Chapter 16
STUPID.
I’m too nauseated to pay much attention to the passing gods and goddesses as I make my way back to the palace.
Can the Courier be trusted? Who is to say he will not break the seal and read of Eurus’ downfall before it occurs?
If he were to inform the East Wind of my plans, Eurus would never let me walk free.
The door to my suite is a welcome sight. I slip inside, shutting out the dread that hounds me. Back pressed against the door, I release a heavy sigh. What’s done is done. In the meantime, I will wait for Lady Clarisse’s response and focus on completing Eastern Blood.
Shrugging off my coat, I pad across the main chamber toward my bedroom, the amber of late afternoon streaming onto the thick patterned rugs.
Framed by the window curtains are the city’s countless squares, vines clambering up walls of white stone, the antique faces of apartment buildings.
Something like longing tugs at me. All my life, I have been content with what St. Laurent has to offer.
Now I begin to wonder if something is missing.
As soon as I enter my bedroom, I stop.
The East Wind stands with his back to me, the hem of his cloak stirring around his long legs like a hundred licking tongues, wings tucked tightly against his spine. He stands before the cauldron of Eastern Blood, consulting a book he holds in his hands: The Practice of Herbal Remedies.
“Your notes are quite detailed,” Eurus observes without turning around. “Meticulously organized.” The parchment emits a soft hiss as he turns a page with a blunt fingertip. It depicts a table showcasing how long one must boil the root called heaven’s tears before it breaks down into a paste.
“You can read Jinsean?” I ask in surprise. The manual is written in my grandmother’s native tongue.
“I am a god,” the East Wind replies. “I understand all languages.”
At last, he turns. It is strange to see him standing beside my unmade bed.
The twist of the sheets, proof of how poorly I slept after waking to Eurus’ nightmare.
“You made me believe you knew only the basics. That you were still learning as an apprentice. But your notes suggest the expertise of a master bane weaver.”
“Those aren’t my notes,” I say. “They were m-my grandmother’s.”
He peers down at the manual, brushing the edge of a page in thought. “Your grandmother knew what she was doing.”
“She did,” I manage through a thickening throat.
“You miss her.”
I nod, sensing his attention on my face. “Every day.”
“She treated you well?”
I choke out a laugh. “Of course,” I whisper. “She loved me.”
Eurus shifts his attention back to the manual, though I suspect it is because the sentiment makes him uncomfortable. Does he know what it feels like to be touched with a gentle hand? To know all of your days are washed in security and warmth?
“Tell me of Cornflower Hills,” he demands brusquely, pointing to the bottom of a page covered in my own miniscule handwriting.
Wariness brushes my body’s every edge. Surely it is not a lesson he is after? “It is a b-brew used to expel dark spirits from one’s body,” I explain, drawing nearer so we stand shoulder to shoulder, peering down at the book.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“You wouldn’t have,” I say, flipping the page. It falls open to a comprehensive sketch of a hyacinth flower. “I created it myself.”
Though the East Wind angles toward me, I keep my focus on the drawing. This brittle parchment, this shaded charcoal, this endless, obsessive scrawl notating measurements, symptoms, cures. Nan’s entire life’s work. And someday mine, if I am worthy of it.
Eventually, he shifts his focus back onto the book. I tell myself I am relieved.
Though our hands do not touch, their difference in size is comical. And yet, I am curious… What would happen if I shifted my hand slightly to the left?
When the curve of my smallest finger grazes Eurus’ wrist, he goes still.
I dare not breathe. My lungs feel as if they are crumpling from within as the East Wind rotates his hand, his pinky curling subtly around my own.
“For what purpose did you create this poison?” he asks, with a breathlessness I fail to miss.
“It was my lady’s idea, actually.” Well, sort of.
In truth, the idea was mine, but she insisted on taking credit for it.
“She’d c-captured an immortal that…” The fingers of my other hand twitch, curl into a ball.
I recall this prisoner. She kept him chained in his cell for nearly six months.
“On second thought, it’s probably better that you don’t know. ”
“I see.” His distaste cannot be misconstrued, and he withdraws his touch. I already mourn the loss. “How many poisons in this manual have you created yourself?”
“A few dozen,” I mumble.
“And did your former employer know of this?”
“Some, n-not all.” Higher and higher I would have soared. But her ladyship kept me caged, my wings forever clipped.
The East Wind ponders for a time. “Here is what I don’t understand.” He traces the sketch, each curved petal. I watch the trail of his finger, mesmerized by the motion. “You are kind, intelligent, yet you became a bane weaver, of all things. Do you enjoy harming others?”
I stare at him, cheeks hot to the touch.
“It wasn’t like that w-with Nan. Her work revolved around healing.
It was good, it was… people traveled from all over Marles for her teas,” I say, voice softening in memory.
Some days, upward of thirty customers would walk through the front door.
Lady Clarisse is lucky to receive twenty a week, and most only come for her beauty teas.
“There was n-never an ailment Nan couldn’t treat. ”
“So why hurt when you can heal?”
I do not hurt as he suggests. Not deliberately. “Her ladyship dictates what brews we m-must make. As her apprentice, I am expected to follow her lead.”
“But it brings you no joy making poisons,” he says.
Why must I continue to overturn these harder emotions?
Disappointment plaited with self-doubt, all their shine coated and cracked with overuse.
“If not for my lady, I would not have a h-home. And I definitely wouldn’t have the knowledge I do now.
” And she’s right, isn’t she? I am slow.
I do not learn quickly. Chopping, slicing, pressing, drying—with these tasks, I am only adequate.
“But you’ve said most of your knowledge came from your grandmother,” Eurus points out. “So which is it?”
Something tugs behind my sternum, the shallowest ache. The deeper I fall into poisons, the farther I feel from Nan. Perhaps it is better that she is no longer alive to witness what I have become. “Her ladyship says I should kn-know my place.”
“Why do you listen to the venom that witch spews into your ears?” he asks, but without the caustic tone I’ve come to expect.
“Because it’s true.”
“Do you honestly believe that?”
Yes. It is a noose, this word. It is her ladyship’s hand curled around my throat, demanding surrender. But I cannot force something I do not feel in my heart is true, can I?
Since leaving St. Laurent, I have more than proven my abilities. How can I reconcile that with Lady Clarisse’s unfair assumptions? “I-I-I… I’m n-not…”
The East Wind’s silence speaks volumes. It tells me who I was to this god days before is not who I am to him now.
“Here.” Snapping The Practice of Herbal Remedies closed, he hands it to me. “It’s yours.”
Our fingers brush as I accept his offering, thoroughly confused. “But I thought you w-wanted it as leverage.”
“You promised to help me,” he reminds me. “Can I trust you to keep your word?”
Concealed within his hood, his eyes capture mine. I can feel it, the heat that is intensity, and the focus that is perhaps the finest of his weapons. My heartbeat stumbles in an attempt to right its rhythm. I’m certain he can hear it. “You can.”
“Then there is no problem I can see.”
The East Wind is not all thorns. There are moments of gentleness to him.
It does not seem right that he should be killed for the cost of immortality.
After all, it is not everlasting life Lady Clarisse seeks.
It is power and protection, a desperate grasp for control.
Somehow, I do not believe the death of a god to be the answer.
“Where did you go today?” he asks.
I’m surprised he does not know, considering I am a popular topic of conversation amongst the divine.
“I spent some time with Demi in the kitchen making bread. And cheese tarts.” I bite the inside of my cheek.
“She said they were y-your favorite.” And why does my throat suddenly constrict around this admission?
The potency of his gaze is enough that I can all but see his eyes through the masking shadows inside his hood. They would be dark. Glassy, like obsidian. “I enjoy them.” A pause. “Does that bother you?”
“N-no,” I say. What are the odds Demi would mention to Eurus my interest in sending a message to the mortal realms?
“Hm.” He sounds as if he does not believe me. “So how is Demi?” He speaks casually, though I sense an earnestness beneath. “Did she seem relaxed, or…?”
I frown at Eurus, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. What does relaxation have to do with gathering information? “I guess. She seemed her usual pleasant self.”
“Did you learn anything of significance during your time with her?”
“No.” Though I did not bother asking. I should feel guilty, but I cannot regret the lovely afternoon. “What about lunch?” I say, eager to turn the conversation away from the goddess. “Did you learn anything significant?”
The East Wind shrugs. It is an unnervingly human gesture. “I learned what Arin intends to ask for as his favor if he wins the tournament.”
I set the manual aside to check on Eastern Blood. “Oh?”