Chapter 20 #2
And then? A violent clash of mortal and divine. Following the East Wind’s capture, Lady Clarisse will carve out his heart, all for the purpose of creating a potion that would extend her life indefinitely. The thought makes me horribly, unspeakably ill.
What if I ignored her message? I could pretend I never received it.
Eurus would return me to St. Laurent, and with his banishment reversed, he could settle in the City of Gods.
Without that god-touched weapon, her ladyship would in all likelihood refuse to sell me the estate.
Could I live with that, my future undefined?
Whatever the answer, it is too complex a problem to solve tonight. “If you want to let loose, as you say, Eurus, I am not going to stop you.” Though perhaps I’d hoped he would spend the evening with me. Foolish, to be certain.
“Bird.” He stares at me long enough that I shift in place. “I’m asking if you would join me. Not as my assistant, but as my companion.”
“Oh.” I blink wide eyes. “L-like a—” I can’t say it. I must say it. “Date?” I squeak out.
To my considerable shock, the East Wind shuffles his feet nervously. “I suppose that is something you mortals care for?”
I nod in response.
“Then would you do me the honor of accompanying me tomorrow evening?”
My every pore screams to reach out and touch him, grasp the fabric of his cloak, draw him close, toe to toe and groin to groin. By the Mother, there must be something wrong with me. “Y-yes! I mean—” I clear my throat. Too much enthusiasm? “I don’t have anything to wear.”
The East Wind gazes at me for two, three, four heartbeats. I can almost imagine his expression: a bit perplexed, a subtle softening. “Luckily, I know someone who does.”
“I can’t accept this.”
The East Wind peers over my shoulder, comically large in the mirror’s reflection.
The drab black of his cloak looks out of place amongst the racks of jewel-toned gowns and diamond-encrusted accessories.
Through the storefront windows, a small crowd has gathered, faces pressed against the glass. I ignore them.
“You can,” Eurus says.
Demi pulled some strings. I’m not sure what she promised the shopkeeper, exactly, but the woman closed her store to accommodate a private dress fitting. My dress fitting. Granted, I only have the hour, but I never imagined I would be allowed such a privilege.
“I really can’t.” The silk of the blue gown pours like water over my body. “How much does this cost?” I imagine it to be exorbitant.
“Don’t worry about the cost,” he assures me. “If you like it, get it. It looks good on you.”
The sapphire coloring does complement my pale skin and black hair. And yet, he likely doesn’t understand what it means to be given something without expectation of recompense.
I bite my lower lip until the sting behind my eyes passes. Crying over silk. What is the world coming to? “I’ll pay you b-back.” Somehow. “Or I can wear a dress I already own.” Plain cotton, but at least it is clean. My coat will conceal the small holes near the hem.
The East Wind eases closer, his chest brushing my spine. Heat floods my abdomen, and I straighten in the mirror, my expression flickering with an emotion better kept masked. If he removed his hood, might I see the ways Eurus was affected by our proximity as well?
“Is that what you want?” he asks.
I can imagine what Lady Clarisse would say. Keep your filthy hands off that fine silk, Min. You are good enough for digging in the dirt, but little else. “I don’t know.” Or perhaps I do know, but I’m afraid of accepting the idea that I deserve something this fine.
Eurus turns toward the shopkeeper. “We’ll take it.”
“What!” I spin around on the platform. “No, I can’t. Really. I’ll wear my own clothes.”
But the goddess is already unbuttoning the gown.
She proceeds to wrap it in delicate tissue paper before placing it in a box adorned with green satin ribbon.
Eurus pays. It is a hefty sum, judging by the number of coins piled onto the counter.
He offers me the box, and I hold it to my chest on our walk back to the palace, too overwhelmed by gratitude to speak.
Upon entering our suite, we hover in the middle of the chamber, staring at one another in uncertainty. We’ve less than two hours before we’re to meet the other competitors in town. Time enough to bathe and dress, but little else.
My eyes dart to the washroom. “Should I…?”
“I’ll go first.” He pivots jerkily, strides to the washroom, and shuts the door.
There is a splash, followed by a long, satisfying groan.
Warmth skitters up my arms, for the sound is base, twined with all manner of pleasurable things.
He is bathing, and bathing is not sexual.
Except now I’m imagining the East Wind drawing the wet cloth across his pectorals, down his hard abdomen.
Though I have never seen his torso, nor any glimpse of his body, I have been held against his chest, felt the strength in his arms. The East Wind’s physique is unabashedly male, taut with untapped power.
Somehow, my thoughts wander to his wings. I never considered how Eurus fits into the tub. Does he drape them over the edge? Keep them submerged against his body?
Blowing out a breath, I force my legs into motion and cross to my bedroom window, shoving back the curtains.
The City of Gods, striking as a whetted blade.
I wonder how the manor fairs in the East Wind’s absence.
Is she able to occupy herself, or does she require his presence to function?
It would not be so bad to return, if only for a short visit.
Unfortunately, my thoughts again veer toward the image of Eurus bathing. Rather than shut my mind to the temptation, I willingly follow it down and down and down into the dark, where experience lies in sensation, taste and sound and touch.
“Bird.”
“Y-yes?” I cross my arms, drop my arms, wipe my face, straighten my clothes. Finally, I turn, but the doorway is empty. “Eurus?”
“In here.”
Ah. I stride for the washroom. “Do you need something?” I press my ear to the cool wooden door.
He clears his throat. “In my haste to bathe, I realize I forgot to bring a change of clothes with me.”
“Oh.” Breathy and low. “Where—”
“In the dresser, back of the bottom drawer, there should be trousers and a long-sleeved gray shirt.”
I nod exuberantly, which is silly, considering he cannot see me. “I’ll get them.”
I all but flee to the East Wind’s bedroom, pulling open the lower drawer of his dresser. Recalling his desire for everything in its place, I remove the clothes he asked for without disturbing anything else, but a small notebook tumbles onto my lap, falling open to a random page.
Black ink, heavy scrawl. A single phrase, written over and over, top to bottom, page after page after page.
You are nothing.
You are nothing.
You are nothing.
You are nothing.
You are nothing.
Immediately, I close the book. My body feels shaky, scooped hollow of substance. Those words were not for my eyes. They were for no one. If this is what he thinks of himself… I hurriedly stuff the notebook back into his dresser, wanting to be rid of those poisoned words.
“Bird?”
My understanding of the East Wind deepens to a frightening degree.
I understand what it is to wake up each morning and know you are low, worse than low, not even worthy of acknowledgment.
I understand, too, the difficulty in living your life around this truth.
How parts must be stretched or lessened or locked away to accommodate this ravenous belief, which leaves air for nothing else.
Pushing to my feet, I return to the washroom. “Your clothes,” I say through the door.
It cracks open, allowing Eurus’ hand to slide through. Moments later, he emerges, lemon-scented steam clouding his back, beads of water clinging to the rising peaks of his beautiful wings.
But—his cloak. My heart sinks in sight of it, woven fabric draping him head to toe, for I had hoped he would go without, at least in the privacy of our suite.
As if sensing my shift in mood, Eurus comes forward. “What is it, bird?”
“Will you not remove your hood?” I ask quietly.
He glances toward the entrance of the suite. The set of his shoulders reminds me of a soldier readying himself for war.
“The door is locked,” I reassure him. “No one will see you but m-me.”
The East Wind is not easily swayed. Yet I ask him for this one thing, and he complies, pushing back his hood to reveal a countenance thrown into harsh relief in the late afternoon sun.
The raised scarring crawls across his left cheek, the roundness of his chin, even to the edge of his sparse eyebrow.
I recall meeting his brother, Zephyrus, and wondering how Eurus’ appearance compared to that of the green-eyed, curly-haired mortal.
The differences between them make me ponder what his other brothers look like.
Lifting a hand, I cup his face. My thumb sweeps the rise of his sharp cheekbone. A quiet agony clouds his features, skin drawn taut and mouth condensed into a seam.
“Is this the only place you have scarring?” I question.
“No.” He stifles a shudder as I trail gentle fingertips along his jaw, down to the dip of his collarbone. “My chest and back, too.”
And if I were to tug aside his cloak, might I witness these scars, and map their swells and divots? But of course, I do not. I have some propriety. “They appear to be burn marks.”
Eurus leans closer so the flat of my hand curves around the side of his neck. This close, I can count the hairs bristling his jaw.
“They are,” he whispers, eyes half-lidded, hazed black, black, black.
“After my successful mutilation, my father wanted to create something even greater, some creature impervious to harm—fire and flood, sword and spear.” The muscles of his throat contract beneath my palm. “As you can see, it didn’t work.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
The East Wind searches my face. “Why? You had nothing to do with it.”