Chapter 26
I HAVE NEVER RESTED SO well as I do in the hours following the third trial.
I am nestled under thick blankets on one of the infirmary cots, a wall of windows overlooking the ivy-covered courtyard.
Below, deities mill about, some reading on benches beneath the large shade trees, others congregating near the fountain to discuss the tournament.
Eurus lies unconscious on a neighboring cot.
The grime of his clothes sticks to his skin, his every cut a vibrant red against the bruises mottling his face.
I would reach for his hand were I not afraid it might wake him.
After he was given the antidote to Gray Snare, the healer administered an incredibly strong sleep potion, to allow his body to recover.
He will need to stay overnight for further observation.
One hundred and ten contestants entered the tournament, but only one triumphed, in the end.
The East Wind claimed victory, but at what cost?
Tomorrow, at the victor’s banquet, he will poison the Council of Gods with Eastern Blood.
It may be his hand doling out the sentence, but what of his silent accomplice—me?
Do I not hold some responsibility for the council’s demise?
Once my end of the bargain has been fulfilled, Eurus will take me back to St. Laurent, where Lady Clarisse lies in wait.
The knowledge wedges a tightness against my ribs.
Then again, what did I expect? The City of Gods is not my home, nor my heart.
I will leave and he will stay. This is what was always written.
An hour later, I’m discharged from the infirmary. While Eurus recuperates, I return to our suite, where I pen a final message to her ladyship.
Dear Lady Clarisse,
I hope this letter finds you well. I come bearing unfortunate news.
The East Wind’s god-touched ax has been destroyed.
A tournament took place in the City of Gods, and his weapon was smashed to pieces in the process.
I apologize that I was not able to carry out my promise.
I know how eager you were to acquire it.
If it is a potion of immortality you seek, I am certain we can find another way.
—Min
There. That should stop her scheming.
With the letter and an extra generous helping of Nan’s strength tea in hand, I venture down to The Blind Oracle, where the Courier sits at the bar nursing a glass of whiskey.
He agrees to deliver the final letter and accepts the tea for payment.
I then return to the palace, where I draw myself a bath, scrub the filth from my skin.
And when the water is all murk, I dry myself with a towel, don a clean sleeping gown, and tumble into bed, where I think no more.
I wake to the sound of rushing water.
Snapping upright, I gasp, a hand to my chest. Darkness swathes the bedroom. Dried saliva blots my cheek, which I hurriedly scrub clean with the sleeve of my sleeping gown. I blink as my surroundings come into focus.
Is that…? I frown. It sounds like water slopping over the rim of a tub.
Dropping my legs over the edge of the mattress, I push from bed, easing open the door. The main chamber of the suite is empty, though three candles brighten the space. A light splash sounds from within the washroom. Then: a low, tortured groan.
Gooseflesh stipples my arms and legs, and warmth gathers in my pelvis. The East Wind—bathing. But of course, who else would be behind that door? He must have been released from the infirmary.
My eyes squeeze shut as Eurus emits another satisfied groan. Would it be absolutely absurd to enter the washroom? I could help wash his wings, that hard-to-reach area between his shoulder blades. It would be no hardship.
He sighs as though he sinks deeper in the water, and I imagine his wings draped over the sides of the tub. A low, breathless exhalation escapes me before I can call it back.
His sigh cuts off. “Bird?”
I bolt to the opposite side of the room. Just as I throw myself onto the sofa, the East Wind emerges from the washroom, enveloped in a hot cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around his solid waist.
My face flames. I never believed myself capable of envy, but I am incredibly envious of that towel. Water beads like diamonds across his supple skin, stretched taut over thickly muscled arms, shoulders, and thighs. The plane of his abdomen is demarcated by shallow grooves.
Eurus stares at me with dark eyes. My insides quiver beneath his regard.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him.
He hesitates: step forward, or stay put? In the end, he approaches, one hand gripping the towel at his waist. “I should be back at my old strength in a few days.”
The scent of his soap—lemon and sage—mists the air. I drink it down. “I’m glad to hear it,” I reply.
“Did you worry?” he asks, much knowing in his voice. And perhaps a shred of vulnerability, too.
“I did.” The longer he gazes at me, the more I fear I will do something rash, like leap into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist. “You were in good hands, but… I did worry,” I admit, my words fading to a whisper.
Perhaps that is a sentiment he is not willing to scrutinize too closely, for the East Wind abruptly says, “I need to change.”
I nod, swallow. “Of course.” My eyes track his retreat into his bedroom. I release a long, long exhalation. My skin fizzles with heat.
When the East Wind reemerges, dressed in trousers and a crisp, button-down shirt, he takes a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. I study him, never more aware of his body than I am in this moment. Helplessly, my eyes drop to his mouth.
His nostrils flare, and he murmurs, one arm outstretched, “Come here, bird.”
After a slight hesitation, I slide toward him and allow him to tuck me against his side.
“How does it feel?” I ask him. “Victory?”
Shadows carve the corners of his mouth and eyes. It is a long moment before he responds. “I suppose I thought I would feel some sort of relief.” He stares out the window for a time. “So why does it feel as though nothing has changed?”
That, I cannot answer. I am not privy to the inner workings of the East Wind’s heart.
“You won,” I say, but for whatever reason, I find it difficult to dredge up the enthusiasm. “This is what you wanted.”
“What I wanted,” he murmurs to himself. Before I can fully evaluate that comment, he stands, tugging me to my feet. “I’ve a gift for you—for tonight’s banquet.”
“A gift?”
He draws me toward the dining table, where a gift box rests. I study it with an odd sense of fear. The wrapping paper is an iridescent green, the bow so ornate it reminds me of a flower.
“Go on,” he says. “Open it.”
I slide the top off the box. Pushing aside the delicate tissue paper, I pull out a long, sleek, ruby gown rippling like a wave of boiling lava. My breath catches. “It’s beautiful.” Gold gemstones stud the curved neckline, leading to two thin shoulder straps. I’ve never owned anything half as fine.
I lower my arms. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Generally, a thank you will suffice,” he says with unexpected affection.
Carefully, I fold the gown back into the box. “Thank you, Eurus.”
“Will you try it on?”
“Um.” I nibble on my lower lip. “I suppose.” He continues to stare at me until I swipe the box and carry it into the washroom, the scent of lemon and sage a perfume against my skin.
After slipping on the slippery red fabric, I brush a hand down the bodice. It fits quite well, though the waist is a tad large. The heels, which I uncover at the bottom of the box, are equally fine, though their added height forces me off-balance. I pray I do not trip.
The gift box holds another surprise: lip rouge and blush, which I use to draw color to my skin. Lastly, a pearl clip to adorn my hair.
The moment I exit the washroom, the East Wind stares at me like… I don’t have the words. Like I am his sun and his moon. Like the world may end, but I will still be here, a vision sent from the gods.
“You look…” He advances toward me, his daze burned away to reveal a depth of longing that frightens me even as I find myself willingly drawn into its folds.
I cross my arms, drop them, cross them again. “Do you think the gown is too immodest?”
He catches my hands in his much broader ones. “It’s perfect, as are you.”
So many complicated emotions crowding forward.
“Thank you,” I whisper shyly. I feel beautiful, which is not something I have felt in, well, ever.
“You look very handsome as well.” And he does.
Trim trousers, emerald shirt tucked into his belted waistband, and shining leather shoes, the same polished black as his wings.
Catching the point of my chin, he draws my face gently upward. “You are sad, bird. Do you not like the gown?”
A great cloud hangs over me. What are gowns and trinkets compared to what lies in my heart? Soon, it will be morning, eve having progressed beyond my reach. I am not ready for farewells.
“Eurus.” I gaze at him openly, my eyes wet. “When we met, you were an absolute brute. You were angry at yourself, at your father, at the world. You did not trust, and for good reason. I can’t imagine the courage it took to return home and face those who hurt you.
“Despite that, you proved change is possible,” I continue. “And that sometimes we don’t need what we once did to move forward in our lives.”
His wings rustle in an endearingly bashful manner. “Min—”
“Please, listen to me.” I grasp his hand so he does not feel alone or judged.
Once, his touch speared terror through me, for I believed he would treat me as Lady Clarisse had done.
But I was wrong. Now, the warmth of his skin brings calmness, security.
“I’m not going to plead with you to reconsider poisoning the council. The choice is not mine to make.”