I stare at the West Wind with dawning realization. Perhaps he enjoyed our discussions as much as I did. “I didn’t know,” I say. Disappointment hits, unwelcome and uncomfortable.
“You didn’t know?” A small, rather sad smile flits across his mouth, then is gone. “And here I thought I was being obvious in my affection.”
My throat tightens with an odd, bereft sensation. Though I do not think Zephyrus lies, I cannot be sure. We must have a different interpretation of the wordaffection.
He scans my face. “Is there anything I can do to make your time left more comfortable? Anything you need?”
I bite my lower lip.Rest.Blessed slumber croons in my ear, but if I am to die, it seems pointless to rest, knowing the hole into which I will fall contains no bottom. “Could you just stay? And talk?” A blush scours my face. “I don’t have many friends to converse with.” I consider leaving the thought unfinished. “Actually, I have no friends,” I admit. Not one.
“No friends?” He frowns. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Making friends doesn’t come easily to me.” I never know the right thing to say, how best to connect with my peers. Many of the olderacolytes don’t even know my name. “But you—” The West Wind can draw people in, make them stay. Make themwantto stay. “It is easy for you. The way you interact with others… I can’t do what you do.”
“Easy?” A bark of startled laughter claps the air. “My darling novitiate, nothing comes easy to me. It never has. I’m just adept at appearances.”
To my eternal frustration, another tear slides down my face. Baring my soul was never the plan, yet my defenses have caved, my exhaustion is too great. So be it. Let Zephyrus see. I no longer care enough to pretend otherwise.
“Do you have regrets?” I ask.
A weary sigh escapes him. He appears bent in this moment, as though a great burden rests upon his back. “The better question, I think, is what do I not regret.” When his eyes catch mine, I forget to breathe for a moment. “What are your regrets, Brielle?”
I shouldn’t say. Even the thought is too wicked to conceive. My mouth, however, has other ideas, and promptly runs away from me.
“I’m thinking of that couple we stumbled across during our visit to Willow.” Their twined limbs and insatiable hunger for each other.
Zephyrus emits a low rumble in his chest. It is less of a sound and more of a sensation. It sweeps low through my stomach, and despite lying on solid ground, I experience a feeling of falling, however brief.
“You regret not partaking in sexual acts?”
“No!” By the Father, I should not be having this conversation. “But the kissing…” My mouth is so dry it is difficult to swallow. “I suppose a part of me wonders what it would be like.” I feel my ears burn.
“Is that what you want?” he asks, gaze unreadable. “A kiss?”
If I do not acknowledge it, perhaps the desire will leave me. But no. I want this. Of that, I am certain. “If I am going to die, what does it matter if my vows are broken?” Though that is not entirely true. Perhaps this is the selfishness in me. “I would like to experience it, I think. Just once.”
I have not yet seen this sadness in him. Indeed, I could not have believed Zephyrus could feel with such depths of sorrow toward myplight, but I cannot recognize the emotion that shifts his features as anything else. He nods, and leans forward. “Then I would be honored to bestow this gift upon you.” He lifts his hands and, deliberately, rests them on either side of my head, effectively caging me in.
A small sound squeezes past my tightening throat. Fear? Despair? Humiliation? My teeth chatter as a rising cold licks through my chest.Deliver us from temptation.With this touch, I will never know peace.
Slowly, he lowers his face to mine. As always, he smells of sun-warmed grass. I will miss his scent when I am gone.
“Brielle,” croons the West Wind. “Let yourself unwind.”
I’m too spineless to keep my eyes open. Lack of sight heightens the forest sounds: the rough, coursing river; leaves rustling fragile as moth wings; and the wind, sightless and scentless, winding knots through my hair.
Something brushes my mouth. I pinch it shut on reflex.
Obedience, purity, devotion. Here, on the eve of my demise, my vows will shatter into a thousand unknowns. I feel sick with shame, but I want to live, fully, with whatever time remains.
“Trust,” he whispers against my mouth. “Let your heart guide you.”
My lips part of their own volition, and I inhale. Lemon and herbs. My pulse gallops wildly, a slow flush suffusing my overheated skin. His tongue slides against mine, fleeting, before he pulls away.
My skin tingles with the aftershock of his touch. All the world is darkness until I open my eyes to find the West Wind staring down at me.
“I see it in your eyes,” he whispers.
All thoughts have fled. I am a woman made vacant. “See what?”
