“There are many things I deserve, Brielle. I’m not saying this to attract pity. I’m saying this because the world may work in mysterious ways, but debts are never truly forgotten. People like me?” A cold smile curls his mouth. “We do not deserve happiness.”
I sit beside him on the shore. “What is the point of an immortal life if you spend eternity in misery?”
“Easy to say when one is mortal.” When our eyes meet, I recognize his resolve, the acceptance of the hand he has been dealt. “As much as I yearn for another life,” he says, “I will return to Under, and I will accept Pierus’ punishment. Such is my fate.”
I cannot accept that. I won’t.
The sound of approaching footsteps draws my attention. The South Wind has returned, face scarf back in place. A hot, dry wind blows, turning my mouth to dust.
The West Wind peers upward at his brother, expression guarded. From this position, the South Wind appears massive, a giant among the sands. “Notus.” Zephyrus then notices the curved sword his brother carries. “I hope you’re not here to use that on me.” He offers his most charming smile.
The South Wind tosses me a small bundle stuffed with fresh fruit, and a waterskin. “It is time, mortal.” He gestures to an area of cracked earth located between two palm trees. “I will await you,” he says, and strides off.
As Zephyrus watches his brother depart, his suspicion deepens. “What was that about?”
I palm the dagger tucked against my back. “Your brother’s assistance came at a price,” I admit, watching the West Wind’s eyes narrow. “A duel.”
Blood drains from his face, whitening it to a ghostly hue. “Tell me you speak in jest.”
The South Wind completes a pattern of exercises in my peripheral vision, sword a blur in the patchy shade. For a man so bulky, he moves with understated grace.
“He wouldn’t have agreed to help you otherwise.” My thumb passes over the blade’s smooth base, its lack of a touchmark stamp despite the metal having been fired, cooled, and hammered by my own hand. It feels dishonest that I would not claim this work as my own with pride.
“The only reason Notus agreed to the duel,” Zephyrus argues, “was so he could have his revenge on me for leaving him to fight Pierus alone all those centuries ago.” His mouth pinches. “I urge you to reconsider. Think of the risk. Think of all there is to lose.”
I stand, brush the sand from my gown, and take a deep, satisfying swallow from the waterskin. “I weighed the risk days ago. And anyway, it’s not your decision to make.”
“His strength will overpower yours tenfold.”
I do not think it will. I’m stronger than I look.
Zephyrus closes his eyes and murmurs, “I would not see him hurt you.”
Something inside me softens. “You forget that I have trained, too.”
“He is a god.”
“And?” I hold his gaze until he looks away. “I am the Father’s servant.” It may not be enough to convince Zephyrus, but it’s enough for me. The weight of my dagger confirms this decision is right. Blade to blade, I will face the South Wind.
The West Wind tries to catch my hand as I pass. “Brielle, wait.”
“This is my life, Zephyrus. It’s time I start living it.”
35
THE DESERT BURNS GOLD BENEATHthe dawn. We gather on the hard, flat ground, the earth baked into a glaze. Beyond the oasis, sand stretches as far as the eye can see. The sun has yet to pull away from the horizon and I’m already sweating.
The South Wind and I stand a few paces apart. He surveys me calmly. Blade—paltry, frail. Attire—inadequate, the dress likely to tangle around my legs. Physique—lacking muscle, or so it appears, my curves unmistakable. Let him think what he will.
He has the advantage. The desert belongs to him just as Thornbrook belongs to me. I know every darkened passage, every creaking stair, every cracked window and loose stone. Here, I am a visitor, ignorant, uninformed.
My opponent sinks into the guard position, the curve of his scimitar so thin it might be shaped from the air itself. The cold blacks of his eyes hold mine in thrall. The South Wind is ageless, but even gods have their shortcomings.
“Make the call, Brother,” announces the South Wind.
Zephyrus looks to me from where he sits propped against a tree, mouth tight with unease. No matter his opinion, I understand actions have consequences. I gave the South Wind my word, and here I stand.
“Begin.”
