You are my heart in every sense of the word. The woman I imagined I’d spend my days with… in leaving, I denied myself the person that was most precious to me.
A surety settles over me. Notus would do everything in his power to share a life with me, as I am doing now. I can picture our life so clearly. The places we will go, the things we will see, the love we will nurture. I would not have to age while he remained in his prime. We would have the privilege of growing old together.
“All right,” I say. “I accept.”
Apollo turns toward a god wearing a bronze helmet, two wings shaped over his ears. “Send a message to Sleep,” he orders. “Tell him to reverse the effects on the South Wind, by order of the Councilof Gods.” He then turns toward me. “Once done, mortal, the action cannot be undone.”
Notus will live. It is enough. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“On the contrary, it is you I should thank,” Apollo says, “for giving music back to me.”
35
THESOUTHWINDLIES ONhis back, short black hair groomed, fingers linked across his bare stomach. A thin, pale scar cuts across his left pectoral where the god-touched dagger pierced his chest. Even in slumber, he strikes a magnificent form. Lamp light cascades over the shallow indentations of his muscled abdomen in waves of rich amber. Between his softly parted lips, his breath unspools.
It has been hours since I returned from Notus’ homeland. The Council of Gods assured me it would not take long for him to wake, though I question if it was all one elaborate deception, to steal my gift of music, offering nothing but an empty promise in return. Seated at his bedside, I tend to him as the lamps burn low, piling additional blankets onto the bed to combat the chill. Beyond the open window, the constellations shift horizons. The moon pulls away from the earth.
There is a tentative knock at the door. “Sarai?”
“You can come in.”
Roshar enters, bearing a tray of tea, small sandwiches, and apricot tarts. Tonight, he is dressed in frilly white bedclothes, his dark hair set in small curlers. After placing the tray on a nearby table, he takes a seat in the chair beside mine and asks, “How is he?” Quiet, demure. Veryun-Roshar.
I brush a lock of hair from Notus’ brow. At all hours, I scour his face for some sign of life, but—nothing. “As well as can be, I suppose.”
“I see.” He speaks in a tone that suggests he absolutely doesn’t believe a word I say. “And how areyou?”
I stare at the pillows supporting Notus’ head. They look uncomfortably flat. I fluff them from the sides. There. That’s better. Or… have I made them too lumpy? Oh, what is even the point of this? I drop my hands in frustration. “I’m frightened, Roshar.”
His fingers catch mine, and tighten. “Of course you are, dear.” Reaching out, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Love is a scary thing. But you’ve found something worth fighting for. That’s a privilege many do not get to experience in their lifetime.”
And what if it goes no further? What if this is the end of the road? What if the South Wind does not wake? How am I to move forward with my life? I can’t spend yet more years grieving. I’ve experienced enough grief for a hundred lifetimes.
“But you’re healthy, I mean? Unhurt?” When I regard Roshar questioningly, he explains, “People are saying you were trapped in the labyrinth. Is it true?”
Ah. The truth would have exposed itself eventually, but I hoped I’d have alittlemore time to prepare before that occurred. “It’s true.”
“By the gods.” He lifts a hand to his chest. “And you escaped? Alive? How did you manage that? Actually—” He shakes his head, bats the question aside. “I don’t need to know. What matters is that you’re safe.”
AmI safe? Or will Prince Balior one day return to conquer Ammara?
“Although…” His twinkling eyes slide to mine. “I’m curious about what happened to Prince Balior. No one in the palace has seen him. Some claim he died, though I think the man is too crafty for that.” He pats at his hair in satisfaction.
“Gossip, Roshar. Really?”
“Well, no, not exactly.” At my pointed look, he bats his eyelashes at me. “All right, yes. But can you blame me? Ishmah nearly gets devoured by some unexplainable darkness. It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened in decades!”
The last thing I need is people worrying about things they do not understand. EvenIdon’t know the full implications of the beast having escaped the labyrinth. “All I know is that Prince Balior has left Ishmah and is likely on his way back to Um Salim.” To plot out his long-term plans. Now, we must wait to see where the cards fall.
Roshar wrinkles his nose in disappointment. He’d hoped for a novel, a masterpiece to divulge with those at court. I’d granted him a brief message, too short to be of any worth for gossip. “Hmph! Honestly, good riddance. He wasn’t that good-looking anyway.” My friend crosses his arms, mouth pursed in further consideration. “Well, mostly. I mean, his butt was quite nice, but his nose, eh.”
I snort. Now that he mentions it, Prince Balior’s nose was a bit large for my taste. Not to mention the gross entitlement. “I appreciate you, Roshar. More than you know.” This, paired with an affectionate smile. “Thank you for always looking out for me.”
“Of course, Sarai.” He appears touched by the sentiment. “That’s what friends do.”
My attention wanders to the open window. How velvet is the sky, how icy are the stars. “Yes, well, I don’t have many friends, as you know.”
“What about the queen?”
