Chapter 7 #2
“Well? Do you have an update?” He turns, pinning me with eyes I cannot see.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “N-not yet. The poisons are s-steeping now.”
He tosses up an arm in frustration, and although he stands on the opposite side of the table, I recoil.
Slowly, Eurus lowers his arm. He stares at me. It is too quiet.
“I said I would never raise a hand against you,” he utters. “I meant it.”
It is not the words that matter. It is the raising of an arm, the curl of fingers into what could be a fist. “S-sorry.” The East Wind is no stranger to my employer’s treatment, but shame threatens regardless, that he sees how weak I truly am.
As though recognizing the aggression of his stance, Eurus relaxes somewhat.
He says, in a noticeably gentler tone, “There must be something else you can do in the meantime. Can you harvest your next ingredients? As I mentioned before, there can be no delay. We must reach the City of Gods before the month’s end, otherwise… ” He clenches his jaw and falls silent.
I swallow around the chattering of my teeth, wondering where this City of Gods is and why he is so desperate to travel there.
We, he said. I do not like the sound of that.
“I n-n-need to eat something first. Then I w-will w-work.” How many times have I gone to bed hungry, my stomach in knots over having failed to complete the day’s agenda in a timely manner? Too many to count.
“Very well. But after that, I expect to be updated on your progress.”
I nod stiffly, watching him from across the table. “I w-wasn’t aware you felt so s-s-strongly about fruit,” I mention, only partially in jest.
“I like everything in its place,” he explains with a stilted tone. “I decide. No one else.”
I watch him scrub the counters, the sink, even the cabinets. He likes his kitchen tidy as he likes his study tidy, and perhaps all rooms in the manor. “I understand.”
His head snaps toward me. There is an uncertainty to his posture as he refolds the cloth and places it by the woodfire stove.
“Back home, I have a chest full of m-my grandmother’s things,” I tell him.
“I wouldn’t w-w-want anyone to t-t-touch them either.
I suppose that’s wh-why I wandered into the kitchen,” I continue, hoping my willingness to share will similarly encourage him.
“I used to c-cook with my g-g-grandmother when I was younger. But I h-h-haven’t cooked in a long time. ”
“Because you lost interest?” he asks.
“I don’t h-have the t-t-t-time.” At his pause, I go on, my stutter strengthening the more I try to repress it. “I w-w-work w-well into the n-n-night sometimes—” My throat closes, and I look down at my feet. “S-s-s-sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?”
“My st-stutter.”
A warm breeze skims the back of my neck. A subtle pacifying. “It does not bother me. I think your voice is nice.” There is a pause, during which I am not sure how to respond. The last thing I expected from the East Wind was a compliment. “Are you ashamed of it?”
My face heats. “My l-l-lady says—”
“Why do you listen to anything coming from that witch’s mouth? She is horrible to you, and to others.”
“She has her r-r-reasons.”
“Which are?”
None are particularly convincing, now that I think about it. And the one truth I might reveal carries too much shame. “Everything sh-she does is to make me into a b-b-better apprentice. She s-s-said if I work hard, she will make m-me a full-fledged bane weaver.”
I sense his unexpressed scoff. “You actually think she would do that for you?”
I want to say yes, but truthfully, I am uncertain. “After Nan d-died,” I whisper, “I had no one else. My lady is the only f-f-family I have.”
“And you feel that is reason enough to overlook the anguish she causes others? She tortures innocents. She shot me down as I was flying over St. Laurent, did you know that?” He jerks his head.
The sharp line of his jaw appears, then is swallowed by shadow.
“Hired a huntsman to do her dirty work. Whatever coated the arrowheads, it nullified my powers. She tied me up, tossed me into the back of a cart like chattel. When I awoke, it was in the darkness of the tower, my ankles and wrists shackled.” The East Wind stares me down.
“She doesn’t care about you. And you are a fool to think she ever would. ”
I shake my head even as guilt renders me breathless. Her ladyship’s methods of capture are brutal, inhumane. Which is exactly why I do not wish to know about them. “I’m s-sorry you endured that.”
“I’m sure.”
Before he can slip away, I ask him, “You keep m-mentioning the City of Gods. Wh-where is it?” By the Mother, I cannot think of traveling even farther from home.
“That is not your concern at the moment. The sooner you finish the poisons, the sooner your obligation will be complete. Eat up. You’ve work to do.” He departs without a farewell.
A low, ragged breath escapes me. The East Wind is wrong, so very wrong. “He d-doesn’t understand,” I whisper to the manor. And he never will.
Where does that leave me? I am bound here against my will, yet I cannot stay. This is no life. This is a cage.
In minutes, I’m back in the tower, standing before the open window.
There is the sea, cutting her vicious teeth on the rocks below.
St. Laurent awaits. There must be a boat moored somewhere nearby.
The thought of rowing through the storm surrounding the island makes my stomach roil, but if this is my only means of returning home, I will have to risk it.
Swinging one leg over the sill, I grip the salt-bitten frame in both hands, trembling. My breath sputters out of me. When I attempt to slide my other leg through the window, my balance wavers.
Blackness blots out my vision, and my grasp on reality slips as the sea spews foam. I clutch the window frame with all my strength. Quicker my heart thrums, a skittering rhythm caught behind my ribs. This was a terrible idea. And now I find myself frozen, unable to climb back inside.
Minutes or hours or days later, the door opens. The East Wind crosses the threshold and promptly goes still.
What must he see when he looks at me? A thin, bird-boned woman, caught between freedom and captivity. Tears trickle down my reddened face. My trembling intensifies as he advances toward me, long legs eating the ground in less than two heartbeats. A whiff of salt and something darker surrounds him.
Gently, he touches my chin, angling my face toward his hood.
“Did you think to free yourself from me, bird?” He speaks quietly, yet always with that threatening edge.
The tips of his fingers graze the curve of my jaw.
I shiver beneath the fragile touch. “I already told you there is nowhere for you to go.”
That had been my intention, and yet— “I’m stuck,” I croak.
He reaches for me. Swift—too swift, his movements, the immortal speed. I flinch, accidentally leaning farther out the window. I claw at the frame and manage to right myself before toppling backward, gulping air. I will fall. My body will break across the waves. I will know only darkness.
The East Wind does not reach for me again. “I’m not going to hurt you.” His demeanor has gentled, if I’m not mistaken. “I’m going to pull you back inside. Take my hand.”
My muscles pulse erratically. I can’t pry my fingers free. “The w-water—”
“Don’t look at the water,” he orders. “Look at me.”
What am I to look at, exactly? There is no face, no expression, no sense of identity. His hood hides all, a void sucking any and all light.
But—better than the sea. Better than drowning. Since I can’t make out Eurus’ expression, I’m forced to read him in other ways. The tilt of his head. Points of tension in his body. How his legs are braced—ready to pull me in.
I reach for him. He retreats, then halts, as though battling his own instinct to shrink from my outstretched hand. In this moment, another of his shadowed layers peels away. Someone hurt him. How? In what capacity?
Before I realize he has moved, I’m pulled from the window and set on my feet. Immediately, he releases me.
My legs tremble so severely I’m forced to lower myself onto the ground. “I c-c-can’t go back to the g-garden,” I garble, the words choked by my useless tongue. “The water… I c-can’t do it. I’m s-s-sorry.”
Tentatively, I peer at him through my eyelashes. He lifts a hand to his face with a sigh. The motion pushes back his hood enough that a lock of black hair pokes out. “I will see about finding another way for you to access the garden.”
I should not feel gratitude toward this immortal. But it is so small a thing, to be known, to have my fears heard, arrangements made with my comfort prioritized. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“What of your progress?”
“Th-there is one ingredient I still r-require for Eastern Blood. It is called nightshade and it is g-grown in the realm of Under. Lady Clarisse has s-s-some, back at the estate,” I offer too quickly.
His head snaps toward me, and I promptly shut my mouth. “And if I allowed you to go there to gather the nightshade, you would not attempt to slip from my grasp?”
“N-no.” I force down a swallow. “It w-would be the fastest w-way to acquire what we need.”
“As I said before,” Eurus replies darkly, “you should forget your home. You will never return.”
As if I need a reminder. I can only hope my message arrives to Lady Clarisse safely. If she learns that I live, might she try to save me?
The East Wind dips his chin, pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “We will travel to Kilkare. It is a town located in the realm of Carterhaugh. There, you will find your nightshade plant.”
I knead my arms in uncertainty. I’ve never traveled so far west. It would be a reprieve to leave these high stone walls, but— “Will w-w-we be traveling by boat?”
“We’ll fly.”