Chapter 31 #2
I’m hauled onto the boat. My limbs flop in a heap of drenched fabric and pooling water. Rain lashes my skin, and I blink against the sting. Seconds later, Notus heaves himself aboard.
“Give it up, girl,” Boreas growls. He swipes at his dripping hair, blue eyes boiling against the gray. “You have no idea where we are or if we are even heading in the right direction.”
“We just have to find the eagle-shaped rock,” I manage through chattering teeth. “It’s close to his island.”
His eyes bulge in disbelief. “Eagle-shaped rock? In this storm?” He shakes his head at his siblings, who appear equally concerned. “We should turn back.”
“No!” I shove myself upright, grab hold of a nearby crate. We spin, lurch, dip in a never-ending tumult. “We’re close. We have to be.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Boreas roars. “Any longer at sea, and there will be no returning home. We’re lucky we haven’t capsized yet!”
I scan our surroundings desperately. Rain, rain, and more rain. How long have we been sailing for? The marker should be close, but…
“He’s right, Min.” This from the West Wind. “It’s best if we return to St. Laurent and—”
“No!” I bark with a glare. Boreas’ blue eyes harden like two chips of frost, but I will not cower, I will not bend. “We’re not going back. If you disagree, feel free to jump ship.”
With that, I march over to the rudder, tilting the handle to the left so as to ease our passage through two colliding waves. I’m pleased when the brothers take their positions at the sails without argument.
It is a constant battle. I’m not certain how much time passes as we fight our way through the storm, but eventually, a large, dark shape emerges from the dim: the sleek head and hooked beak of an eagle.
“There!” I scream, pointing. “That’s the rock!” And beyond: the crowned turrets of the manor.
Notus takes over, steering us toward the beach at the south side of the island. The wind and hail worsen, but only until we manage to break through the wall of the storm. Then, an eerie silence descends. As soon as we hit shore, I fling myself onto the wet sand with a small sob of relief.
Boreas glances away uncomfortably. “Mortals,” he mutters.
“Don’t forget, you’re one too now,” Zephyrus reminds him as he gathers their weapons from below deck and passes them to their respective owners.
A small footpath winds its way toward the great, ominous edifice in the distance.
Step by step, I lead the Anemoi toward the manor, moving as quickly as the uneven terrain will allow.
A side door directs us to one of the expansive corridors.
It is a dark stretch, broken only by small wells of light.
“Not bad, not bad,” the Bringer of Spring comments, briefly studying one of the oil paintings displayed against the elegant wallpaper. “I have to say, Boreas, Eurus’ place is far nicer than yours.”
“Shut up,” snarls the North Wind.
Where would they have taken Eurus? Unfortunately, I never had the opportunity to explore the manor in her entirety. Might there be a dungeon below? What of barred cells?
“Eurus!” I scream, and the cry falls into an echo, carrying my fear down the shadowed passageway.
How soon would Lady Clarisse kill Eurus? Without his god-touched ax, she would not be able to end his life, but what sort of atrocities does Prince Balior hold up his sleeve?
As we pass by a sitting room, I spot a plate of food resting on a side table, the meal having gone cold.
I gasp. The manor!
“Can you lead us to Eurus?” I ask the enchanted building.
At the end of the hall, a lamp flares to life.
“This way!” I call.
The Anemoi and I race toward it, barging through the double doors at the end of the hall and emerging into pouring rain. A small paved area gives way to a long, grassy strip that veers off the edge of a cliff.
In the distance, the East Wind kneels, bound by shadow, Prince Balior and Lady Clarisse crowding his back.
Boreas sprints toward them, spear held aloft. Without bothering to turn around, the prince lifts a hand, and a tendril of darkness twines around the North Wind’s legs. He hits the ground, the spear tossed from his grip. Zephyrus and Notus approach warily, their own weapons at the ready.
Slowly, Prince Balior turns. Lady Clarisse glances our way as well, but after a murmured word from the prince, she returns her attention to Eurus, shadow gradually eating him from the waist up. It appears to be keeping him immobile. But—alive. He is alive.
“Notus. A pleasure.” Prince Balior regards the other siblings calmly.
“And you’ve brought reinforcements. Let me guess.
” He points. “Boreas, right? And you must be Zephyrus, the annoying one.” He smiles at the West Wind, whose expression has shuttered behind a chilling rage.
“So glad you could be here to witness your brother’s demise. ”
Notus steps forward. Though he and Prince Balior share a similar manner of dress, the South Wind’s robe is soaked with water, caked in dirt. The prince is immaculate in comparison.
“Why are you doing this?” Notus demands. “Eurus has no quarrel with you. The beast is dead because the Council of Gods willed it.”
The prince brushes a damp lock of hair from his forehead, where the skin has folded in perplexity. “I believed as much when it did not return from the City of Gods, but I am glad to hear my suspicions confirmed.”
Beyond the prince’s shoulder, shadow continues to consume the East Wind. His eyes are closed, his face slack. It has now enveloped his chest and reaches skinny tendrils toward his mouth.
Zephyrus must notice as well, for he has begun to inch his way toward Eurus. The North Wind sidles toward the opposite edge of the grassy strip, as though the brothers intend to surround Prince Balior.
“You see,” the prince goes on, “a few days ago, something unexpected occurred: I experienced a new wave of strength. When the beast was slaughtered, its power came to me, and would you believe that I now possess the might of an immortal, like you?” His eyes crinkle.
“Oh, that’s right. You’re no longer immortal, are you?
I imagine Sarai is happy about that.” His smile falls. “Then again, she was promised to me.”
Notus clutches his sword so tightly I am convinced he will splinter the hilt. “Tell me you’re not still angry that she broke your engagement.”
“Angry? No. But I have my pride.” He looks the South Wind up and down. “Had you not entered the picture, I would have had my power and your wife.”
“Watch it,” Notus growls.
Prince Balior glances at his nails. “I suppose I will settle for power. It may not warm my bed, but at least it can’t betray me.” He lowers his hand, which is now swathed in spiraling bands of gray, and advances a step.
Notus bares his teeth. “I would have done anything to keep Sarai away from you. Do you really think killing Eurus will aid your endeavor? The divine will not rest until you are dead.”
He lifts his sword, extends the point outward, level with the prince’s throat. The wind ratchets to a high keen, whipping the robe around his legs. “Stand down.”
“The beast wanted Eurus dead for imprisoning him in that labyrinth,” the prince replies.
“I owe it to the poor creature to see its last wish carried out. I would not be where I am today without it.” He extends a shadowed hand.
“But you have a choice, too, Notus. Leave now, and I will spare your life, and the lives of your brothers.”
“It’s four against one,” Notus says to the prince. “I will not tell you again. Stand down.”
His adversary smiles. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The South Wind lunges. Prince Balior stumbles back, unprepared for the speed with which Notus moves. As he hurries to shield himself, Zephyrus darts toward Eurus, with Boreas approaching from the opposite direction.
A wall of black smoke slams them back.
“Uh-uh.” Prince Balior smiles at Zephyrus, having tossed Notus across the clearing. “Tricky Bringer of Spring.”
Boreas leaps with a snarl. He evades one, two, three spheres of darkness, before one tosses him sideways.
Moments later, Notus is locked blade to blade with the prince, who grins at him through their crossed swords.
He shoves hard, a wave of shadow shunting back the South Wind, who dives, slashing at Prince Balior’s ankles.
The man parries the attack, flinging small shadow blades at his opponent in retaliation.
Notus drops and rolls, but not before they cut through clothing, into skin.
“Notus!” Zephyrus tosses his brother both daggers he carries. Catching them in midair, the South Wind flings one toward his foe’s chest. As Prince Balior dodges the first knife, a second arrows toward his stomach. The blade sinks deep.
The prince stumbles, face draining of color. Blood sops the front of his robe. “Finish it!” he barks at Lady Clarisse, then tosses her a dagger. She catches it with a triumphant smile.
My heart kicks once, then beats still. No.
I sprint for the East Wind, who is now entirely encased in shadow. “Let him go!” I scream.
Lady Clarisse whirls around. Her mouth curls in thinly veiled surprise. “And what are you going to do about it, useless girl? Go back to St. Laurent where you belong and await my return.”
I stand my ground. “If you’re looking for the East Wind’s ax, I already told you it was lost during the tournament. You are wasting your time.”
“As always, Min, you are continually two steps behind. I don’t need the East Wind’s ax.” She lifts the dagger. “See this blade? A gift from the beast to Prince Balior. It is god-touched.”
Lightning erupts overhead. Its flash of brilliance highlights the long hollows beneath her eyes, the cavities in her cheeks. If I’m not mistaken, the wall of the surrounding storm appears to be sinking inward, almost as if the protections around the island are beginning to falter.
“You’re bluffing,” I growl, though I dare not remove my eyes from the blade.