I have wondered this. And now I ask.
His features contort, and then: “I planned to kill my brother.”
There is no mistaking the confession. I do not know what I expected. Certainly not this.
Thou shalt not kill.
Deep beneath the blanketing shock, I am saddened. I didn’t realize how immoral Zephyrus was in the years before we met. Family must mean little to him.
“Many months ago,” he begins, the words thick, caked in long-buried regrets, “Boreas’ power had begun to spread beyond the Deadlands. Pierus was not happy, and for good reason. Whatever affects Carterhaugh, affects Under. Thus, the realm began to wither, its strength sapped by cold. I thought, if I could fix this one thing, if I could stopmy brother’s power from infiltrating, maybe Pierus would reward me. Maybe he would shorten my sentence.”
I do recall a strange chill settling over Carterhaugh last winter. “So your solution was to kill Boreas,” I state flatly.
He drops his eyes. “Not at first.” Grabbing a fistful of sand, he lets the grains sprinkle into a small pile. “I arrived in the Deadlands at his doorstep, hoping to reason with him. When that didn’t work, I planned to steal Boreas’ spear, use it to kill him, thus ceasing his power’s infiltration. I could have used my bow, but by that time I had already gifted it to Wren as a means to win her trust.”
Wren—Boreas’ wife, if I recall correctly. “Why wouldn’t Boreas listen to your reasoning?”
“I was not welcome in his home.” His gaze skips to the water, the distant dunes—everywhere but me. “You see, it was not my first visit to the Deadlands.”
I shiver with foreboding, for I cannot see what lies beyond this moment. Change, to be certain. “Go on.”
“I had visited Boreas several centuries earlier. He was married then to a different woman, with a son. I beseeched him to fight Pierus for my freedom, as I had beseeched all my brothers, but Boreas, understandably, said no. He had a family to protect. He was content and wasn’t interested in conflict.”
There is a pause. “The plan was already in place. Notus had agreed to help and was prepared to meet me in Under. I did not hear from our youngest brother, Eurus, but I expected that. Boreas was the last piece of the puzzle. I couldn’t take no for an answer.”
The Bringer of Spring: devious and self-absorbed, yet in this moment, shame-faced, wracked by guilt. My apprehension grows fangs.
“His wife was easier to sway,” he says, too quiet. “I convinced her she would be happier in Carterhaugh, she and her son, though I harbored no romantic feelings toward her. She was merely a tool.”
“Stop.” I lift my hand, fighting for breath in the heat. “I don’t want to hear anymore.” The thought of anyone coming between a man andhis wife, voluntarily tainting that relationship, makes me ill. The Third Decree: thou shalt not covet.
“Please, Brielle. I need to say this.”
The moment I begin to accept Zephyrus for who he is, he reveals yet another sharp corner, and I retreat, unwilling to prick myself against it. I think about trust, vulnerability, the terror of being seen. I promised I would stay. He trusts me not to abandon him. Willing or not, I must see this through.
I nod, the motion stilted. Zephyrus swallows and goes on.
“When I offered Boreas’ wife the opportunity to visit Carterhaugh, she accepted. It was my hope Boreas would follow. Once there, I thought that I could convince him to journey to Under and fight Pierus for my freedom. Only, we never reached Carterhaugh.”
He stares at the ground so intently I’m surprised holes do not form in the sand. I do not like the direction this story has taken. “Why—”
“Bandits attacked us mid-journey, killing Boreas’ wife and son.”
I turn away, eyes closed. A god’s loss must be unending, every day a bruise flushed anew.
Zephyrus speaks in a rush, a great outpouring of emotion. “When Boreas discovered what had happened, he spiraled into rage and grief. I fled, fearing his wrath, and stayed away for centuries.”
“But you returned,” I grind out. Zephyrus flinches beneath my disparaging gaze.
“I did return,” he whispers. “But I had not learned my lesson. In the centuries following the death of his late wife and son, Boreas had remarried. I felt feral. Overcome with jealousy, guilt, self-loathing. I am not proud to say I tried to convince his wife, Wren, to kill him. If I did not deserve happiness, then neither did he. But I underestimated his dedication to Wren, her developing feelings for Boreas. I failed. Again.”
What was it the Orchid King had said to Zephyrus?
I’m surprised your brother let you stay at all.
“I’m lucky he did not kill me, though I wonder if that would have been preferable. Boreas is clever. He knew the curse would prolong my suffering.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m sickened, tormented, melancholy. But mostly, I’m confused. I wonder what kind of person would go to such lengths to hurt his own brother. I can only conclude it must be someone who believes himself beyond redemption.
