Gale-force winds pound upon me. I lift my head, pushing against the force as entire trees are uprooted, tossed far and wide. Through myslitted vision, I watch the West Wind unfurl. Flowers blossom at his feet, a blooming field infusing color throughout the land.
He hums an eerie tune set in a darkly minor key, the wind tearing at his hair, snaking around his arms in protective bands. The air alters scent: sweetest honey and warmest sunlight. His eyes, no longer green, glow liquid silver. He is something I cannot comprehend.
Zephyrus flings out his arms, tossing the hounds skyward. Then he brings his hands together with a world-shattering crack.
A massive stem erupts from the clearing’s center. I stumble back, losing my balance as another tremor rocks the ground. Long, vicious thorns rupture through the stalk to pierce the hounds on their descent.
The melody eases into a collection of haunted chords, the gentle rise and fall of modulation. As it changes key, new shoots penetrate the beasts’ shadowy skin, gouging into flesh as worms carve through earth. With another crack, what remains of the hounds dissipates.
“Zephyrus!” I do not recognize my voice, its shrill cry. I hurry toward him. Blood stains his clothes black.
He stumbles, face taut with pain, and stares at me with those odd, silver eyes. He is strange and he is a stranger.
“It’s me,” I whisper. “Brielle.”
Silver dims, giving way to sweeping green. “Brielle.” He scans my body, the lines of grit and blood crisscrossing my skin, the scabbed sores. “Are you hurt?”
“My thigh.” I gesture to the teeth marks. Blood collects at the wound’s edges.
He studies it for a moment, then says, “It will need to be cleaned. My brother might have something for it.” As if sensing my distress, he adds, “The hounds are not venomous. I’m more concerned with infection.”
I nod, drop my dress, though the ground feels unstable. A small miracle, really, that we both escaped the hounds alive.
“The antidote?” Zephyrus asks.
My eyes snap skyward. There, to the east—a thin line of gold. “Here.” I pull it from my pocket and pass it over.
The West Wind studies the clear liquid, twisting the vial this way and that. “This isn’t the antidote I gave you.”
Grave is his expression. Grave and frightening. “Yes,” I reply cautiously, “it is.”
Crushing the vial in his grip, he turns away. “Then we have been deceived.”
“What do you mean?” When he does not reply, I grab his shoulder. “Zephyrus.”
His muscles lock beneath my fingers, wooden and inflexible. “I mean it’s a fake!” he roars, hurling the vial into the brush. Glass shatters against the hard corners of the forest.
“Are you sure?” How exactly can he know? “Maybe there’s an explanation.”
He shrugs off my touch. “I’m certain, Brielle. We need bezoar grounds. This is water, nothing more. I’m not sure if he changed the contents somehow or…” What follows is the low, tortured sound of the helpless and the broken. “I was so focused on deceiving Yakim I didn’t stop to consider whether he would do the same.” He’s shaking, a fist pressed to his forehead. “Damn him!”
Numbness begins to branch through my body, heavy and cold. The journey, the deceit, the charade, yet our actions have made no difference. We are only miles nearer to Zephyrus’ total paralysis.
The West Wind limps off a few steps before one knee folds and he’s forced to use a tree for support. Seconds later, his other knee buckles. He collapses with a cry of pain.
Rushing to his side, I take his hand in mine. We had days, he and I. In another life, perhaps years. But the venom permeates his body with increasing rapidity. I do not know how much time remains.
“Can we talk about this?” I ask.
Zephyrus pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is there to discuss? The entire mission was pointless.”
Gently, I draw Zephyrus’ hand to my heart. His palm splays to absorb the throbbing beat.
“Do not give in to despair,” I whisper, pressing my cheek to his. “You are alive. We both are. The day is not yet done.”
His swallow clicks near my ear. “I appreciate the sentiment, but this is the end for me. I can’t escape this fate.” A hard breath shudders out of him, and he pulls away, rubbing at the wetness trickling down his cheeks. “I might as well wait for the paralysis to set in. It’s what Pierus expected anyway.”
Curling my arms around his waist, I draw him deeper into my embrace. He is stiffer than a plank of wood, but our warmth blends, and he eventually sags into me with a small sound of relief.
