Chapter 13
I RETURN TO THE GARDEN, because the night-blooming jasmine and the star-cloaked night are content to let me be. As I enter one of the hedge mazes, I imagine it is the estate grounds I wander, tall bushes of lavender skimming my knees.
A deep ache throbs beneath my sternum. Longing? Sorrow? The palace is not the estate. It means nothing to me. And yet, I may wander without threat of the lash, or whatever harsh punishment Lady Clarisse managed to concoct. It is nice to know peace, if only for a little while.
Despite all signs of the banquet having been removed, my attempts to shunt aside thoughts of the East Wind don’t work.
They never do. I fear I have confined myself in an even smaller cage.
I must remain here until the tournament is complete, the East Wind’s victory claimed.
And if he does not win? What then? If by some miracle I’m able to return to St. Laurent, I pray her ladyship is merciful.
“Lost, are we?”
I startle and whirl around. A curvy woman with a generous bust slinks around one of the hedges, eyeing me with a hunger that sets my teeth on edge. The goddess we met earlier today. Demi.
“I… guess I am,” I reply, taking one step backward. Leaves poke my back, the hedge blocking further retreat.
The goddess ambles nearer, still wearing that dazzling, sunrise gown. She is tall, far taller than I am, and easily overwhelms the space. “I didn’t catch your name earlier.” Her yellow eyes flash in the dark. “Eurus didn’t offer it.”
He wouldn’t have. I’m not sure why that disappoints me. “It’s Min,” I say.
“Min. How quaint.” The goddess holds out a slender hand ornamented by delicate gold rings. “Demi.”
I shake her hand. Callused, like mine. It is something I did not expect.
Abruptly, she tugs me forward, nose pressed to the crown of my skull with a deep inhalation. The hem of her sleeve brushes my arm, and I shiver. “You smell of chervil.” She releases me, head canted in interest. “What realm do you hail from, Min?”
I glance toward the maze entrance, where gloom beads along its branches, amongst the leaves. Eurus assured me I would be safe, so long as I remained on the palace grounds. Then again, someone tried to poison him tonight. “Marles,” I reply.
Lush mouth pursed, Demi picks at one long, painted nail, saying, “Lavender fields and vineyards, fresh bread and soft cheese.” The powder dabbed around her lashes has darkened them to a sultry coal. “You worship the Master of Sea and Mother of Earth, is that correct?”
I blink. “Yes. Well, mostly the Mother of Earth, as do most farmers. Sailors worship the Master of Sea.”
“You’re a farmer?” She arches a brow. “You certainly don’t look like one. Though I suppose that would explain why I smell chervil on you.”
“No, I’m not a farmer. I—” But I can reveal nothing more. I have likely said too much as it is. As Lady Clarisse never failed to remind me, silence is best.
The goddess’ mouth stretches corner to corner, seemingly amused by my reluctance. “Secreting information already? You are wise, Min from Marles. I think it’s just precious that Eurus has taken a mortal lover.”
My eyes pop wide. “Lover?”
“Of course. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?” She peers at me beneath lowered lashes. “Don’t be bashful, love. If anything, you should be celebrating. The number of women who have hoped to find themselves in Eurus’ bed is many. You have accomplished what few have been able to.”
“Eurus and I are n-not, um, lovers. I’m just his assistant.”
Pleasure brightens that lambent gaze, and she tosses back her head, teeth parting around a cascade of warm, rolling laughter. “That’s what they all say.”
This conversation grows increasingly uncomfortable. Exactly what sort of numerical value does many represent? Not that I care to part the curtains of the East Wind’s sex life. He is ageless, after all. Likely a great number of conquests. I imagine the sum to be substantial.
“So tell me, Min from Marles.” The goddess, Demi, reaches overhead to pluck a flower from the wall of interlocking leaves at my back.
The bloom, doused in a beam of moonlight, seems to enlarge in her palm, the petals elongating.
I stare in shock. “How is it that you have found yourself entangled with the East Wind, and during the tournament no less?”
A subtle curl of her fingers, and the flower’s snowy edges blacken. “Begging your pardon, madam, but I’d rather not say.”
“Not into gossip, are you? That’s probably for the best. To be fair, I did not think Eurus would grace our homeland again, but here he is. I’m particularly happy to see him.”
Her fondness for the East Wind is undeniable. I feel small in the presence of this deity. Small and overlooked. “You knew each other, long ago?”
“That’s one way to put it.” At my blank stare, she elaborates, with a relish that borders on violence, “We were lovers.”
“I see.”
“Does this upset you, knowing Eurus and I once shared a bed?” A scarlet fingernail tap-tap-taps against her defined bicep. The toes peeking from her sandals are painted a dusky pink.
“No.” But a pang sharpens beneath the hard plate of my sternum. It is not jealousy, exactly. More like… envy? Yes, that must be it. I envy this goddess her freedom and poise. “Why w-would it?”
“Why indeed.” Her eyes narrow, and sweat blooms beneath my breastband. Eurus was right. I should never have left the room. Four walls to keep me in—and others out.
The goddess sighs then, dropping the flower onto the grass and crushing it underfoot. “I wondered if you would do me a favor, Min.”
“A favor?”
“I’m supposed to meet some friends in the city for lunch this week, but one of them canceled last minute. Would you care to join me?”
My mouth parts, hangs open a moment. “Oh, um…” In St. Laurent, wandering Market Street brought with it mixed emotions. The joy of freedom, however brief, yet paired with this, always, was longing, melancholy, for I was separate from those gathering in the cafes, always on the outside looking in.
“Don’t worry about the cost. Everything is already paid for,” she says, noting my hesitancy. “And just between you and me, the palace can get a bit stuffy. The city is much more fun.” Unexpectedly, her eyes soften; their yellow glow dims. “How does that sound?”
The East Wind ordered me to keep to the grounds, yet I do long to see more of this alluring realm. “Can I ask you something first?”
“Of course.” Demi leans forward, an eager participant in our conversation.
“Why do you want to have lunch with me?” After all, she was at the welcome banquet, scheming, observing, strategizing. “I won’t reveal anything to you about Eurus, so if that’s the r-reason you’re asking, you will have to find your information elsewhere.”
“You claim you are not lovers,” Demi says with savored intrigue, “yet you defend him as fiercely as though you are.” Then she does what none have done in my life, save Nan: she frames my face in her warm, roughened palms, studying me as though I am a young pup in need of a firm hand.
“There is mettle in you, Min from Marles.” The goddess nods in satisfaction. “You will need it amongst these immortals. And no, I’m not asking you to lunch to press you for information. I’m asking because you smell of chervil, and it is my favorite scent in all the realms.”
With the first trial less than a week away, there is nothing to do but wait.
Following the humiliation of the banquet, I elect to receive my meals in the suite, sitting cross-legged in bed as I arrange the ingredients for Eastern Blood across my bedspread.
The brew itself warms over a burner, with my notes and tools arranged neatly on the dresser.
With nightshade finally integrated, the poison must simmer for another ten days before the next ingredient can be added.
During this time, Eastern Blood gives off a rather putrid reek.
The East Wind has made his distaste for the scent known.
“Well, if I had The Practice of Herbal Remedies,” I’d told him yesterday, “I could find a solution to mask the odor.”
He refused to hand it over. Unsurprising. If I must suffer the stench, so must he.
Turning from my work, I stare out the window, searching for a messenger bird, but I fear they are unable to reach the City of Gods. If I cannot communicate with her ladyship, how am I to purchase the estate and preserve Nan’s legacy?
As for the East Wind, he comes and goes at odd hours.
Occasionally, I see him lounging on the sofa in the common room, poring over accounts of past tournaments.
Or perhaps lounge is the wrong word. The East Wind perches.
Settles. Not lounges. Never lounges. For the most part, we coexist, each keeping to our respective bedrooms. Rarely does he greet me when entering the suite. Rarely does he bid me farewell.
While smoothing the petals of a chamomile flower, a clean, herbaceous scent drifts across my nose. My bedroom door lies ajar, offering a partial view of the shared washroom: door shut, steam seeping through the crack beneath.
I hear the slosh of water, the East Wind’s gratified sigh.
I swallow, my skin tightening at the sound.
Who is the East Wind without his cloak? Sometimes I question whether he truly is a god, for I have never seen his face in full.
All that I am given—the rasp of his voice, the motion of his hands and fluidity of his movements—paints only the haziest image.
Another splash jolts my system, and I slide to the edge of the mattress, hurriedly plant my feet, a grounding in the earth. Why am I listening to the East Wind bathe? No, I’ve plenty to occupy myself with.
Pushing to my feet, I move to my workstation. Head bent, I grind down the root with painstaking slowness. It must be the finest of powders, Nan would say. Too many clumps, and the root will fail to fully dissolve.