My heart stops.
Slowly, I turn my head to the right. There, a massive figure stands, backlit against the windows. He must be eight or nine feet tall, with shoulders so broad they remind me of mountains.
Again, I take in the specters’ still forms. Theirsleepingforms. For the god standing before the Frost King is none other than Sleep.
In the cave, he was but a voice in the void. Now here he stands, an entity given shape. It is only his eyes, however, that I’m able to focus on.When I attempt to make sense of his face, the garments he wears, the image eludes me.
“Boreas,” says the god who is Sleep.
After a moment, Boreas lowers his weapon and inclines his head. “It has been some time, cousin.”
“Give or take a few centuries.”
The Frost King takes in the unconscious specters, mouth pinching with displeasure. “You’ve interrupted a critical occasion for these souls. I do not appreciate the unannounced visit.”
The dark, blurred shape shifts forward. “I know a thing or two about unannounced visits.” Sleep’s depthless gaze locks onto me where I stand partially shielded by Boreas. “I daresay your wife does as well.”
The hair at my nape lifts as the surrounding atmosphere snaps with breathless cold. “You are acquainted with one another.” It is not a question.
“To an extent,” says the god.
The king asks me, “Does he speak plainly? Are you acquainted with Sleep?”
Hesitate, and I dig my own grave. I can’t lose Boreas’ trust now, not when I’ve begun to feel the change between us, a mutual understanding, potential for more.
“Wren.” He doesn’t believe his cousin, but he has not been given evidence to trust otherwise.
A selective truth will have to do.
“I have met Sleep,” I say.
Boreas tenses. The very air, it seems, tenses. I have the desperate urge to look into the face of the man who has been so distant, so remote toward me, but whose deeper emotions have begun to thaw. I fear what I might find. Disappointment? Anything less than acceptance would hurt.
Retreating a step, he moves to stand behind me, denying me his expression. “Explain.”
A fine line exists between truth and lie. I do not have to divulge every detail. Just enough to acknowledge the demand.
“I accompanied Zephyrus to Sleep’s cave. Your brother required one of the plants for a special tonic. While Zephyrus distracted him, I took the herbs he needed.”
The North Wind’s gloved hand curves around my nape, the leather cool against my flushed skin. “I told you to stay away from him,” he growls through gritted teeth.
“When have I ever listened to you?” The knot in my throat tightens. Somehow, I manage to swallow it down. “I was trying to help a friend.”
He scoffs. “My brother is no friend to you.”
My chest aches as the temperature plummets and the air around my nostrils crystallizes. There is nothing more frightening than the North Wind’s temper, black shadow sprouting from his skin.
“Control yourself,” I hiss. “I’m sorry I went against your word, but you can’t expect me to stay locked up in this place for the remainder of my life.”
He steps around me. “We’ll discuss this later, wife.”
“So it’s back to that?” Worse than his reaction is the knowledge that it’s my own damn fault for getting myself into this mess.
He ignores me, turning to face his relative. “What is it you want, cousin?”
“I only want what was stolen from me to be returned.” A weighted, expectant gaze.
Even if I wanted to return the flowers, I can’t. “I don’t have them. Zephyrus does. I don’t know where he went.” All truths.
