Chapter 15
FROM THE NORTHERN TOWER, THERE comes a scream.
I startle awake, heart stampeding in my chest. The gloom of the broom cupboard blots my vision. It is dark, always dark. I fist my blanket nervously, but the texture is all wrong. The fabric feels silken, almost slippery. I drop it as my surroundings come into focus.
A tall window framed by luxurious curtains, and walls decorated in patterned paper. There is no squeak of wood, no seaside gales hammering fists against the aged bones of the structure. The palace, I realize, rubbing at my eyes. The City of Gods.
The scream comes again, fracturing into a thousand shards before dissolving into a pained groan.
Alarm grips me, yet I slip from bed, move barefoot across the room to carefully ease open my bedroom door.
Beyond: darkness. The low sofa, smudged, and the dining table a gray silhouette seated near the cloaked windows.
When a low whimper sounds, I startle. It came from the East Wind’s bedroom.
It has been an unspoken understanding that we do not intrude on each other’s space. And yet, day after day and year after year, I beheld Lady Clarisse’s gruesome methods of torture. What did I do? Nothing. For months, I’d closed my ears to the East Wind’s suffering, and I regret it to this day.
I’m across the main chamber, palm pressed flat against his door. A gentle shove nudges it open.
The East Wind’s bedroom is perhaps three times as large as mine, with a massive bed, a chest of drawers, four windows, and a small sitting area. But it is the immortal occupying the bed that captures my attention.
He lies curled in a ball, legs twisted in the blankets.
His back swells and deflates in a rhythm as unceasing as the tides.
His unfurled wings drape his cloaked body, scaled tips bowed over the side of the mattress to skim the floor.
Even in sleep, Eurus refuses to remove his cloak, though it appears to have been washed since the first trial.
Hello, bird. Come to finish me off?
The East Wind’s comment from days earlier hangs like a thundercloud over my head.
I pry it loose, roll it pensively between my palms until a corner or rough edge draws my attention to its momentary imperfection.
What, exactly, did he mean by suggesting I was there to kill him?
Why do his words linger? Why do I shelter them against my chest, as though having sensed their injury?
Eurus rolls onto his back with a soft groan.
His hood has fallen back, exposing the edge of his jaw, the curve of his chin, and his mouth, softly parted.
I stare. His lips are full, yet there is some discoloration around the left corner.
As I watch him sleep, his hands clench and unclench against his stomach.
“Father.” He gasps for breath. “I didn’t mean…
” He jerks hard, then falls still, panting.
“Eurus.” Crossing to his side, I reach for his arm, yet pull back before my fingertips brush skin. What was it Demi had said during the tournament?
Oly should have known better than to touch him.
I lower my hand, let it hang slack at my side as these seemingly small fragments of his past slide into place. He was abused. Of that, I am certain. Is that why he wears his cloak at all hours? To hide whatever welts or scars mar his skin?
Eurus emits another murmured plea. He twitches, kicks out his legs. His distress does strange things to my heart. I realize I do not want to see him suffer. At least, not tonight.
After grabbing the smelling salts from my room, I return to the East Wind’s bedside, waving them under his nose until he stiffens and his arm shoots out, hand fisted. I duck, barely avoiding having my nose crushed as he blasts a forceful gust around the room.
“It’s me,” I gasp, gripping the bedpost. “Min.”
Eurus falls motionless, his breathing coarse. Eventually, he sags into the pillows, a hand pressed to his brow. It is an age before he speaks. “What happened?”
I rise, tugging at my nightgown self-consciously. Thankfully, he is too distracted to notice my bare legs. “You were having a n-nightmare.”
He is quiet as he processes my words. Already, the darkness recedes as my vision adjusts. “Did I… say anything?”
This conversation is most delicate, a sharpened edge dragged along a thread of silk. “You mentioned your father,” I whisper.
He tugs his hood forward, further veiling his face. I’ve the maddened notion to push it back fully, reveal what he so desperately shields, but I do not particularly care to lose a hand. “I see.” He clears his throat. “Did I say anything else? Anything about the council?”
“No.” My curiosity demands more from him. “Why would you mention the council?”
“Because their lives are the ones I plan to end.”
“What?” I gape at him. “You’re going to poison the Council of Gods? You’re going to kill th-them?” But of course, he has already provided his answer. There is only one question left to ask then. “Why? I thought you wanted a favor from the council.”
The East Wind slides to the edge of the mattress.
“Yes,” he says. “I am here for that. When I win the tournament—and I plan to win—I will ask that they reinstate my title during the victor’s banquet.
Seeing as I am disgraced in the eyes of the council, winning is the only way to guarantee my invitation.
And it is at the banquet where the council will gather in one place, allowing me the opportunity to kill the ones who banished me in one fell swoop. ”
“But if you’re no longer banished, why—”
“Because they did not protect me!” he roars, shoving to his feet.
I stand stock still, gaze wary as he clutches the bed frame with both hands. Run, I think. Yet I see how he trembles. He is an animal, cowering in the corner of its cage. “In what w-way?”
Eurus sags forward in defeat, wingtips dragging along the ground. I might brush their delicate arches if I were not afraid of spooking him.
“The previous council—the one my brothers and I fought to overthrow, well, they knew my…” He shakes his head.
“They knew of my suffering. And they chose to do nothing.” This last word, spat with venom.
“I had hoped that by defeating the council and installing a new one in its place, things would be better. But they turned against me and my brothers, banishing us. And this new council has proven itself just as corrupt as its predecessor. It is time for the institution to end.”
A softness moves through me. Pain I understand. I understand, too, how one’s lungs can shrink, and there is not air enough in the world to remove the weight crushing your chest. “So the Council of Gods n-not only failed to help you as a child, but they b-banished you and your brothers as well?”
“Exactly. Which proves the council as an institution has too much power as it is. Clearly, they do not use it for the benefit of our people, if I have been doubly failed.”
Maybe, maybe not. But I know better than to argue. “So what’s your plan?” I whisper.
“Once the poison is complete, it will be added to their meals at the victor’s banquet.
Three weeks later, they will fall ill, as you claimed.
While they are indisposed, I will visit each of their residences and carve out their hearts.
And it will be finished.” He releases a huff of air.
Laughter, I believe, though it has twisted onto itself, this ugly mutation of joy.
“Think of me what you will,” he says. “Let it be one more reason for you to despise me.”
“I think you are in m-much pain,” I say, “and looking for ways to heal it.”
His head snaps around. My breath hitches, but I do not retreat.
Eventually, Eurus sighs. His wings droop. The sight saddens me for reasons I cannot name.
“All I know,” he says, “is that I am tired. I am ready for this to end.”
I prod the silence carefully, testing its shape. Tough, like the belly of a goat, yet there is a bit of give. He is not completely closed off, this god.
Without a word, I scurry to my bedroom, digging through my supplies for a small vial, which I offer him upon my return. “Here,” I whisper.
The East Wind stares at the object with reproach. At least, I believe that is what he does. “What is it?”
“It is a draught to bring easy sleep.”
“I don’t need help sleeping,” he growls, then strides toward one of the windows and tosses the curtains aside. Moonlight whitens my vision, and I duck my head, eyes watering from the unexpected intensity.
“There is no shame in it,” I reassure him. “Sometimes we n-need these things—”
“I said I’m fine!” he snaps.
I glare, but he does not notice, for his back is to me, the scales of his wings reflecting the pooling light like hundreds of minute stars. “You’re not f-f-fine,” I mutter. “Not even close.”
Eurus scoffs. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I do kn-know, Eurus. But continue w-weaving that story for yourself, if it makes you feel better.” So many days of his poor treatment, and I have reached the threshold of what I am willing to accept. It is freeing to speak my truth.
Slowly, he turns to face me. My heart hammers; my face warms. I am not small. I am empowered.
“You may have stolen me from my h-home,” I whisper, and somehow the darkness is tempered, fashioned into a fabric rich with depth.
“You may have threatened me, coerced me, taken advantage of m-my goodwill. But I have slept better in the last few weeks than, well… truthfully, I cannot even remember. And maybe I am y-your captive,” I say, voice strengthening as I stare into the empty space of his cowl.
“Maybe I am nothing more than a weak mortal. But at least I have purpose n-n-now. And that is something I have rarely felt in my life—ever.”
And so I hold out the sleeping draught. Sometimes, we must fight. Others, surrender. “As I said, there is no shame in it. Whatever wounds y-you carry… grant yourself peace from them, if only for a night.”