Chapter 28
I ROUSE SLOWLY, SHEDDING SLEEP as clouds do a warm summer rain. The weight burdening my limbs is profound. They sink deep into the soft mattress, surrounded by blankets and a small mountain of pillows. Through the cracks of my eyelids, dawn makes itself known.
Tendrils of light flutter through the window to paint the floral wallpaper. I watch their elaborate filaments dance across the leaves and vines, my thoughts far away, cocooned in velvet. Last night, I gave the East Wind my heart. I regret nothing.
Memories of Eurus’ hands, and his mouth, and the unexpected gentleness of his lovemaking rise up from the depths into which they’d settled.
Never before had I felt so prized, like I was both made of glass and tempered steel.
He looked at me, and there was no need to quail, flinch, retreat. I was beloved. I was seen.
Shifting onto my back, I freeze. In the corner of my eye, the East Wind’s massive form lies sprawled across the bed, wings and all.
Soundly, he sleeps. The airy touch of the budding morn cascades over his slackened face. One side is sculpted with a scrupulous balance, featuring a straight black brow, rounded nose, the cut of a flawless cheek. It is beautiful, exquisitely carved. But I much prefer its scarred reflection.
My attention drifts to the crest of his wings. Sunlight reveals their true depth of color. Not wholly black, as I had believed, but cerulean and jade, even shades of dusky pink.
Reaching out, I trace the long, arched bone extending from his upper back. Eurus shudders, and his wing eases open, stretching like a cat in the sun.
When my attention returns to his face, I find him staring at me.
My mouth goes dry. “Good morning,” I whisper.
He smiles sleepily. I dare say it is adorable. “Good morning, bird.”
Curving one broad palm around the back of my head, his mouth descends, catching mine with a lazy twining of his tongue. I return the kiss eagerly, wrapping my arms around his neck without hesitation. It is a testament of his trust in me that he does not flinch.
After a time, he breaks away, his eyes hazed. “Did you sleep well?” he rumbles in that smoky tone.
“I did.” Only now do I recognize the ease slumber provides when my body perceives no threat. “And you?” I study his expression for subtle signs of nervousness. Often, the mouth speaks one thing, the body another.
“I cannot remember when I last slept so deeply,” Eurus admits.
This, I understand. Back at the estate, my sleep was shallow, fitful. Always, I listened: footsteps in the kitchen, on the stairs. Lady Clarisse might interrupt my rest at a moment’s notice. The racing heartbeat I once knew, that constant state of heightened vigilance—gone.
The East Wind twists a lock of my hair between thumb and forefinger. All the while, I gently explore the contours of his chest. When his mouth shapes its downward bend, I rub his jaw until it softens.
“I hope I didn’t wake you in the night,” he says. “Did I…?”
“No night terrors,” I reassure him.
Relief draws the tension from his frame, and he settles deeper into the mattress.
For a time, all is quiet, and I fear cracking its frail shell.
Today is a beginning, but it is also an ending.
Am I a fool to desire a life where I am granted not simply one night, but years of them, each morning spent in the East Wind’s arms?
“Do we have time to grab lunch in the city?”
He gazes out the window for one, two, three heartbeats. I sense he is troubled. “Technically, with the tournament having ended, I am required to depart the city before noon.”
I stare at him in confusion. “I thought you were going to ask the council to reverse your banishment?”
“I am still undecided.” He frowns. There is something in his expression that I cannot fully decipher. “Can I ask you something?”
There was once a time when Eurus believed change to be impossible. But look how far he has come, to exchange demands for requests, suspicion for faith. He has evolved, as have I. We are both better for it. “You may.”
“What are you returning to, in Marles?”
For whatever reason, I feel the need to tug the sheet over my head, a flimsy shield against this probing inquiry. “I have my work, as you know. I have the town. And my memories of Nan.”
“But you are not happy. You are not appreciated or treated with care. You are worked like a dog, and were treated as such.”
His words sting. That must mean they hold some truth.
“I do recognize Lady Clarisse’s mistreatment of m-me,” I admit, pulling my knees to my chest. “But with all due respect, Eurus, you are a god. You have the means to build a life that is meaningful to you. Most mortals must accept the circumstances they’ve been given.”
“Maybe I don’t know what it means to be mortal,” he says, “but I do know you deserve so much more than what that woman gives you.”
“I know,” I whisper. “That’s why I’m leaving her employment.”
Eurus rears back. “You are?”
I nod. “I want to continue my grandmother’s work.
I have some money saved. After Lady Clarisse sells the estate, I’ll need to find a place of my own, somewhere I can build my business.
” I must accept that it might not be in St. Laurent.
Lady Clarisse is extremely possessive of her clientele.
She would never allow another bane weaver to infringe on her empire.
“Min, that’s wonderful.” He grasps my hand, holds it to his face. I swipe my thumb across his cheek affectionately. “Why the change of heart?”
“I am not the same woman I was. It’s all right to want something different.” It is natural to feel that I have changed.
Leaning forward, he brushes a kiss across my brow. “I’m proud of you, bird.”
I smile, albeit sadly. “Me too.” There is much I will gain. But there is much I will lose, too.
While Eurus begins to dress, I yank on my undergarments, my motions stilted with fresh grief. Is this all there is? One passion-fueled night, then morning, the sun burning away the memory like dew on grass?
“Will you, I mean…” I swallow, draw forth my voice. “Will we see each other? After?”
Eurus pauses in dragging his wrinkled shirt over his head. His wings droop, their crenated edges skimming the rugs underfoot. “If my banishment is overturned, I will be expected to return to the City of Gods. It is generally frowned upon for the divine to meddle in mortal affairs.”
My heart drops straight down to my toes.
“Right. Of course.” How quickly things change.
Last night, we were twined tightly, our limbs blurred, distinction lost. Yet a gulf has opened between us.
It holds this ambiguous future, the knowledge that I could have the East Wind, I could have St. Laurent, but I could not have both.
While Eurus begins packing, I retreat to my bedroom. My tools are cleaned, sorted neatly in their box. What remains of Eastern Blood, I dump out the window. It will be the last poison I ever brew.
The East Wind is folding a pair of trousers when I poke my head into his bedroom. The urge to move closer, flatten my body alongside his, has sharpened in the time since separating. But I maintain my distance.
“I’d like to say farewell to Demi before we leave,” I tell him.
He lifts his head. For a moment, all is laid bare across his countenance, every conflicted emotion, the turmoil unrequited questions bring. Then it shutters, and I am left with nothing.
“Very well,” he says. “Meet me downstairs when you’re done.”
I find Demi in the kitchen kneading a ball of dough, flour coating her from wrist to elbow. Last night’s exquisite gown has been exchanged for a humble cotton dress. Bare feet poke from beneath the hem, and her dark locks have been secured in a messy tail. No face paint.
“So,” she says, shoving the heels of her palms into the dough. “You’re leaving us at last.”
Upon reaching the kitchen table, I halt. The pain from when we last spoke lingers. “I wanted to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” The goddess gives a near inaudible scoff. “I never liked that word. What is so good about parting?” Lifting the ball, she hurls it against the battered tabletop, and again, again. She punches the dough, hard, before expelling a shuddering breath.
“You’re upset that I’m leaving.” It is not a question, though I would have phrased it as such, once, unable to trust my intuition for fear of what it meant if I were wrong. But I see now that sadness is sadness, no matter whether it is mortal or divine.
“I understand this is not your home. Of course you would not stay.” She stares down at her flour-coated hands. “But I confess I’ve grown”—she huffs—“attached to you.”
It should not warm me, to hear her express her fondness toward me, however reluctant. But it does, and my soft, mortal heart lowers its guard. “My presence here was always temporary,” I remind her.
“I know,” she whispers, head hanging, “but I don’t want us to part when things are unfinished.”
Then those lambent cat eyes lift to mine, and they shine with unshed tears. The sight roots me in place.
“I’m sorry I was not honest with you. I regret that, Min. I really do.”
My airway tightens, for I feel her remorse, know it to be genuine. Can that not be enough, I wonder.
“Look,” I say, moving around the table. “I understand why you did it.”
“It was a lie.”
“What?”
“Yesterday, you asked me how I could have deceived you. I told you that if I wanted my voice to have meaning, I needed to act in accordance with what was best for the realm. But it was a lie.”
“I see.” When her fingers curl claw-like into the dough, I reach out and gently extract them. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“I was afraid,” she says, “of what you would think of me if you knew the truth. How your perception of me would change.”