Chapter 13 #2
The washroom door creaks open. I swallow, refocus my attention on crushing the last of the fibrous rhizome as Eurus steps into my bedroom without bothering to knock. I bite the inside of my cheek against a sudden swell of irritation. For all he knew, I could have been half-dressed!
“One of the competitors is having a small gathering at their residence this evening,” he says. “It’s a good opportunity to study the competition. I probably won’t return until tomorrow.”
I continue with my grinding. Even at this distance, I smell the soap on his skin: rosemary, black pepper, goat’s milk. “Very well.” His absence certainly makes no difference to my day.
When the silence stretches to the point of frayed threads, I turn to glance at his hooded form. Water beads along the bones rising from the center of his upper back. My eyes drop. His feet are bare. The sight unnerves me, and I promptly resume my work.
“Is there something else you n-need?” I say, only a little breathlessly. “Is my chopping disturbing you?” Lady Clarisse always complained about how loudly I worked, as if one can shop herbs noiselessly.
Eurus steps closer so the warmth of his body buffets my flank. I continue twisting the pestle in half circles. With little enough space in the bedroom to begin with, the East Wind’s considerable physique all but commands the small chamber.
“Why do you continue grinding the powder?” he asks, a warm exhalation stirring the hair atop my head. “It’s already as fine as it can be.”
So he thinks. “If the poison is to be successful, it m-must dissolve into the bloodstream instantaneously. Only the finest powder will suffice.”
“It looks fine enough.”
Inwardly, I scoff. The things Nan could teach him! “A proper poison is both science and art. You cannot r-rush it.”
“If it’s already ground up,” he goes on, “it would be more efficient to move on to the next step.”
“Why don’t you let me focus on wh-what I do best,” I snap, “instead of offering your opinion on something you know nothing about?” The swiftness of my rebuttal, the severity of my tone—today, I will not be pressed into the earth like an errant pebble.
Eurus leans down, the hood of his cloak angled toward me. “Take care to remember who it is you speak to,” he murmurs.
As that darkness shifts, the skin along my arms prickles with some unnamable emotion. The East Wind need not worry.
I will never forget.
The city center is marked by a large square to which all roads lead.
Strolling alongside Demi—dressed stunningly in slender white trousers, pink heels, and a sage green blouse—we explore the various shops, browsing all manner of flowers and soaps, teas and jewels, fabrics and books, perfumes and shoes.
Bells ring unceasingly as doors open and shut, open and shut.
The goddess tugs me into yet another clothing boutique, where a gaggle of women complete their purchases at the front counter. I finger my threadbare dress self-consciously, all too aware of the runs in my stockings. Someone sniggers. I wince and duck my head.
Demi slides an arm around my shoulder, glaring at our audience. “Something to say?”
The women exchange a wordless look, then exit the store with their bags in tow.
“Try not to let them bother you,” Demi offers. “The one with the black hair?” She lowers her voice. “Her mother chained her to a rock, poor thing.”
Too overwhelmed with gratitude to speak, I allow the goddess to lead me toward the back of the boutique.
While I take a seat on a padded bench, Demi stands before a long mirror, a gown in each hand: one green, one blue.
The latter appears to be fashioned from rippling water.
The former sparkles with an intensity that rivals the sun.
“For the victor’s banquet,” she explains. “It’s putting the cart before the horse, I know, but I need an excuse to buy something beautiful.” Lifting the green dress in front of her body, she adds, “I’m leaning toward emerald, but I do love the cut of the navy gown. What do you think?”
“I think you’d look good in anything you chose to wear,” I say, and I mean that sincerely. She is every shade of striking, and I can’t fathom why she would choose to spend her afternoon with me—unless she seeks information about the East Wind.
The goddess quirks her mouth, but its curve fails to touch her eyes. “You’re sweet. Too sweet for Eurus, as far as I’m concerned. You truly don’t have a preference?”
“It’s not the gown that makes one beautiful.”
She turns. There is something different about her face. Before I’m able to grasp whatever emotion has exposed itself, she sniffs, dabs beneath her eyes with a square of cloth. “Are you trying to make me cry?” Then she shakes her head. “Maybe you are his assistant after all.”
Another moment hemming and hawing, and she selects the green gown. It costs two thousand gold coins. For that price, one would think it were sewn entirely from emeralds.
As it turns out, it is.
We return to the chaos of the streets, and I allow myself to relax for the first time since my arrival.
Though the sun beats back the chill, my skin stipples in the shade, and I rub my bare arms, wishing I’d remembered my coat.
Sometime later, we pass a cart selling hot cider and jars of honey, enveloped in a cloud of cinnamon-scented air.
I gaze longingly at the drink, but of course I’ve no coin to purchase one.
Before I understand what is happening, Demi buys two ciders and offers one to me.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” I protest.
“You can, and you will. I insist.” She doesn’t relent until I accept the drink for what it is: a gift. “You know what complements cinnamon surprisingly well?” Demi asks over the rim of her cup. I shake my head. “Blueberries.”
“Blueberries?” I take a sip. The intense apple flavor warms my throat and belly.
“Yes. It helps highlight the taste of the fruit.” She winks at me. “Give it a try sometime.”
We continue onward, wandering the market for a time.
It seems that there’s been a recent harvest, for there are tables laden with squashes and gourds, turnips and carrots.
Demi is kind enough to purchase a jar of honey for me, despite my protests.
At one point, someone stops to ask her how often they should water the new ornamental plant they’ve purchased.
I observe the interaction carefully. Though she seems genuinely interested in spending time with me, I hardly know her.
How can I trust that her intentions are pure?
“Can I ask you something?”
The goddess casts me a sidelong glance. Kohl intensifies the yellow of her irises. “Of course.”
“You said you haven’t seen the East Wind in centuries. What was he like back then?” I should not be so fascinated by my captor, but I find my questions multiplying the longer I spend in his company.
She shrugs. “Not much has changed. He was less closed, maybe. Then again, pain affects everyone differently.”
“What pain?”
At this, the goddess smiles, albeit sadly. “I love gossip as much as the next deity, Min from Marles, but that story is not mine to tell.”
I tuck my tongue into my cheek thoughtfully, ignoring the growling of my stomach. “Then I assume his banishment is off limits as well?”
“Oh.” She flaps a hand dismissively. “That is no great secret. Eurus, along with his brothers—the Anemoi, they are called—helped overthrow our previous governing body and bring the current Council of Gods to power. But not long after, the council turned on them. The Anemoi were deemed traitors and thus banished.”
I may not particularly like the East Wind, but the punishment seems unjust to me. It must hurt to be barred from entering one’s home. “I don’t understand. Why would the council banish the Anemoi if they helped them gain control? It doesn’t seem fair.”
“The divine are rarely fair.” She speaks fondly, as though referring to a small child’s antics.
“The council was paranoid the Anemoi would one day turn against them, so they were banished. It was a shock to the community. Oh—avert your gaze, love, lest you be turned to stone.” Demi cups a hand over my eyes as we pass a gray-skinned woman standing on one of the benches, spouting insults at any man who dares venture too close.
Two serpents coil her shoulders and upper arms.
Once we are beyond the gray-skinned woman and her verbal abuse, Demi lowers her hand. “But you’re right,” she adds thoughtfully. “It wasn’t fair what the council did. I imagine it to be a difficult life, living out eternity alone.”
“I don’t believe his brothers are alone,” I say, recalling Eurus’ conversation with Zephyrus. “They are mortal now, and all are in committed relationships. Eurus is the only one who is not.”
The goddess halts, eyebrows winged all the way up to her hairline.
“Mortal? But that would mean Eurus’ brothers relinquished their power, or it was taken from them.
” At my confusion, she elaborates, “See, often—but not always—a god’s power is tied to a specific object.
Eurus and his brothers each possess a weapon that acts as a conduit to their power.
If the weapon was destroyed, then theoretically, their power and tie to immortality would be, too. ”
Interesting. How very, very interesting. “And this is common knowledge?”
“On the contrary, it is relatively unknown. Best to keep that information hush-hush, if you know what I mean.”
So if her ladyship destroyed the East Wind’s ax, he would be made mortal.
Although, would she destroy his ax? Once he is mortal, I can’t imagine his blood would be of any use to her.
Perhaps, if he is killed by his god-touched weapon, his blood will retain its divine properties long enough for her to create that potion of immortality.
The power of a god, extinguished. It is difficult to imagine.
Sometime later, we arrive at an outdoor cafe tucked inside a shade-dappled courtyard. As Demi veers toward a table in the back, I halt in surprise. “Arin.”