The moment I reforged that broken sword, I made my decision. “I’m going with you,” I say. “And whatever awaits, we’ll face it together.” Just as the Father shadows me in life, so too will I walk this path with the West Wind.
The dilapidated two-story house squats over a massive spreading bog, its foundation submerged in murky water. A wide wraparound porch skirts the front of the structure. The front door hangs off its hinges like a broken limb.
“Yakim lives here?” My voice emerges in a half-gasp, for the reek of this place forces me to breathe through my mouth.
Standing beside me on the drooping boardwalk, which connects the house to a handful of muddy islands, Zephyrus responds, “The Estate acts as a crossroads. For some, it is a gambling den. For others, it is a tavern, a place to order a hot meal and unwind. For the select few, there are lodgings within that cater to only the most exclusive circles. Yakim is one of their preeminent clients.”
It had taken half the night to reach the bog, endless miles crossing difficult terrain, the trees clumped like shadowed specters, hunched with age and rot. Zephyrus sent a message to Notus via a stream of air—apparently an effective method of communication between the Anemoi. Despite all odds, we’ve made it, sunrise still hours away.
Someone pushes aside a curtain from one of the second-story windows, revealing the silhouetted curves of a woman’s body.
“Right on time,” Zephyrus murmurs.
“Who is that?” I ask, more suspiciously than I intend to.
He lifts a hand in acknowledgment, smiling as the woman pushes open the window and calls out, “You were never fond of knocking, old friend!”
“How did you know it was me?” he hollers back.
“Roses. Nothing smells that good around here.”
He laughs.
I wrap my arms across my stomach, glaring at Zephyrus from the corner of my eye as my mood darkens. Who is this woman, that she is able to pull a shred of unspoiled joy from the West Wind?
“I hope my arrival isn’t an inconvenience,” he says.
The woman grins, a white crescent against her shadowed face. “None at all. Come on up. And bring your friend.” The window slams shut.
Zephyrus is still chuckling when I demand, “Are you going to answer?” After saving his skin, the least he could do is acknowledge me.
His eyebrows wing upward in surprise at my waspish tone. “You have to ask a question in order to receive an answer.”
It’s not intended as a blow, but I endure it as such. “I did,” I choke out, “or were you sleeping when I said,Who is that?”
His eyes clear. For a time, he regards me. “You’re jealous.”
“I am not.”
“You are.” He sidles closer, eyes dancing.
I hold my ground. “If you want to stare at a naked woman, that is your prerogative, but after the trouble I went through tonight, I would have expected you to be more concerned with your deteriorating health.” I’ve risked everything to be here. I’d hoped he’d realized that.
Pushing past him, I tromp down the boardwalk, avoiding the sagging planks. Zephyrus captures my hand, tugging me around to face him.
He draws me close, pressing my palm flat over his heart. It taps an eager pace. “Iamconcerned,” he says lowly. The pad of his thumb brushes the back of my hand in soothing strokes. “Her name is Ailith. You will have to trust me when I say there has only ever been friendship between us. Anyway, her wife would castrate me if I ever behaved inappropriately.”
My face burns brightest red. “I assumed you two…”
“Never. She loves women. Always has. Can’t really blame her, can you?” He winks, and against my better judgment, I’m charmed. “To be honest, I’m partial to redheads.”
“Stop.” My voice drops, and I lick my lips. “You’re trying to distract me.”
His thumb slides beneath my palm, pressing into the callused flesh inside my glove. “Is it working?”
“No.”
He grins. “Liar.”
