We cross into Under with heavy hearts. An uprising of grass springs beneath my boots, and scarlet-tinged light blurs the gloom of the underground. Tucked against my side, the West Wind limps forward, panting, curls askew. The sweet aroma of rotting flowers drifts from the passage, along with a sound I know well.
Zephyrus braces a hand against the wall where a roselight flickers. “The hounds.”
The baying is close. The air shudders with their thunderous approach. It hits me then—what I have gained, what I will lose.
“Zephyrus.” I grab him by the shoulders. “Were you lying when you said there wasn’t another way to break the curse?” When he does not respond, I give him a shake. “Were you?”
Fingers clasping my wrists, he lowers my hands, perhaps the last touch we will share with one another. “It would make no difference, for it will never come to pass.”
I search his green eyes. How dear this color has become to me. “Why not?”
He smiles sadly. “Because I broke your trust, and that was an unforgiveable offense.”
What was broken has now been mended. The heart endures. This I know. “I forgive you, Zephyrus. I do.”
“Brielle,” he whispers. “It’s too late.”
A tear slips from the corner of my eye. He catches it with his thumb, the watery track wiped away as if it had never been.
Clutching the front of his tunic, I draw him forward, hips notched, legs aligned. My mind is a sieve. There is much I desire to say.I adore you. I understand you. I see you. I need you.Loving someone is no imprisonment, as I had once believed. It is the cool, bracing relief of clean air within the lungs. It is, at its heart, a choice.
But as the yelps magnify to a crashing uproar, my confidence flags, and I yank him forward, crushing my mouth to his. All that I cannot say, I tell him with lips and tongue and teeth. I kiss him for themaybesandcould have beens. I kiss him because his taste is the only one I have ever known, and I do not want to forget it.
Zephyrus breaks away first. “There’s not much time.”
He is not yet gone, and already, I miss him. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you,” I choke. “I promised.”
“I know.” Beneath the wailing of the hounds, the clop of hooves echoes sharply. Horses—many of them. “But I would have you live, Brielle. I would see you happy, free of this wretched place.”
“Zephyrus.” I caress his cheek with one hand. “I am happy. Iamfree.”
He kisses me then, hard and swift, barely a taste before he pulls back. “Forget this,” he says. “Forget me and do not return.”
Does the sun not sink to the west? Do rivers not flow downhill? These are truths, and here is one more: I cannot forget the West Wind. I would always remember him.
As his head whips toward the darkness, he shoves me toward an opening in the wall. “Shelter there until it’s safe,” he says. “The grassy path will lead you back to Thornbrook.” When I regain my balance, he has vanished from sight.
If he expects me to watch him martyr himself, he is sadly mistaken. Dagger in hand, I lunge through the opening.
Pain shatters through my face, and I recoil with a sharp cry. Something trickles from my nostrils. I swipe at my nose in bewilderment. Blood. By the Father… I press my palm against the smooth, transparent partition erected at the niche’s opening. Zephyrus has constructed a wall fashioned of air, a barrier to keep me out of sight until the immediate danger passes.
Crouching down, I seek out a crack or seam that might collapse beneath the right pressure. Nothing. I stand and pace in the narrow space, wondering if the hounds have arrived, if Zephyrus has collapsed, if Mother Mabel has been searching for me. Sooner or later, the barrier must fall.
The click of claws on stone reaches me, followed by the sound of gnashing teeth. Zephyrus lurches into sight, thudding into the rock as the hounds surround him, their emaciated bodies hanging in tatters of old skin. A shudder wracks his body, and he curses, sliding to the ground as the paralysis claims him.
“Zephyrus.” I pound the barrier, my voice muted. “Zephyrus!”
Either he cannot hear me, or he ignores my call. I pace again, the iron blade hanging between my useless fingers, for it’s all I can do. Am I to watch his demise? He went to enormous lengths to protect me from the hounds, yet I cannot do the same for him. I must sit here, bound by this cage.
A sharp whistle draws the beasts to heel. As one, they arrange themselves in a tidy line, awaiting whatever lurks in the shadows.
A handful of roots slither into sight, their paleness reminiscent of bloated flesh. They coast over the stone with an awful hiss, dragging the Orchid King into the shining red glow. Beneath the curled fronds of his eyelashes, a set of pitiless blue eyes examines Zephyrus where he has collapsed, head lolling, face drawn with fatigue.
“Zephyrus.” He tsks in disappointment. “I’d hoped you would have learned by now you cannot escape justice.”
My palm connects with the barrier. “Pierus!”
The Orchid King gives no indication that he’s heard me. While I can see him, hear him, I might as well be locked in an airless box.
