“I’m aware.” One of his hands slides into the pocket of his filthy trousers. “Nonetheless, I benefited, as did you.”
She glances down at the mythical blade. Zephyrus’ attention returns to the sword as well. “Yet I find myself in a curious predicament,” she clips. “My duty is to Thornbrook and my charges. It has always been so.”
“I understand.”
“I’m not sure you do.” Meirlach cuts through the air with a high whine as the abbess tests her swing. “Unfortunately, your presence complicates matters.”
He quirks a brow, at ease to all outward appearances, but I have spent enough time in his company to recognize the subtleties of mounting concern. My feet bid me to go to him. I would stand at his side as I promised to do, yet I’m reluctant to show myself. “Enlighten me, please,” Zephyrus says.
“Your life is a hazard to all I have built. I cannot allow you to further tempt the women under my protection.” She holds the gleaming steel steady. “It’s nothing personal.”
I am still. This is something I had not foreseen.
Zephyrus angles toward her, for she has begun to approach. “I have no need to tempt anyone now that I am free.”
“Really. Then tell me where my bladesmith is. Brielle,” she snaps. “Where is she?”
“I do not follow.” Yet his eyes flicker.
Another step forward. “She was accounted for when we arrived,” Mother Mabel says, voice low with rage. “Now she is missing. Am I to believe you had nothing to do with her disappearance? You, who lured her into Under to begin with?” She halts a stone’s throw away.
“Perhaps,” he says with a glance in Harper’s direction, “you should ask your other charges where she is.”
“Do not place blame on these women. They are innocent. But you, Zephyrus of the West? You are a god, and gods do not change.”
She leaps, hacking toward his neck with brutal ferocity. He springs sideways, aided by a rush of air beneath his boots, and touches down on the other side of the pond. Grass rushes upward around his thighs, long stalks looping into multiple braids, which lash out at Mother Mabel’s legs.
She cuts them down. But Zephyrus’ reign over all things green tears up walls of roots, individual blades of grass arrowing toward her exposed skin. Small, weeping cuts color Mother Mabel’s face and neck. I flinch as another wound peels open her cheek.
A sphere of air punches out from Meirlach’s tip, barreling toward the West Wind, who diverts its path with a gust of his own. The sphere slams into the wall, spraying grit.
Enlivened by the entertainment, the audience cackles and screams. I had completely forgotten about Meirlach’s ability to command the wind. It gives Mother Mabel an advantage.
The duel intensifies before my eyes. Both hurl wind at each other with increasing force. I’m not sure what I fear more: Zephyrus’ death, or Mother Mabel’s. At one point, they veer frighteningly close to the Daughters of Thornbrook. Harper shoves the younger girls behind her, iron dagger held aloft. I force myself to remain in place as the fight progresses toward my position.
Blow by blow, the cavern crumbles to dust. Deflected gusts pummel the ceiling and walls. The West Wind rams Mother Mabel into a pillar, which cracks, the rock groaning. A massive chunk plummets from overhead, missing the abbess by a foot.
She struggles to stand, seething. Sweat drips from her face. No matter how much effort she exerts, Zephyrus is always one step ahead. She will never be able to reach him on foot. He is simply too powerful.
As Mother Mabel lifts Meirlach, wind explodes from the blade, sending Zephyrus soaring across the room. Moments before he lands, she takes aim, readying herself to throw.
In hindsight, it was all meticulously planned. For I understand that, with Mother Mabel already in motion, it is too late for him.
Her wrist snaps forward. And as the sword’s gold-plated hilt leaves her hand, I spring from the corner, hurling myself into the path between god and blade.
The sword hits my left breast, sinking deep. Blood pours from the opening as I stumble, then fall, hands scrabbling at the protruding hilt, Zephyrus lurching forward with a roar.
And just like that, I have come undone.
38
MY BODY HITS THE GROUNDwith a distant thump. Immediately, my senses dull and darken, as though I observe the world through a film of murky water. Mother Mabel’s face drains of color, and she sways where she stands. “Brielle?”
The West Wind falls to his knees beside me. All-powerful Meirlach, whose steel can master any foe, protrudes from my left breast. “No,” he whispers. “No, no, no, no, no—” It is a mantra, the holiest of chants.
Mother Mabel stares at the spreading pool of blood. She lifts a trembling hand, presses two fingers to her quavering mouth as she scans the novitiates clumped together in their white cloaks, Harper among them. Her hood has fallen back, revealing lustrous ebony hair, blue eyes swimming with tears.
Gently, Zephyrus lifts me across his thighs. “Stay with me.” He cradles the side of my slackened jaw, and his voice cracks as he searches my face. I try to focus on him amidst the looming shadows, but I am floundering, dragged farther beneath the surface of the murk. The deeper I sink, the less agony I experience. I do not fight the pull.
