Then all at once, the sound of hooves in pursuit stops.
I slow, head tilted back, throat open to suck in air, saliva clumped at the edges of my mouth. I have no idea whether I’m closer to escape than I was moments ago. Dare I venture forth into the labyrinth, these corridors which haunt me? In the end, I haven’t a choice.
I return the way I came, violin tucked beneath my chin just in case. Rounding a corner, I spot the beast, its massive form steeped in shadow as it battles the South Wind.
Scimitar in hand, Notus lunges, weapon a blur. The hacking blow arcs downward, bright silver in the gloom, yet rather than wounding the beast, the sword seems not to touch it at all.
Shock stiffens Notus’ expression. The bull lunges. The South Wind leaps up and over the bull, propelled by a gust of wind. If I’m not mistaken, his sword failed to penetrate the beast’s hide. It slipped through as if the creature were made of smoke. Except… it’snotmade of smoke. It collided with the wall I’d erected, and my spear wounded it. So how is this possible?
And then I understand. Music. It was harmed only by what I conjured with the violin. As such, Notus’ blade cannot touch it.
The bull rears. From its hooves, a cloud of darkness blasts toward Notus, who rises to meet it, legs braced, sword raised. Shadow collides with the arid desert air. A concussive boom shatters the labyrinth walls, god and beast hurled in opposite directions. Notus flips midair to land on his feet. The bull rams into the far wall. Grit showers its crumpled form.
The South Wind swipes a forearm across his face, ebon hair disheveled, coated in a fine layer of dust. Again, he sends a powerful windtoward the bull. It ricochets off its haunches, completely harmless. He swears, powerless in the face of this foe. It is the closest thing to mortality the South Wind has likely ever experienced.
“It won’t work,” I shout.
Notus startles, whipping toward me. His eyes widen.
“Corner it against the wall,” I order. “If you can keep it there long enough, I might be able to send it elsewhere.”
He nods, lips pressed into a grim line. Using his power, he corrals the creature into a corner while I begin to play. Three, four, five drop chords rattle the air, and a void blooms at the beast’s back—an abyss. Notus hurls a spiraling wind toward the beast, which flings it into the cavity. The void stitches itself shut the moment I remove my bow from the string. Where I have sent it or how long it will remain there, I haven’t the slightest clue.
“Sarai.” Notus hastens toward me, sweat drenching the front of his robe. His eyes are wild. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
A low, wretched sound tears free of my throat. This immortal, who has stolen my heart, and whom I believed I had lost. “You came,” I sob, and collapse into the South Wind’s arms.
He dips his head close. The fragrance of his breath warms my mouth, and I inhale eagerly, desperate for his scent. He is here. We are here, together, and as he murmurs words of comfort and reassurance, I break. I cannot remain standing. I cannot brace myself against an all-powerful wind.
“I thought you were dead,” he whispers.
“If it makes you feel any better,” I manage, the words garbled, “I thought I was, too.”
There is no sound but for my broken cries. I sense his desire to eliminate this fragile barrier between us. Perhaps I would do so myself, if I were not so consumed by adrenaline, this marriage of life and death hovering over me.
“I didn’t know about the black iris,” he says. “You must know I would never intentionally cause you harm.”
“I know.” His concern touches upon my skin like a physical ache.He knows, and he sees, and I cannot bear it, this feeling of being exposed down to the bones. “I should have known my destiny would lead me to the labyrinth.” I shake my head. “Say it,” I weep in earnest. “Say how foolish I am to have trusted Prince Balior. Tell me—” A bright keening snags behind my teeth, a sound of continuous tension. “Tell me I have not learned.”
My body tightens, girded for that inevitable blow.
But the South Wind only tightens his arms around me and says, “I’m here, Sarai. You’re not alone.” And it lifts from me an unbearable load, because I have felt so lonely all these years, and I do not feel strong, or wise, or clever, or whole. How could I, when my entire life I was told I must be someone else? What an incredibly damaging thing for a child to think, that they, at their core, are flawed, or lacking.
But this man, this god, this generous, forgiving immortal, who has inserted himself into my business as if he had a right to do so… “I can’t stand against it,” I whisper.
He is quiet. “Stand against what?”
“You.”
His mouth brushes my ear. A shiver rolls down my spine. “Then don’t,” Notus says. When I fail to respond, he pulls back, though not enough to completely disentangle our arms. Dirt smudges his face, sinks into the creases bracketing his mouth. “For so long, I didn’t believe myself to belong—anywhere, really. So when I came to Ammara, I drifted. I accepted the idea that I would have no home. That perhaps I did not deserve one.”
“Oh, Notus.” My heart breaks for him.
“But home can be built,” he whispers, and I’m startled by the quaver in his voice, an undercurrent of that fear he’s carried with him. “It can be found and nurtured in another.” As his dark eyes hold mine, he says, “And I found a home with you.”
I blink rapidly, but the tears sting regardless. His words are beautiful. In them, I see the whole of his heart.
A heart that is mine. A heart I will cherish and defend. A heart I will shelter, if he will allow me the honor.
