“None that I’m aware of. The venom can only be flushed from his system if Zephyrus returns to the Orchid King. Only nightshade can reverse the effects.”
“He can’t go back.” That is not a life. That is not even existence.
Lissi peers at me as though I am a particularly petulant child. “You would risk your life, your livelihood, for a disgraced god?” When I fail to respond, she continues, “Once the Orchid King realizes Zephyrus is gone, he will do everything in his power to find him. The tithe remains incomplete without the West Wind.”
A difficult decision? Not particularly. A foolish one? Absolutely. My mind, however, will not change.
Reclaiming the second bottle, Lissi pours what appears to be ointment onto his wounds, and there are many. The inflamed skin begins to scab with hardened blood. Afterward, the sprite tips the green liquid down his throat, clamping his jaw shut so he’s forced to swallow.
“He should wake within a few hours,” she assures, returning the empty bottles to her satchel. “I cannot stay.”
As I expected. Nevertheless, I am sad to see Lissi go. “Thank you,” I say. “You have done more than I have a right to ask for. I will not forget it.” As she pushes to her feet, I catch her hand, waiting until hereyes meet mine, curious, amused. “If ever there’s a need, you will always have a friend in me.”
A smile ghosts across her wide, lipless mouth. “A mortal and a sprite, friends?” The chime of her laughter shivers through me as she takes her leave. “These are strange times indeed.”
28
I’M BUSY TENDING THE FIREwhen Zephyrus wakes.
A lick of warm air stirs against my back. My heart quickens, lifting free of its prior weight.Breathe, Brielle.My hand tightens imperceptibly around the stick I’ve been using to stoke the fire. A dagger is preferable.
Turning, I find his eyes resting on me. The slash of his eyebrows forms a bridge above his nose, which I swear appears smaller, less crooked, though the wavering light may be to blame.
I’m not ready. That is immediately apparent. I assumed I’d have more time to decide what, exactly, I would say to Zephyrus when he regained consciousness. I’d gathered my thoughts, penned them onto the pages of my journal, harvesting them one by one: thorny anger, the bruised trappings of hurt, heartache’s shredded tatters. I would lay out every fault, every wrongdoing, before prying him apart. The West Wind would learn the game had changed. I, Brielle of Thornbrook, was a lamb no longer.
Fury sears my throat with violent velocity.Now,I think. Now is the time to strike—when the man is down. It would be nothing less than Zephyrus deserves.
But looking into his face, I see the weariness of a man who has built cities, only to watch them crumble.
The fire in my heart banks to a simmer. He and I are alone in Under, without friends or allies. We have only each other in this wretched place.Unfortunately, navigating its underbelly will require trust in the West Wind—and in myself.
“How are you feeling?” I ask quietly.
Zephyrus pushes upward with a wince and rests his back against the overhang. Harper’s cloak gapes at his chest, revealing the many puncture wounds, livid against his paler skin. “Tired.”
What does it mean that I have missed his voice?
He peers beyond the fire, scanning the shadowed hillside at my back, the dark of isolation. His fingers shape into a fist, and the air pops in my ears.
“I’ve created a sound barrier around the camp,” he explains, appearing even more fatigued following that display of power. “We may talk freely.” His gaze pins mine. “What happened?”
He can probably guess, given his lack of clothes, but I fill in the larger holes.
Eventually, those bright green eyes return to mine. “What of Pierus?” he asks.
I poke the fire to keep my hands occupied. “He was already at Miles Cross. When I found you in his cavern, there was a woman in a white dress. Dark hair, dark skin. She was accompanied by five individuals wearing jewel-toned cloaks.”
The corners of his mouth droop in unhappiness. “Her name is Oly. She assists Pierus when he is elsewhere. The others you saw are akin to Pierus’ council, though they’re more like lackeys than anything else.”
“What did she do to you?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“I think she dispensed something into your mouth, but I didn’t see what it was. A tincture, maybe.”
“Ah.” He nods in understanding. “Usually, I’m given something to numb the pain. Well, most of it, anyway.” The cloak hem disappears inside his fist. He holds it there, like an anchor. “I would not have wished you to see me this way.”
He thinks me prudish. “I have seen nakedness before.” Granted,only the other Daughters in the bathhouse, never a man, though he doesn’t need to know that.
