Chapter 30
FROM THE NORTHERN TOWER, THERE comes a scream.
It erupts from my throat, cracking against the eroded walls of the cell, its pitched ceiling and filth-streaked floor.
I slam my fists against the thick steel door, again, again, again, until skin tears and blood slides down my wrists.
The sharp, coppery scent cuts the air’s brine, and my throat constricts around another budding cry.
Lady Clarisse is far from here, likely halfway to Eurus’ island by now. She does not care. She will not come.
I slide down the door, limbs crumpling in a useless heap. A sob splits open my sternum. The sound bleeds out, collapsing into a cycle of fitful weeping.
Slow, stupid Min. Lady Clarisse was right.
All this time, she was right. Because I did not see what my life had become.
I could not separate my desire to belong from the truth of her character.
She does not love me. She never will. And now I have sent the East Wind, the god to whom I have given my heart, to certain death.
The fault is mine. My previous life was not ideal, but it was bearable.
I knew my place. I knew what to expect, every day a dulled reflection of its predecessor.
Then, change: a prisoner in the tower. I could not have known he was one of the divine.
I should not have questioned, but I could not help myself.
Now, with power at Prince Balior’s fingertips and the East Wind likely dead, what will the treacherous prince do? With no one strong enough to oppose him, who is to stop him from invading Marles and making it his own?
Here, in the burying dark, I allow Lady Clarisse’s poisoned words to drip over me.
You are useless, girl.
Not a thought in that empty head of yours.
Go, I don’t want to see your face.
I shrink into the corner, become shadow. I make myself as small and insignificant as possible, yet another smear of grime on the floor.
This is what Eurus endured. This stone cage, this icy nothingness. For months, I listened to his agonized cries. It repulses me that I so easily turned a blind eye to his suffering. Yet here I am. Bird. It seems I was always meant for a cage.
When Lady Clarisse returns—if she returns—I will beg for her to release me.
Then I will leave. There is no home for me here, not anymore.
With the estate sold, I will gather my belongings and root elsewhere.
As my former employer, she may have refused to promote me, but today, I grant my own title: bane weaver.
Wherever Eurus is, that is where I will go, armed with my poisons, poultices, and teas. I cannot imagine he would fold so easily, truth serum or not. The manor may have enchantments that further protect him. Until then, I must wait.
As I settle against the wall, however, something pokes the back of my thigh. I sit up, running my fingers along the worn stone and its hidden cracks. I tuck the chilled object against my palm, trace its slender shape: a key.
The spare key from Lady Clarisse’s stash. I’d accidentally dropped it when Eurus swept me into his arms, preparing to launch through the window all those months ago. It is worth more than gold, more than the promise of immortality. It has but one name: hope.
Cold metal bites my fingertips as I insert the key into the lock. The sound echoes in the black, and I am heaving open the door, leaping across the threshold—
Three large men stand at the top of the stairs, blocking my way forward.
I study them warily, fists raised, not that it will do any good. They are twice the size of me. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” I bark, not in any mood for civility.
First, the tallest man: white skin, coal hair pulled into a low tail. His face looks as though it has been carved from marble. A coat wraps his broad shoulders, silver buttons lined waist to collar.
To his right, a boisterous head of caramel curls. I recognize this man immediately: Eurus’ brother, Zephyrus, formerly known as the West Wind. Green tunic and green eyes, the latter of which crinkle at the corners, suggesting amusement.
The shortest man is also the broadest, the most still.
His skin is darkest of all, the brown of pinecones, thick eyebrows bridged over a large nose.
A violet robe, much like the one Prince Balior was wearing, swathes his muscled frame.
It is he who says, “We were looking for our brother when we heard your scream.”
My eyes flick to each man: pale, dark, burnished sun. “All right,” I say slowly, “but that still doesn’t tell me who you are.” I lift my fists higher, just in case they suddenly rush me. I’ve the window at my back, still broken. Every so often, a breeze spirals inside—
I straighten. He said brother. Three men, and with Zephyrus present… “You are the Anemoi,” I state. “The Four Winds.”
The West Wind bows at the waist. “At your service.”
The pale-skinned man rubs at his forehead in what I believe to be irritation.
The robed brother opens his mouth to speak, but Zephyrus hurriedly says, “This thing with Prince Balior has gotten out of hand. When we heard a rumor that the prince was returning to Marles, we decided it was time to end this before it reached the City of Gods. So we gathered at Boreas’ fortress.
It’s really quite something. Hundreds of doors leading to alternate realms…
Anyway, we pass through one of the doors to Marles.
Came out of a woman’s closet, if you can believe it—”
“Zephyrus,” growls the tall, black-haired man. “We’re wasting time.”
The robed man steps forward, hand outstretched. “My name is Notus,” he says, and his gaze is steady, his demeanor calm. The South Wind, if I’m not mistaken. “These are my brothers, Boreas, the North Wind. And you’ve already met Zephyrus, it seems.” I nod. “Where is Eurus?”
At this, my expression falls. “Probably on his island by now. He’s been captured by Prince Balior.”
“Captured,” Notus murmurs, frowning. He tugs at the apricot-colored head scarf wrapped around his hair.
“I’m sorry, did you say his island?” Zephyrus crosses his arms in mock outrage. “Why hasn’t he invited us for a visit?”
“Focus,” growls Boreas.
“It’s my fault,” I whisper. “I b-betrayed him, and now Lady Clarisse will kill him and use his heart’s blood to create a potion of immortality.”
The Anemoi gaze at me in various shades of puzzlement. Though they look nothing alike, I do note a similarity in their mirrored expressions. “Slow down,” Boreas says. “Who is this Lady Clarisse?”
I shake my head, throat thickening.
“Min,” the West Wind murmurs. “It is Min, right?” He crosses the old, worn floorboards to where I stand. “We can’t help you unless you tell us what we need to know.”
He’s right. It is a blessing that Eurus’ brothers are here at all.
Briefly, I describe my relationship with my old employer, why she has aligned herself with Prince Balior, and how they intend to carve out the East Wind’s heart.
“Then none will be able to defeat Prince Balior,” Boreas murmurs, his aloofness thawing into something resembling apprehension. “At least, no one in the mortal realms.” He frowns. “We heard the beast was killed in the tournament. Is this true?”
I nod, glancing between the three men. “What about your powers?”
Once more, Zephyrus, Notus, and Boreas exchange a look of silent communication. It is Boreas who says, “Our powers are no more. We are mortal men.”
My stomach sinks. Right. Eurus mentioned this, if I recall. He found the idea of his brothers’ mortality downright appalling. “Can you handle weapons? Maybe a sword?” I ask hopefully.
Dark-eyed Notus lifts his chin. The walls of the estate shudder as the storm crawls ever nearer. “I am skilled with a sword. These two—” He gestures to his siblings. “Not so much.”
“I would have my bow if someone hadn’t forgotten to bring it,” Zephyrus quips.
The North Wind looks prepared to shove his brother out the window. “How was I supposed to know you wanted the bow?”
“We were gathering to face a prince of darkness. Don’t you think I would want some sort of weapon?”
“Not my problem,” Boreas snaps.
“Why are you trying to help Eurus after so many years?” I ask them.
The Anemoi glance at one another, then away, each harboring a separate guilt.
“Our father was a hard man,” Zephyrus murmurs, “but we could never have imagined the abuse Eurus suffered at his hands. It was our fault, really, for failing to notice sooner. We had our own interests, our own lives. The day he returned with wings—” He breaks off, swallows.
“Eurus refused to discuss what had happened, or why.”
It is not my place to explain the why. If the East Wind wants to enlighten his half-siblings on their shared blood, he will do so in his own time.
“It is no excuse,” the South Wind interjects fiercely.
“We were not there for him then, but we can be there for him now.” He then shifts that clear-eyed gaze onto me.
“Neither mortal nor god is spared the guilt of betrayal, or of neglect. We have all done immoral things. We have paid too high a cost. The question is, will you let it break you?”
I study the three men before me: the North Wind, the West Wind, and the South Wind. They have traveled far to aid their brother. An opportunity to set things right. A chance to make amends.
“Come,” I tell them. “I know where we can acquire blades.”
The basement below the estate is a soiled hovel, a hole in the earth. At the bottom of the rickety staircase, I light the wall sconce. The shadows withdraw, but only just.
Here, crammed between chilled walls of dirt, the air reeks of old piss and blood.
The stench is so putrid I’m forced to breathe through my mouth.
Lines of cells stretch end to end down the long, slanted space.
The low ceiling forces Boreas and Zephyrus to crouch, though Notus is short enough that he need not worry about knocking his head.