“I was never granted the opportunity,” he says.
“You didn’t visit him?”
The South Wind at last shifts position, one hand pressed flat against the sand, perhaps calling back the heat that has leached away in the passing hours. “People fall into their lives, and their world narrows to the walls they’ve built. The desert is my realm just as Carterhaugh belongs to Zephyrus. There is order in separation.”
I wait for him to go on, but he seems content to let the silence stretch. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
“My brother talks enough for the both of us.”
I smile, mostly because I agree. The West Wind is fond of the spoken word. And I suppose I’ve become fond of him, too.
The realization sobers me.Fond? Or is that too weak a word? Would I have risked everything to help someone I was merely fond of?
The South Wind tosses a stick into the fire. “It has been a long time since we were children, a long time since we first became men. I do not know how my brother has changed.”
“Did you know about Hyacinth?” I ask.
“Zephyrus and I were never close,” he replies. “He kept to himself when it came to matters of the heart.” He turns to me then. “I commend you for helping my brother. Not many would.”
“Perhaps he only needed someone to show they cared for him.”
“Perhaps.” With that, he rises, the hem of his sapphire robe fluttering behind him, his silhouette etched against the expansive desert.
Hopefully he will not go far. We need his sailer to return to Under safely.
I doze for a few hours. It feels as though I’ve just closed my eyes before I waken, body stiff with cold. Day breaks to the east. Since I have never experienced a desert sunrise, I watch the realm warm to blush, the dunes sparked with gathering light. Carterhaugh, withits clambering vines and slithering roots, rarely allows for space to breathe.
After brushing sand from my dress, I check on Zephyrus. Pulling open the tunic at his throat, I examine his chest, stomach, and arms with impending dread. The veins remain blacker than ever, a green tinge to the surrounding skin.
Blowing out a breath, I brush the wet curls from Zephyrus’ face. He stirs at my touch. “Brielle.”
“I’m here.” At least he’s awake. At least there’s that.
“You’re sad,” he murmurs, eyes still closed. “I can hear it in your voice.”
The knot in my throat thickens. It is a deeper sadness, one stitched into my heart. “We reached your brother’s realm. He brought you to an oasis last night. Supposedly, it has special healing properties.”
“Let me guess.” He cracks open his eyes. Fatigue clouds the emerald rings. “It didn’t work.”
I consider how best to phrase my response, but in the end, the truth is best. “No,” I reply. “It didn’t.”
There are many forms of pain, after all. The pain of heartache. The pain of grief. The pain of unrealized dreams. The pain of regret, wasted time. But I think this might be the worst pain of all: the pain of what could have been.
“Then I will need to return to Pierus,” he says.
Did I expect this? Was my attempt at saving his life always a fool’s errand, a mortal woman battling powers too strong, too strange, to comprehend?
As soon as the West Wind steps foot into Under, the hounds will descend. The Orchid King will drag him back to that cavity in the ground, his lifeblood consumed by nightshade. I do not want Zephyrus to suffer. It frightens me how far I would go to prevent that. “Can you move your limbs at all?”
He lifts his arms, his legs. Even if the oasis wasn’t able to nullify the venom, it seems to have temporarily reversed its effects. There’s no telling how long the reprieve will last.
Quietly, I ask, “You truly wish to return?”
“Wish? No.” He gazes upward and sighs. “Pierus will enjoy his punishments, but after a few centuries, he will grow bored and lift the chains again.”
I believe what he says, despite the precarious lies he has built his life upon. “You deserve more than a cage.”
Zephyrus sits up, and water streams from his shoulders. His soaked tunic molds like a second skin to his frame. I can’t help but notice the fine carving of his torso.
