Chapter 9 #2
His wings rustle in what I believe to be impatience. “So you need, what… more rest? Something to eat? Did you ask the manor to make you lunch?”
“I was sleeping.”
“Get her some soup!” he barks toward the ceiling.
A warm shimmer of air tightens around me, yet no soup appears.
“You could act a little m-more appreciative of the manor’s efforts,” I point out. “She’s doing you a favor.”
I can all but see his eyebrows lift toward his hairline. “She?”
“Yes, she,” I say with a glower. Perhaps illness has granted me courage in addition to this terrible chill. The manor feels like a maternal figure. Thus: she. “You should be grateful she is h-h-helping you at all.”
“I gave this place life,” he growls, beginning to pace. Once he reaches the door, he pivots, striding back to the window. “If anyone should be grateful, it’s this damned, useless building!”
Well, the manor certainly isn’t going to do him any favors now.
“Hello?” Eurus waves a hand. The hem of his cloak rises high enough to reveal the fabric of his trousers. “Did you hear me? I require soup for the mortal.”
“Perhaps if you ask nicely,” I offer, enjoying his frustrations more than I care to admit.
“The manor is under my power. It bows to me.”
I shrug. If he cannot see reason, I am certainly not going to waste my breath convincing him.
When the soup still does not appear, the East Wind rubs the back of his neck, then sighs. “Please, can you get the mortal soup?”
Nothing.
He utters a colorful string of curses before barging down the stairs. It is quiet but for the wet creak of my lungs. “Why didn’t you deliver the soup when he asked?” I say to the manor.
That warm caress wanders into the strands of my hair, tugging the black threads playfully. I smile and settle deeper into the pillows. “You’re right,” I say. “He needs to learn some respect.”
Sometime later, Eurus returns bearing a bowl of soup. He plops it onto my lap with a growled, “Eat.”
All the aches and pains of yesterday’s ordeal conspire with the still-tender wounds across my back as I slowly push into a seated position.
As soon as my throat closes around the broth, my stomach heaves, threatening to reject the substance.
I cough, spewing the vile liquid into the cloth napkin I hastily use to cover my mouth.
“Well?” he demands.
It is poison. Every last drop. The taste is horrendous, like… like earwax mixed with spoiled meat.
“It’s delicious,” I croak.
Eurus gives a satisfied grunt. He rolls his shoulders, as if working out the kinks following hours spent toiling over a hot stove.
Carefully, I set the bowl onto the bedside table. “I’ll finish it l-later.”
Eurus stands there in uncertainty for a moment. He steps toward the door, almost in retreat. “Rest,” he tells me. “The sooner you recover, the sooner you can return to work.”
After he departs, I sag into my pillow and scrub the taste of the broth from my tongue. That was absolutely, without a doubt, the most disgusting meal I’ve had in my life. What did he put in it? Feet?
Something large and feathered whisks through the window into the tower. I nearly tumble from bed in surprise. A large bird perches on the back of a wooden chair.
The note. Lady Clarisse!
I toss off the blankets and remove the message from the bird’s leg.
Min,
I’m pleased to know you have the god-touched weapon in your possession. Where are you keeping it? Where has he taken you?
—Clarisse
I can’t help but feel disappointed in my employer’s response. There is no mention of whether the estate has been sold. She hasn’t asked about my wellbeing either. But… she is pleased. I can still fix the mistake I made.
I scrawl a hasty reply.
The East Wind has taken me to an island somewhere northeast of St. Laurent.
On it, there is a great, isolated manor, protected by many enchantments.
The weapon is here with me, but it will take some time to get away without his knowledge.
Will you hold off on selling the estate? Could you send someone for me?
Once I’ve sent the bird off with my message, the linens on my bed flap furiously in a bid for my attention. I peer upward. “What?”
The sheets snap out. It is a frustrated motion… I think.
“I’m not doing anything wrong,” I say to the manor. “What would you do, if someone abducted you from your home and forced you into service?”
The bedsheets settle and smooth themselves over the mattress. Even a sentient building, it seems, understands that perspective.
“All I’m doing is getting in touch with her ladyship.
It’s important. She’s going to sell the estate where I grew up, where my grandmother grew up.
It’s all I have left of my family.” Clutching my elbows, I peer out the window.
The sea is calmer today, but no less vicious.
And yet— “Nan would have loved this place,” I whisper to the manor, dashing away a stray tear.
“She loved the wildness of things, the raw power of the natural world. She used to sing me one of the lullabies from her homeland about the changing seasons.” Tentatively, I pick out the first few verses, the language clumsy on my tongue. “You would have liked her.”
One of the frilly curtains lifts to dab at my wet cheeks. I release a watery laugh. “Thank you.”
My eyes then drift toward the abandoned bowl of soup.
If Eurus returns to discover that I have not finished the meal, he will no doubt take offense—or accuse me of deliberately prolonging my illness.
Best to hide the evidence. Only under pain of death would I risk another mouthful of the vile concoction.
My limbs tremble with weakness, but I’ve strength enough to shuffle downstairs to the kitchen, his bowl of soup in hand. My mouth parts in shock.
It appears as though the entire pantry has exploded.
Vegetable scraps litter the counter, which is painted with spills of various textures and hues.
Flecks of red sauce have splattered the wall behind the woodfire stove, with cookware strewn about.
One such pot spews a gas that smells faintly of cabbage.
I gag, slapping a hand over my mouth. And Eurus takes offense at my untidiness? What a hypocrite.
I shove aside his mess to make space for myself at the counter. Although the manor provides me delicious meals at my request, now that I’m in the kitchen, I cannot resist the urge to cook, to create. It has been too long since I’ve even touched a cooking utensil. Not since Nan was alive.
After locating a cast iron skillet in one of the cupboards, I toss a hunk of butter inside, then scour the pantry for supplies.
Two squashes and an onion? That will do.
I slice them thinly, toss them into the pan where the butter now sizzles, emitting a nutty aroma.
Next, I grab a hunk of beef and cut it into small chunks.
“What are you doing?”
My hand jerks. Only quick thinking saves me from amputating a finger. Throwing the beef into the skillet, I slap the knife onto the counter and turn to face the East Wind, whose large shape blackens the kitchen doorway. “Can you please n-n-not startle me like th-that? I could have lost a finger.”
“You have ears,” he tosses back. “Use them.”
Mortal ears. But this immortal is unlikely to see my perspective.
I have every intention of ignoring his presence, but his footsteps near. A great shadow blankets me as I carefully chop parsley. His wings shift with a soft whisper.
“If you’re going to scold m-me about making a mess,” I say, “I would suggest thinking twice.”
He is quiet—too quiet.
I shake my head. “Let me guess. Usually, the manor cleans up after y-you, but she has refused that, too. Am I right?”
“Why are you cooking for yourself?” he rumbles. “I made you soup this morning.”
My stomach growls louder as the scents of sauteed onions overpower Eurus’ toxic sludge. “I m-mean this as respectfully as possible,” I say, sprinkling a smidge of parsley into the pan, “but have you tasted your soup?”
“Of course I’ve tasted the soup!” He sounds affronted. “It’s a perfectly acceptable soup. You’re being ungrateful.”
That stings. I’ve been extremely appreciative. I’ve said my thankyous, which he has ignored. “I appreciate the effort, but I n-need to eat something that doesn’t make me want to vomit.”
He hisses his displeasure.
“Take a bite then.” I offer him a spoon, gaze direct, borderline challenging. I could never have spoken to her ladyship in this manner. She would reward my insolence with a slap across the face, followed by a beating.
“I don’t need to prove anything to you.”
“Then I win by default.”
He snatches the spoon while the soup gives another wet gurgle. Scooping up the sludgy, yellow substance, he brings it to his mouth and promptly chokes, spitting it back into the pot. Laughter threatens. I clear my throat, expression wiped clean.
Eurus hurls the spoon into the sink without comment.
At least my meal is done. I transfer chunks of perfectly seared meat and sauteed vegetables onto a plate, topping the dish with extra parsley before taking a bite. The meat is tender, with a slight char. The onions’ sweetness rounds out the taste. It seems I still remember what Nan taught me.
The East Wind angles his head toward the fruit basket, as if checking to see whether I’ve pilfered another peach. “I assume,” he says, “if you are well enough to cook a meal for yourself, you are well enough to travel?”
A piece of squash sticks to the back of my teeth unpleasantly, and I lower the fork onto the counter. “Travel?”
“We’re going home.”