“Which we have already exhausted.”
He falls silent.
Something softens in me. I have witnessed my loved ones pass, but I, at least, will be granted the gift of meeting them again in the afterlife, once my time reaches its end. What must it be like to always bear witness to the end of another’s life, never to pass on yourself?
“I’m grateful for the time I was given. Twenty-five years,” I say. “Many do not have that privilege.”
“And you do not care to extend your life?” he demands, growing more fractious by the moment. “There is a way out. There has to be.”
“You can’t alter fate, Notus. The curse will take me, whether you want it to or not.”
“I will not allow it!” he roars.
The South Wind has shoved to his feet. A harsh gust tosses grit down the long, murky tunnel. His chest contracts like a bellows. Then he begins to pace. I watch his long-legged stride calmly. Wall to wall, he wears a groove into the floor.
“Notus.” When he next passes, I catch his hand. “Please sit. You’re making me dizzy.”
He’s all but vibrating in place. “I can’t accept it, Sarai. I won’t.” Yet the more he paces, the more I’m certain something shifts in the shadows at his back. I stiffen, squinting into the distance. He doesn’t appear to notice.
“Notus,” I whisper. He drops his head into his hands with a groan. “Notus!”
He turns toward me in frustration. “What!”
“Someone’s there.”
He whirls, sword drawn in half a heartbeat, a powerful gust erupting to spiral down the shrouded passage.
A strange expression crosses the South Wind’s face. He lowers his sword. “Eurus?”
My eyes widen as a tall, broad figure strides forward, shedding the shadows like a second skin to reveal a long dark cloak fluttering around his legs. His hood has been pulled forward to conceal his face. The East Wind. Notus’ younger brother.
Notus sheaths his sword. “You got my message.”
The cloaked figure glides forward, and the motion is so eerily reminiscent of a serpent that a cold sweat prickles my spine. When he is within arm’s reach, he halts. This is no mere mortal. He towers over us, the air around him vibrating with an energy that is his alone. Even this close, I fail to make out any identifying features. The darkness insidehis hood is consuming, showcasing neither eyes nor nose nor mouth. It is a crater, an abyss.
“What can I do for you, Notus?”
The low rasp of the East Wind’s voice shivers across my skin. I have heard it before.
The Lord of the Mountain.
I examine this cloaked god, my mouth dry as dust. Yes, it’s him. I’m certain. I recall Notus studying the sheet music in Mirash, an expression of confusion stealing over him upon spotting the sketch of a winged man in the lower corner of the parchment. He sent a message asking Eurus to meet. And here he is.
“We’re looking for information regarding a curse,” the South Wind replies, moving to stand by my side. Hurriedly, I climb to my feet and brush the dirt from my dress. “Information I believe you possess.”
“A curse.” Eurus angles his head. It is a distinctly predatory gesture. “Elaborate, please.”
“Notus,” I whisper, gripping the South Wind’s arm. “This is him.”
“Who?”
Swallowing proves difficult, my throat narrowing with apprehension at what will occur should I confirm his identity. “The Lord of the Mountain.”
For a time, all it quiet but for the staggered rhythm of my heart. Eventually, Notus whispers, “What?”
And so I tell him of the voice I’ve heard with increasing frequency these past few months. I tell him of what occurred when I fell from the outer wall. I had awoken, unbeknownst to me, in the labyrinth. I could never have imagined the Lord of the Mountain was in fact the East Wind, whom Notus once described to me as withdrawn, borderline violent. Some dark current ripples beneath the surface of this deity, some tumultuous past that has shaped him.
A rush of desert air pervades the space, battling back the damp that smells of the sea. “You cursed Sarai?” Notus growls. “You?”
