“No. His death arrived far quicker than I anticipated. Anyone who might have been able to reverse what had occurred did not wish to help me.” Parting the top of the cloak, he points to the marking near his ribs. “When Hyacinth’s blood fell to the earth, flowers bloomed in its wake. This tattoo is in memory of him.”
I stare at the tattoo, its trio of flowers. Beneath lies his skin, dusted gold, and flexing muscle. I drag my focus away, though it takes effort. “And Apollo?”
“Apollo was inconsolable. I had not considered how deeply his feelings for Hyacinth ran.”
As I shift these details into their proper places, the image grows clearer. What was it Pierus once said?It will never be enough. I had hoped you would realize that by now.“Does Pierus have any relation to Hyacinth?”
He sends a gentle stream from his fingertips to wake the dying fire. It flares, painfully bright, then gutters. Nothing remains to catch and burn. “Hyacinth was Pierus’ son.”
At last, I see the whole of this tangled web. The reason for Zephyrus’ enslavement. A father’s vengeance stretched eternal.
“What happened afterward?” For I sense that we have not reached the end of this tragic tale. Hyacinth’s death is the dawn, but the day is long.
Zephyrus studies the glowing coals. “At first, nothing. I expected Pierus to demand a trial, but months passed, and the Council of Gods did not send for me. Over time, Hyacinth’s death weakened my resolve. I lost sleep. I was not eating properly. The grief was too fresh.”
He drags at his lower lip in thought, then says, “To keep my mind occupied, I joined Boreas’ efforts in organizing a coup with my brothers. We attempted to overthrow our parents, who reigned over our great city, but we failed. Once the dust settled, we were banished from our realm, cast off to the four corners of this new world, never to return to our shining home.”
“And how long ago was that?”
He shrugs. “Centuries? Millennia? Time passes strangely in Under, as you know.”
It is another moment before he goes on.
“Although I was exiled to Carterhaugh, Pierus did not believe my punishment was just. After appealing to the Council of Gods, he was granted permission to cross over and oversee my sentence. They gifted him my name, the power to control me. He essentially stole Under from the fair folk and proclaimed himself its king.”
There is so much information here my mind struggles to process it all. Does Mother Mabel know of this? And did the tithe exist prior to Pierus’ arrival, or did he implement that on his own?
“For killing his son,” Zephyrus croaks, “I am forever in Pierus’ debt. The power in my blood feeds Under so the realm may continue to exist, and at the close of every seventh year, I am sacrificed. I do not die, not in the sense that mortals do, but I am emptied. I become a shell, a god made vacant of power, until the dawn of a new cycle, when I am revived.”
“There’s nothing you can do? No way to sever the ties binding you?”
Leaning forward, Zephyrus drags the pile of clothes Lissi provided onto his lap. “No methods worth pursuing. Once the tithe is complete, I will be bound for another seven years.”
I can’t accept that. If he’s bound, why in seven-year cycles? What else must I know to get to the bottom of this mess? Fumbling in my pocket for the roselight, I pull it free. “Look.” Its feeble glow is but a ghost of color on glass. “Do you see what Pierus is doing to you? What this horrible ritual perpetuates? There has to be another way.”
Yet the West Wind stares at the roselight as though it is the sun rising after the longest, darkest night. “You threw it away,” he says quietly. “Weeks ago.”
I’ve carried the roselight since Harper’s visit to the forge, though I’ve considered flinging it down a well. Twice, I nearly did. My fingers refused to let go. “Harper retrieved it,” I say, and leave it at that.
Still he watches me, expression guarded. “Why did you come for me?”
There is no singular answer. Because of the way he is in this moment, all defenses brought low. Because he is more than his faults. Because beneath that shining immortal skin, Zephyrus is just a man. Despite all that he’s done, I believe, as the Father believes, that people can change. They can begin again.
“Everyone leaves me,” he murmurs, “but you…”
My heart squeezes in response. “I came back.”
His throat dips, and I watch the tension ease, and settle into a deeply profound peace. “You came back.”
29
“TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU KNOW,” I say, stirring the fire to life. “Leave nothing out.”
The West Wind, dressed in clean, dry clothes, watches the flames gorge on the dry wood. While he rested, I had gone to collect firewood and scout the area. I’d observed no signs of intrusion, but I didn’t linger, returning to our shelter in fear of something catching my scent. A block of cheese from my bag settled my gnawing stomach.
Tossing a branch onto the fire, he says, “Without my blood, the tithe will remain incomplete. I’m sure Pierus has already learned that I’m gone, and why, though he will stall for as long as he can. He hates to appear foolish.”
It’s been hours already. Mother Mabel must know something is amiss.
