Chapter 16 #2
“His sister suffers from debilitating seizures.” Eurus watches as I test the poison’s color against a chart in the book.
Currently, it is an olive shade, but as it continues to boil, it will transform to a deep gray-green, eventually settling into the color of red wine.
“There is no cure. He intends to ask the Council of Gods for help if he wins.”
While my knowledge of the divine has been limited thus far, my observation exposes a common vein: selfishness.
That Arin wants to win for the benefit of his sister’s health is touching.
With his affinity for healing, it must be frustrating that he cannot help her himself. “I think that’s very n-noble of him.”
Eurus snorts. “You believe him?”
I stiffen and lower the strip of dyed paper onto the dresser. “You don’t?”
“Of course not. It’s clear he’s lying so that others lower their guard.”
Not that I know anything about Arin, but I choose to see the light instead of the dark, if I can. “He d-does have a sister, right?”
The East Wind’s wings stir, then settle. A whiff of salt pervades the space, which generally occurs when he is flustered or frustrated or battling some other tumultuous emotion. “Yes, though I have not seen her since my banishment.”
“Shouldn’t you give him the benefit of th-the doubt?”
“Why? He is a competitor.”
Or an ally, should Eurus choose to reach out rather than retreat into isolation. “Arin isn’t a bad person. He’s doing what is r-right by his family.”
“So you’re siding with him? Do you believe his nobility takes precedent over my vengeance?” His next words emerge as a snarl. “I suppose I should count myself lucky you are here at all.”
A familiar numbness takes hold of my limbs. I must shrink, but to shrink is to move, to draw the enemy’s eye, the flat of their palm, a raised fist. But I forget that I am not powerless. Eurus cannot get his revenge without the poison. Only I am skilled enough to complete it.
“I w-w-won’t have you speak to me that w-way,” I whisper as my pulse flutters like a bird freeing its cage.
“As for counting yourself lucky, y-y-you forget I am not here of m-my own volition. Or did you fail to r-remember th-th-that you forced me into y-your employment, as you continue to call it.” I’m trembling.
If only my tongue remained unaffected, my words untouched by stutter.
In this moment, it is enough to know I have the strength to challenge Eurus at all.
“I don’t know why I’m s-s-surprised. Of course you would regard Arin as the enemy.
You, who d-doomed thousands in Ammara to suffer, because you believed y-y-your need for isolation was more important than their l-l-lives. To you, everyone is y-your enemy!”
The East Wind has gone still. “The matter of Ammara’s drought does not concern you, bird.”
“Maybe n-not, but I still don’t understand how you can live with so little r-remorse.
Doesn’t it bother you that people are suffering, dying?
Perhaps even your own b-brother?” My every impulse screams retreat, but I edge closer, reaching for his arm.
My hand halts a hairsbreadth away. There, my fingers hover, just on the threshold of touch.
“Will you not r-return what you have taken,” I whisper, “and give life back to the earth?”
“It is not so simple.” The rasped response draws bumps along my arms. “If I go back on my word, then what does that say about me?” He does not give me the opportunity to respond. “It says I am weak,” he growls. “The power must always rest with me.”
How wrong he is, how confused. “When you refuse to see the error of your w-ways, you are no better than the ones that hurt y-you.” Gently, I press the pads of my fingertips to the underside of his wrist, where the sleeve of his cloak ends.
“You are one of the divine. The people of Ammara are mortal. You could ch-change their lives for the better. Real, lasting change.”
He pulls away. “The deal was made years ago. It is already done.”
“Can’t you change your mind?”
For one indeterminable moment, he neither moves nor speaks. “I thought you were on my side, bird.”
As if a captor and his captive could ever work together.
“Just because I h-have agreed to complete this poison for you doesn’t mean I have no conscience.
I am my own p-person, I…” My teeth begin to chatter.
I clamp them down. I am not defeated. I am standing, and will continue to stand. “I’m going out.”
“Bird.”
But I’m already across the suite, the scent of burning chasing me out the door.
Lifting my fist, I knock.
Or rather, that is the intention. Before my knuckles make contact with the wood, however, I balk.
Room twenty-two, second floor, as Demi said.
Now that I’m standing on the other side of her door, I question my sanity.
What of the first trial, the roar of deities having gone feral over battle?
She, too, had lusted for blood. Imagine what she would do to an injured bird or lame fox, as I often perceive myself in this City of Gods.
But my interactions with Demi have thus far been harmless. She has been kind to me, open. My heart speaks trust; my mind warns peril. Always, I have heeded the latter. Now, in the dark hours before dawn, I choose the former.
My knock echoes, folding onto itself as the deserted corridor swallows evidence of my presence. Then a lock tumbles, and the ornately carved door is pulled open.
Demi, dressed in a gauzy sleep robe, blinks her long-lashed eyes, as though convinced I might be an apparition. “Min?”
She is bare-faced. Without the powder and paint coating her cheeks, I notice her skin is a bit rough, as if she spends ample time outdoors—which does not necessarily fit the image of a well-dressed goddess in heels.
Then again, I am not certain what power Demi presides over.
She’s never told me. And I’ve never asked.
“Sorry to wake you,” I murmur, hands clenched at my front.
“It’s no trouble, I was just resting,” she says, appearing both intrigued and concerned. Her lazy posture unkinks itself into something straight-backed and keen. “Did something happen?”
I bite my lip. Still, the tears rise, a stinging pressure behind my eyes. “Can I stay with y-you tonight?”
As the last vestiges of slumber dissolve from her features, the sharpness of her gaze grows sharper still. “Come inside,” she says, holding the door open. I shuffle across the threshold, shoulders hunched.
Her suite is far more personalized than the one I share with Eurus.
The fireplace mantel boasts small trinkets: stones and feathers and dried flowers, all gifts the earth provides.
Articles of clothing have been tossed over many a chairback.
An assortment of plants reach leafed tendrils toward the windows and across curtain rods.
I’m impressed. Demi has managed to make this temporary space a home in less than two weeks. She may not be participating in the tournament, but many attendees prefer to reside in the palace until a victor is announced, due to the arena’s proximity.
“Tea?” she asks, leading me to a quaint seating area.
“Please.”
I settle into a comfortable armchair while she puts a kettle on the stove. Through the window, the moon hangs swollen and full. When the kettle screams, she adds tea leaves, allowing them to steep before pouring me a cup. The tea’s warmth gradually thaws the ice in my chest.
“What is that taste?” I ask. “That hint of licorice. Not anise…” Once more, I take a healthy swallow, letting the flavor suffuse my tongue.
“Heathersworth,” Demi replies.
My eyebrows climb so high I would not be surprised to find them lost behind my hair. “You know of heathersworth?” It is an extremely rare herb, found only in Under.
After lighting a candle—a guard against the waning day—she takes a seat across from me, curvy legs tucked beneath her sleep robe.
She pours herself a drink, takes a sip. “Let me guess. I don’t seem like the type of goddess who knows her way around a garden, right?
” She regards me with a haughty jut of her chin.
There are many kinds of shields, after all.
I recognize this as hers. “Did you know heathersworth is used by some cultures as a sedative?” she asks.
“I didn’t.” Though I do know it helps slow one’s heart rate, so this does not surprise me.
“We women are more than just looks, Min.” She sets down her cup. Then, as if having changed her mind, picks it back up and drains its contents. “We have skills, knowledge. We are worthy of praise. I imagine your Mother of Earth welcomes appreciation every now and then.”
She is trying to tell me something. I cannot put my finger on it, only its hazed edge. “I thank the Mother of Earth for every successful harvest,” I say. “Without her favor, I doubt Marles’ soil would be as rich as it is, our vineyards as abundant.”
The strain around Demi’s mouth eases. “I enjoy speaking with you, Min from Marles. Not all my friends care to talk of plants and harvests. They much prefer eating, shopping, gossiping, and the like. They invited me out for drinks tonight but—” She shrugs.
“I suppose I wasn’t in the mood. And I appreciate my alone time, perhaps more than I let on. ”
Indeed, she appears comfortable dressed down, at ease after a long day.
“But we’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about you.” Her expression reflects a fierce intrigue. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, setting down my drink.
Now that I’ve given myself distance, I find it difficult to recall the details of our argument.
“It was just Eurus being Eurus.” By which I mean rude, inconsiderate, pacing like an animal in a cage.
“I can’t tolerate it anymore.” And I shouldn’t have to.