“I shouldn’t have left Thornbrook,” I murmur. “I should have stayed where it was safe.”
“That sounds dreadfully boring.” Then he sighs. “What is it you want, Brielle?”
I release a shaky breath. Harper has nearly reached the other side. “To obtain Meirlach. To prove my worth to Mother Mabel. To give my life to the Father.”
“Then you will cross the bridge. If you cannot confront this fear, you will continue to feel small. Is that what you want?”
What can the West Wind know of fear? He is a god, immortal, prevailing. He could shape the world in his image if he chose.
“Close your eyes,” he repeats.
It is easier to speak truthfully when I am blind to other things, and yet—“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
The answer is an old wound, and I fear it has not healed as well as I had hoped.
“The dark,” I whisper. “I fear the dark.”
He falls quiet, yet the wind unleashes itself, a great, howling, emotive creature. I do not realize I’m leaning into Zephyrus until his breath stirs the fine hairs on my nape, and I lurch forward to put distance between us.
“Steady,” he murmurs, placing a hand on my hip. “The dark is not inherently dangerous on its own.”
I lick my lips, forcing out, “I’m aware.” By the Father, this will not be easy. “What do you fear?”
He makes a sound in his throat as the wind bleeds into a low hum. “I fear the fall.”
The hand on my hip remains, his touch muted by the fabric of my dress. It feels strange to lean on him. To lean on anyone, really.
“I believe fear lies in all of us,” he continues. “We ask ourselves if it will hurt. We wonder if we could have done something differently.”
What does he refer to? Here, now, me, this bridge, something else, something more? I do not believe he speaks of falling in the physical sense. More of a fall from grace. That is a fear I know well. “What part of falling do you fear?”
“What comes after.”
“And what comes after?”
His hand tightens on my hip. “The understanding that what has been broken can never be repaired.”
My surroundings fade, and I feel only a man’s body against mine as my eyelids flutter shut. “You know this from experience?”
The fingers on my hip squeeze slightly. I’m startled by the tingle of heat in my belly. “Where are all these questions coming from?” He presses against my back.
I shuffle forward, peeling away from his slender strength. “You redirect.”
A soft, wry laugh. “I underestimated you, I think.”
“You think me meek.”
“I did. But I’m learning.”
Rocks scatter beneath the toes of my boots. I do not understand how he can smile and laugh so freely, while beneath resides a darkness I cannot see, only sense in waves of sadness, frustration, guilt. Against all odds, it is those lightless places I’m drawn to.
He pushes me forward another step, and the plank beneath me shudders. Somehow, we’ve made it onto the bridge.
I stiffen, but the hand at my hip directs me ahead, always ahead, the West Wind’s body acting as a barrier against my retreat. The contraption sways wildly. My legs quiver, on the threshold of collapse.
“Take me back,” I croak.
