Chapter 17
WE ARE SUSPENDED ON THE jagged edge of the world.
Straight ahead: the sea. Its black span spits white foam as it branches and curls, drawing those ruffled collars beneath its surface. A coarse wind drags at my hair and stings my eyes. I squeeze them shut, nausea coating the back of my throat. This is a dream. It’s not real. I am safe. I am safe.
But the rush and roar of water collapses my strongest shield. No matter how far I travel, the sea always finds me.
I force my eyes open. The field has been transformed, the stands of the arena screened behind a thick wall of haze, the roar of attendees muffled behind whatever enchantment has taken hold.
Overhead, the sky is a vicious gray-green, and waves thrash against the cliffs on which we stand.
Many of the forty-nine competitors and their teammates have already begun to climb down the bluffs, including the three redheaded Fates.
“We’ll need to act quickly!” Eurus shouts into my ear. “See those boats?”
Eyes slitted against the wind, I spot a collection of wooden vessels moored to a small dock, which juts from an island located perhaps a half mile from shore. And far, far out to sea, beyond the island—a rise of rock. It is there the door awaits, its gilded frame beckoning.
“Can’t we f-fly?” I shout back. Already, dampness has flecked the fabric of my dress, and I shiver, teeth gritted against the frigid autumn air.
“No powers,” Eurus reminds me. “No wings.” His hand comes to rest against my lower back, and my eyes widen. I’m not even sure he realizes he’s touching me. “We’ll have to reach the boats another way.”
Descending the cliffs, he means. I inspect the terrain, but no alternate routes lead to the beach. A few competitors stalk the precipice, hesitant, as I am, to begin that perilous climb.
Heart thundering, I step forward, peering down at the toothed rocks below. To fall is to die. “Are y-you sure—”
“How should w-we do this?” I ask. “Should I—”
An arrow hisses overhead. Eurus catches me around the waist. We hit the ground.
“Did you see where the shot came from?” he barks.
One of his hard thighs slots between my legs, pressing upward against their juncture. It is a hard, heavy heat, and my mind whites out from the contact. An unexpected pulse of warmth floods my pelvis.
“Bird?”
My cheeks sting; my throat goes dry. “N-no…”
Thankfully, I spot the arrow in my periphery. I reach for it, yank the stone tip from the damp earth, and sniff the yellow substance coating the head. Nutmeg and… broth of violet.
My fingers spasm, and I release the arrow with a muffled curse. “The arrows are coated in poison.”
“Can you identify it?” he replies, and the warmth of his breath dives beneath the neckline of my dress, soothing my pebbled skin. As he shifts against me, I stiffen, heat and cold twining through muscle, ligament, bone. Eurus goes still as well.
“Um.” My palm rests against his chest, but he doesn’t immediately pull away as I expect. “Do you think y-you could…?”
I’m not able to take a full breath until Eurus pulls himself off me. There I lie, staring at the sky, gasping for air. My thoughts feel akin to shredded cotton, possessing neither substance nor shape. What is wrong with me? What ailment do I suffer from?
As I force myself to stand on wobbly legs, another cold gust cuts through my dress. “They’ve used Ashes to Ashes. It kills instantly.” Immortal or not, whoever is hit by the poison-coated arrows will die.
He swears, spins around to study the landscape, as do I. Arrows spear through the air, unaffected by the wind. One deity is hit near the spine. He hangs by mere fingertips for one breath, two, before he slips. The drop is long. His body splinters into a thousand fragments of bone.
“Climb onto my back,” Eurus orders. One, two, three arrows spear toward him. He ducks to avoid being impaled.
I can’t do this. “I’ll fall,” I whisper.
“You won’t fall. I won’t allow it.”
“You can’t know for certain.”
The East Wind angles toward me. “Look at me,” he demands.
If I die, then Nan’s dream dies with me. As for Lady Clarisse, she will never know of my demise. Would she care? Dull, stupid Min, out of the picture at last.
“Bird.”
His suppliant tone coaxes my gaze upward. The edges of his cloak ripple, and shadow spills from inside his cowl. A glint of light, like the sheen of a single eye, lures my focus. For one breathless moment, I am staring into Eurus’ shining pupil.
“I won’t let you fall,” he murmurs. “I promise.” He catches my wrist, shackling it with his fingers. “Climb onto my back.”
“And expose m-m-myself to the arrows?”
This silence bears the peculiar shape of a pursed mouth. “Very well. Hold on to my front. You will be well shielded.”
He is the East Wind, he is undying, he is my captor, but here, now, he is my protector, my teammate, reluctant or not. If we are to successfully survive this trial, then I must trust him, for however little his trust is worth.
Trust is thus the press of two bodies: mortal and divine.
It is my arms draping his neck, my legs wrapped around his solid waist, the lack of tension in his frame as he accepts my touch.
It is the stuttering rise of his chest, those massive hands curving around the backs of my thighs.
It is my face tucked against the curve of his neck, the only warmth to be found on these exposed bluffs.
Carefully, Eurus kneels, crawling backward until he reaches the ledge. I squeeze my eyes shut, emit a small, breathless squeak as he lurches, lowering himself until we are fully vertical, clinging to the overhang.
Thunder erupts. The rock shudders. I clutch Eurus harder, torn by two warring desires: to burrow deeper into ignorance, to open my eyes and see. A muffled scream pierces the thickening gloom—yet one more competitor tumbling to their death.
It begins to rain.
In seconds, I am drenched. The heavy cotton hangs off me like bags of old skin.
Arrows cut the air with increasing frequency, but Eurus angles nearer to the cliff face, protecting me from any projectiles.
He fumbles for a handhold, swearing softly beneath his breath, and I realize how difficult it must be to bear both our weights.
There must be something I can do, some way to help him.
The moment I force my eyes open, my vision wavers. The sky seethes darkness, and wooziness loosens my hold around the East Wind’s neck.
As though sensing my slackened grip, he snaps out, “Min!”
I sag backward against the rock. The water is all around, its hiss deafening. My tongue stings; my throat is on fire. I choke for breath, drowning on dry land.
“Min, listen to me.”
“I feel faint,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. “But the water can’t touch you. You’re safe. Do you hear me? Listen to my voice.” And the East Wind cups the back of my head, cradling me against his broad, muscled chest. Vaguely, I realize that cannot be possible unless he clings to the cliff with only one hand.
“You’re safe,” he reassures me. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
And he proceeds to tell me a story as he maneuvers downward, though I do not immediately recognize it as such. He tells me of his time in Marles, his visits to the vineyards and old, cobbled villages. His velvet voice slips through my bloodstream, its low thrum like a pulse.
But the story is cut short as he jolts wildly. My skull strikes the rock, and I recoil with a soft cry of pain. Beneath my palms, the muscles of his upper back spasm.
Tentatively, I open my eyes. An arrow protrudes from his shoulder. “Eurus.”
“Pull it out,” he snarls through gritted teeth. His entire body trembles. “Hurry.”
“But—”
“Do it!”
My sweaty fingers surround the slim piece of wood. As the East Wind exhales, the muscles of his back slacken, and I yank the arrow free.
“Fuck!”
It takes some awkward maneuvering to draw the arrowhead close enough to inspect through the rain. Surprisingly, a green, rather than yellow, substance coats the tip. It smells of cherries.
“Larkshin,” I whisper.
“Another—” He bites back a hiss of pain. “Poison?”
I release the arrow, watch it tumble onto the rocks far below. “Yes.” Better than Ashes to Ashes, at least. “It is a poison of paralysis. It will begin with y-your legs and quickly work its way through your system until it reaches your heart. You have maybe an hour before collapse, if that.”
The East Wind grunts, having braced himself against a short overhang. His fingers dig into the wet stone, and small pebbles shake loose around his boots. I wipe strands of hair from my dripping face, squinting into the distance. “Two people have reached the beach.”
He mutters a few choice words before descending another step. I tighten my legs around his waist and try not to think of how intimate our position is.
As he searches for a foothold, a splash of pink catches my eye through the gray deluge.
“Wait.” I grip Eurus’ shoulder. He flinches, and I yank my hand back, having forgotten about his wound. “Sorry. There’s a sandflower to your right that can help slow the p-poison. If you can get me close enough, I might be able to reach it.”
Eurus shuffles horizontally across the rock, nearer to the weeds. He stops, and a full-body shudder grips him. “I can’t go any farther. My legs are beginning to turn numb.”
“I’ll be quick.” Leveraging myself upright, I anchor one hand to his unwounded shoulder, the other reaching as far as I’m able, until my shoulder joint burns from the strain.
“Bird.”
Another inch of reach, and my fingertips brush the petals. Eurus attempts to lean closer, but the trembling in his arms worsens. “Almost… there,” I whisper.
“I can’t hold on for much longer.”
I’m pulling the stem from the crevice when fire tears through my upper arm. I scream, wrenching backward and slamming into Eurus’ chest.
He grunts and lists sideways. One of his feet slips. We drop. I yelp, but he catches himself, gripping the rock for all he’s worth. “You’re hit.”