“You are my wife. If you were cold, then it was my duty to make you comfortable.”
That’s… unexpectedly sweet of him. I wish I could blame the wine for my conflicting thoughts, but I woke up without a headache. My tongue, however, has that unmistakable papery texture. I will need a drink once we return to the citadel.
“Then—” I close my mouth and swallow. “Thank you.”
If I’m not mistaken, his mouth shapes a faint upward curve.
Enough of this. Rushing around him, I grab my coat and shrug it on. It gives me some semblance of security. “I’m going for a walk.”
The smile vanishes. “Wait.” He rounds the bed as I reach the door.
“If you’re going to tell me to stay here,” I say, my hand clutching the knob with nervous energy, “don’t bother.”
“When you last walked through Neumovos, you were nearly beaten to death.”
His voice, normally smooth as glass, ripples with an undercurrent of fury. He stares at me so intensely my eyes drop to his chest for a reprieve. His unfairly chiseled chest.
“They would not dare do so again,” I respond quietly. “Not with you here.”
Focus far too keen for my liking, he says, “We leave within the hour.”
“I’ll meet you in the square.” Hopefully what I’m looking for won’t take long to find. “And put some clothes on,” I quip.
I’m not free until the door closes behind me, severing his gaze.
If I were the West Wind, where would I hide?
The woods come to mind. Leaving town means abandoning the protective circle of rune-carved trees, but it is morning, and darkwalkers rarely swarm in daylight. I choose a trail at random and follow its bend until the thatched homes disappear from view. I cannot be long.
The trees are like brittle, blackened bones. The clear, blue sky is a cruel contrast. When the trail leads to a dead end, I backtrack, chooseanother marked footpath. After about a mile, I reach a clearing dappled with snow, large snowdrifts swathing the bases of the trees.
“Wren, you look as lovely as ever.”
My pulse surges, but I force myself to turn around slowly, as though I’m not startled by the West Wind’s sudden presence. “Zephyrus.”
“The one and only.” His pointed teeth flash, fiend-like, and his green eyes sparkle with the game he always seems to be playing.
“I’ve been looking for you,” I tell him.
“I know.” He sighs dramatically and props a slim shoulder against a tree. He wears his usual greens: a heavy, woolen tunic, brown leather boots and breeches. Zephyrus and Boreas could not be more different. The mess of curls tangled with leaves and vines suggest Zephyrus does everything in his power to extend himself, charisma at times wafting from his skin, whereas Boreas straps himself down with ruthless precision. “Jeline, the woman who owns the apothecary, told me you stopped by.”
“Oh?” I find it interesting that he failed to seek me out. “And did she mention I was beaten to within an inch of my life?”
The smile falls. “She did.” I’ve never seen him look so grave. “I’m sorry to hear what happened, though not entirely surprised. The townsfolk attacked you because you are tied to Boreas. Because he sentenced them to an eternity of servitude, and they are angry, rightfully so. He should have known better than to send you here.”
But he didn’t send me—in fact, he forbade it. I chose to visit myself, despite Orla’s warnings. “Boreas is the one who saved me.”
“You were innocent,” he goes on. “A victim.”
I’m not sure what to think. Zephyrus and I aren’t friends, but I thought we were at least friendly. Something about this meeting makes my hair stand on end. He is a god, weaving threads and setting traps. Above all, he seeks power. I must never forget that.
“Where have you been?” I ask.
“Oh, here and there. I heal quickly. Anyway, it’s not the first time Boreas has threatened to kill me.” He’s clearly amused by the notion of fratricide.
“I spoke to him about your concerns,” I say, “but he wasn’t receptive to them.” What was it he’d said?If my power corrupts his realm, he should consider strengthening his own defenses.
“That does not surprise me. It was worth the attempt, anyway.” He shrugs. “But I assume you’re not here to listen to my tales of brotherly woe.” At this, he steps closer, the scent of damp earth overriding the snow and cold. He pulls something from his pocket, holding it flat in his palm.
