Pierus called for you yet?” I murmur.
“No.” He scans the area, taking in the patrons observing us with open curiosity. They see the West Wind, and something changes in them. Their spines straighten. Their meals go cold. “And I think I know why.”
He crosses the room, and I follow, my attention drawn to the charcoal sketch he rips from the wall, a portrait which bears a startling likeness to his face.
A bounty for the West Wind.
What was it Zephyrus said about this place? It’s not safe. “Should we leave?”
“No.” A few patrons return to their gambling. “It is merely a scare tactic. The hounds are my greater concern.”
“How long before they reach us?”
“Hours.” He does not sound particularly enthused. “The quicker we meet with Yakim, the quicker we can leave.” Turning, he meets the eyes of those still staring, smiles charmingly, and saunters toward the hallway Ailith disappeared down.
I stick close to his heels. “I thought Ailith said to wait here.” We climb a set of curved stairs overlooking the great room, the air warming the higher we go.
“Ailith says a lot of things.”
Once we reach the second level, we turn right down a hallway plastered in yellow silk paper. “Did you spot Yakim?”
“Not yet.” Nudging my lower back, Zephyrus directs me to a door with a brass knocker. “He’s been coming to Ailith’s for the last four hundred years. I would be disappointed if he had changed his habits.” Lifting his hand, he knocks.
The door swings wide, and Ailith stands on the other side, hands on hips, the curve of her leg peeking through a slit in the tiny skirt covering her ample backside. I blink in shock. The woman’s slender ankles end in hooves.
“Why do you always fail to follow instructions?” Her smile hardens. “That was a rhetorical question, by the way.” Nonetheless, she waves us inside with a murmured, “The Blue Room.”
The space is aptly named. Silken sapphire walls. A floor patched with rugs in various shades of blue. A large window overlooks the smoking marsh, and a collection of turquoise armchairs shapes a half-moon around the fireplace.
“Please,” Ailith says, shutting the door behind us. “Take a seat.”
Zephyrus and I select two neighboring armchairs. After clearing away what appear to be financial documents spread across a low table, Ailith pours herself into the sofa across from us, her soft thighs filling the space like water in a glass. She stares at us until I begin to feel sweat prickle my hairline. In the wilds of Under, I am mortal, and I am weak.
“What can I do for you, Zephyrus?” the buxom woman purrs.
He leans back, swings an ankle up to rest on his thigh. “Does Yakim still conduct business here?”
“He does.” The click of her long, curved nail against the wooden sofa back prevents the silence from ever truly settling. “I thought you parted ways long ago.” Her gaze flicks to me, then back to Zephyrus.
“We did, but I have need of his services again.”
“Why?” The tapping pauses.
Zephyrus offers his most inviting smile. “Ailith. You know the importance of confidentiality.”
“You two did not part on good terms. Who is to say he will not seek vengeance in some way?”
“Two centuries is a long time to hold a grudge.” He shrugs. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Zephyrus.” Her small, pitying sound rushes forth. “The fair folk never forget.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Ailith crosses her legs, and my attention snags on her hooves.
“I’m a faun, dear.” She winks at me. “No need to fret.”
I glance away sheepishly before my gaze finds Zephyrus. “So, what did you do to Yakim?” I ask him.
My question draws Ailith’s and Zephyrus’ attention. There was a time when the West Wind would evade the subject, refusing to step fully into the light, but I’d like to think we have become better versions of ourselves since then.
“I may have”—he lifts a hand, lips pursed with casual disregard—“swindled him out of money once or twice.”
Ailith and I share a look of wordless exasperation.
Errant conversation drifts from the level below, slipping like steam through the cracks between the floorboards. Every so often, clinking glass breaks the monotony of the muddled hum. “You ask for my cooperation,” Ailith says, “but offer me no information. How am I to know what danger you invite into my home? People depend on me for protection.”
“You have my word,” Zephyrus promises with rare solemnity. “Whatever it might be worth. I will not bring danger to those you shelter. I simply seek a meeting with Yakim, and a safe place to do so.”
“Safe? My dear, you are a fugitive.” A cool voice floats from the open doorway, and I catch sight of an equally stunning buxom woman dressed in flowing white trousers and a frilly pink blouse. Red bumps distort the complexion of her heart-shaped face.
Zephyrus nods to the newcomer stiffly. “Soria.”
Padding to the back of the sofa, the woman wraps her long arms around Ailith’s neck, propping her chin atop the faun’s head. Ailith’s wife, I presume. “All of Under is aware of your escape from the Orchid King,” Soria says. “Pierus has already placed a bounty upon your head, and there are many who wouldn’t think twice about turning you in. Wherever you go, danger will follow.”
“Be that as it may,” Zephyrus counters, “Yakim would be foolish to attempt to capture me here. Anyone would.” Reclining into the plush blue cushions, he grins lazily, no better than a cat in the sun. “A lifelong ban from the Estate is a steep price to pay. Everyone knows your drinks are the best in Under.”
Ailith preens at the compliment. Her wife, on the other hand, remains unimpressed.
“You always do this,” Soria snaps. “You waltz in here acting like the sun shines from your ass, toss out a request, and expect our cooperation.” Her voice drops to a roughened pitch. “Let me remind you, Bringer of Spring, that this is Under. Your divine privilege extends no farther than your fingernails.”
Eyes narrowed, Zephyrus studies Soria, then Ailith. When he finds no support, he turns to me. I gaze at him calmly. “She’s not wrong,” I murmur. The West Wind possesses an unfailing streak of self-importance.
“Let’s try something different.” Soria paces toward the window and returns. “Why don’t you ask for our help as your friends, instead of using us as a means to an end. A difficult concept for you, I know. But the fact is, your options are few. Why mistreat those who can help you?”
Pride gleams in Ailith’s eyes as she takes in her wife. Zephyrus, however, bows his head.
“You’re right. I think of you both as my friends, and I should have treated you as such. For that, I apologize.” A wayward curl falls into his eyes; he brushes it away with a shaking hand. “Please, if you can help me, I would be grateful. If not, I will leave you in peace.”
Once more, Ailith taps her nails on the sofa back as she considers him. “I’ll make an exception, just this once. But if anyone comes to harm under my roof, you will suffer the consequences. I like you, Zephyrus, and I would hate to lose a friend, but those are my conditions.”
His eyes close in apparent relief. “Thank you both. I won’t forget this.”
“A likely story,” Soria mutters.
Ailith lays a hand on her wife’s arm. “As luck would have it, we are expecting Yakim shortly. Normally, we place him in the Red Room, but we will inform him it requires cleaning. He will wait in the great room until it is done. That should give you the opportunity to approach him.”
“Excellent.”
“And what of your companion?” Soria questions.
Ailith’s whetted gaze takes me in. Indeed, she did not overlook my presence. Merely tucked me aside until needed. “It is true he cannot resist mortal flesh. If you’re willing to take the risk, the payoff could be to your benefit. But your pet will need to participate.”
The West Wind’s eyes darken as he turns to the faun. “I already stated that she is no pet,” he warns.
Ailith shoots him a conspiratorial grin. “Why does Yakim need to know that?”