I peer at Harper from above, my soul grasping onto the last frail tether binding me to my physical self. She bows her head, shamefaced. Isobel appears equally remorseful.
“Better a coward,” Mother Mabel replies with cold scorn, “than a disgraced god. It is not my job to nurture and protect. That is the Father’s duty. My job is to instruct my charges of their faith.” Her upper lip curls. “But what would you know of faith? You have avoided duty your entire life. Why cling to something that does not belong to you and never will?”
She steps forward, skirting Pierus’ body, the oozing roots. Her gaze falls to my blood-drenched form before darting away, pain tightening her features. “Brielle belongs with her people. We will take her back to Thornbrook, where she will be buried. I will not allow her to rot in this place.”
“You would take her from me?”
Mother Mabel peers carefully at Zephyrus. “If you cared for her at all,” she says quietly, “you would wish her a peaceful rest.”
I’ve never seen his features so anguished. “I told Brielle to return to Thornbrook. I did not want Pierus to harm her. But she did not listen to me.”
“Do you not see the pattern of your actions?” A few more strides bring Mother Mabel nearer to my side. “The death of one lover, and now the death of another. When will enough be enough? When will you learn?”
The devastation, when it hits, is total. I watch Zephyrus’ expression fracture, its slow, shameful crush beneath remembrance.
“Live your life, Zephyrus. Leave this place, if you wish. You’re free.” Mother Mabel reaches out a beseeching hand. “Just return Brielle to us.”
Indeed, freedom is something he has long desired. I’m only disappointed I cannot share this joyous moment with him.
Curled over my corpse, Zephyrus weeps in earnest. Great, heaving sobs that would break the back of a weaker man. His sadness is so potent it tinges the air, feathering the edges of my waning soul. Something tugs at my gut as I float higher. The Father calls. I’m not ready to go.
“I don’t care for my freedom,” Zephyrus grinds out. “All I want is for this woman in my arms to be alive, unbroken, whole.” He touches the corner of my mouth where the blood has begun to harden. “What must I do to bring her back?”
“It cannot be done.” The long column of Mother Mabel’s neck is a pillar of palest marble as she lifts her chin. “That is the unfortunate reality of a mortal life.”
“I will not accept that.” He snarls it, his face a mess of snot and tears. “Under holds the well of my power, and I, dear Abbess, am a god unchained. We shape the world as we see fit. Nothing is stronger.”
She stands uncowed. “It is the law.”
“Laws can be rewritten.”
“Not this law,” she says. “Not death.”
Brow scrunched, Zephyrus stares into my pallid face. His palm cups my cheek tenderly, and I see the man he could have been, unburdened, free to choose. He is not like his brothers. He is neither bleak winter nor the scouring air to the south. Spring is gentle at heart. It shatters the earth’s icy, hardened skin.
“Do you believe in miracles, Mother Mabel?”
Her black eyes narrow to slits. Fine facial lines tell the tale of restless nights.
“It seems exactly the sort of question one who knows nothing of our faith would ask,” she responds with a bone-deep weariness. “If you had bothered to read our Text, you would know that in the Book of Grief—”
“Aiden the Blessed healed a drowned woman after she lay dead for three days?” Mother Mabel stares. “Or perhaps in the Book of Fate,when Ian the Just regained sight after a lifetime of blindness?” He smiles a hard sort of smile. “I am well acquainted with your Text, Abbess. But I did not ask what is written in its pages. I asked if you believe in miracles.”
The question clearly makes her uncomfortable. Another moment passes before she states, “I do.”
“Then take me instead. My life in exchange for Brielle’s.”
Mother Mabel blinks at him, dumbfounded. A hush dampens the gloom of Miles Cross. “You, a god, offer your life for a mortal woman?”
He dips his chin in a rare display of subservience. “I am kneeling before you, willing to do whatever it takes to bring the woman I love back to life. If you believe nothing else, believe this.”
She frowns, crosses her arms over her stomach, a shield to protect the soft, vulnerable parts of her body. “I do not know if it can be done.”
“You are a vessel of your god, are you not?” When she nods, Zephyrus says, “Then tonight, you will act as my vessel. We will use the combined power of our blood to reverse Brielle’s death. Mine, yours, the Daughters of Thornbrook.”
She contemplates the West Wind as one might a particularly frustrating enigma. The fair folk are so quiet they have faded into the background. “You loved Brielle, and I believe she loved you, too. Why else would she sacrifice her life for yours? Perhaps what you speak of is still possible.”
Mother Mabel peers down at me. How tall she stands when no longer cloaked in Pierus’ shadow. “It is time Brielle returns to Thornbrook and takes up her mantle as acolyte. Once her death is reversed, I will ensure that she remembers nothing of this night, or any that came after your first encounter. I cannot risk losing her to you again. It will be as though you had never met.”
