My head snaps up. The South Wind stands over me, sturdy legs braced, one hand clasping the hilt of his sword. That’s twice I have not heard his approach. The sun sinks at his back, and what a glorious sight it is to behold.
“Because he is lost,” I say. “Because he has made mistakes. Because he is hurting. Because he has embraced the gray areas of himself.” And maybe I have, too. “Because he is too clever by half. Because of his infectious smile. Because a lonely life is not easy.” Tenderly, I wipe a smudge of dirt from Zephyrus’ jaw. “You question your brother’s ability to change, but I have seen it. So I ask you again. Will you help him?”
“A god’s memory is long,” he says in that low, resonant tone. “I cannot forget all the ways in which my brother wronged me.”
I pull my dagger from its sheath. “You claim Zephyrus lacks honor.” I lift the blade so its dark taper catches the light. “But what of me?” When he does not respond, I press, “A duel. Let me prove my honor in Zephyrus’ stead.”
The South Wind examines the dagger’s iron glint, perhaps more curious than he lets on. “There is an oasis not far from here,” he relents. “Its waters have the potential to heal Zephyrus, but there is no guarantee.”
I don’t need a guarantee. Hope is enough to sustain me.
He steps back, sweeps those black eyes over the West Wind’s disheveled form. “I will aid my brother, just this once. And when he awakens, we will duel, and he will watch you die.”
My expression remains neutral despite the twist in my gut, but I nod. The South Wind likely underestimates my capabilities. I can use that to my advantage.
“Gather Zephyrus. Meet me at my sailer.” He gestures to the contraption in the distance. “Do not delay.”
As I watch the South Wind turn to go, I haul Zephyrus into my arms and struggle to my feet. His limbs swing freely, like those of a corpse.
I’m panting by the time I reach the South Wind’s strange apparatus. It looks like a sailboat, yet instead of a curved hull, the bottom is flat, cut into the shape of an arrowhead. Two masts jut upward, sails secured to the wooden beams. As the South Wind unties the canvas, he calls over his shoulder, “Sit at the bow. Don’t touch anything.”
Climbing toward the vessel’s tapered nose, I lay Zephyrus near a stack of boxes secured with rope and settle beside him. The sails snap open, wind filling their hollow bellies as the South Wind takes the large rudder in hand.
“Hold on.”
The boat jerks forward, lifting clear of the sand. A scream wrenches free of my chest. We are climbing, hurtling, careening. We soar with breakneck speed.
At the dune’s apex, we drop, the nose plunging sharply into the trough, my stomach dragged in its wake. A glance at the stern reveals the South Wind shifting the rudder, feet planted firmly despite the swift motion, eyes thin over his face scarf. If Zephyrus is an errant breeze, his brother, Notus, is the most stable of substances—the rigid, unbending earth.
Wind shrieks past my ears, and my fingers clamp the boat’s frame as I brace for another ascent. We release our hold on the earth, which sizzles in patches of brown, violet, and gold. The sky is endless, blue in perpetuity brushed by the whiteness of intense sun.
After a time, the terrain flattens, rolling into soft, wet sand. Trees with sword-tipped fronds cast meager shade across a body of water flanked by boulders and sparse greenery. The South Wind curbs the strength of his winds so that the vessel coasts to a halt near the bank.
He leaps from the boat, and I follow, Zephyrus in my arms. The South Wind spares no concern for his brother, merely waves me over to the water.
“Submerge him up to his chin,” he instructs.
The water is shockingly cool, and seeps greedily into Zephyrus’ filthy clothes. I roll up his sleeves, his trousers. Shallow waves lap against the shore.
“The oasis contains special properties,” states the South Wind, staring at the dark veins running up his brother’s arms, “but its powers cannot heal everything. If it is successful, you should expect to see a reversion of whatever ails him by sunrise.” He then gazes westward. A strip of gold clings to the horizon. The sun, nearly gone. “I’ll build a fire.”
The night is colder than any I have experienced, but the fire crackles pleasantly, a red-gold ring sitting flush against the surrounding darkness.
Zephyrus lies on the sloped, muddy bank of the oasis, submerged neck-high in the water. The South Wind and I sit higher up the incline, my hair still damp from having bathed earlier. If the oasis fails to reverse the nightshade’s paralysis, then I’m not sure what comes next. We have traveled all this way. But life, I’ve learned, has its own rhythm, one I cannot always foresee.
The moon brightens the darkened dunes, cutting the South Wind’s silhouette into defined shadow and light. Following the sun’s descent, he’d removed his face scarf, though he has left his head scarf intact. The man appears to be hewn from granite.
“You mentioned Zephyrus wronged you,” I say, knees drawn to my chest. Beneath the crusted fabric of my emerald gown, the wound I sustained from the hounds is now freshly bandaged, the oasis waters having cleansed it of infection. “What did he do?”
The South Wind tips back his head to study the dark basin overhead. He appears at home beneath its spread. I, however, am unused to such unfiltered vastness. If I were to lift my hand, the tips of my fingers might stir the stars from their distant nest.
“Early during our banishment,” he says, “Zephyrus sent out a call for aid. My brothers and I were to join forces against Pierus, who had crossed into Carterhaugh to oversee Zephyrus’ punishment. The plan was to kill him. Unfortunately, I was the only one who showed. I am lucky I was able to escape Pierus alive.”
“Zephyrus didn’t show?” I murmur.
“He did not.”
While I am tempted to defend his behavior, the Zephyrus ofbeforedid not hold himself to the same level of accountability he does now. “Did you ever ask your brother why he failed to show?”
