After a moment, he sits upright against the pillows. I pass him a glass of mint tea. He drains it in two gulps. “Let me guess,” he says, rather dolefully. “Prince Balior found a way to drain my power.”
I wince. “No, that’s not it.”
“Is he dead?”
If he were, I daresay it would make our lives infinitely easier. “He escaped. I’m not sure where he’s gone.” Would he return to Um Salim? Or would the beast dictate their journey? “Do you have any idea as to their destination?”
A long, heavy sigh sends him wilting into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut. “Marles. Eurus’ realm.”
I frown at him. “Because—” Ah. Because the beast seeks to punish the god who played a hand in its imprisonment. With King Halim having passed on, the East Wind—the Lord of the Mountain—is all that remains. “The beast will take its revenge on Eurus,” I say slowly. “And Prince Balior will aid him.”
Notus stares out the window. Hours from now, riotous color will infuse the sky, every grain of sand a golden coin set glinting beneath the sun. “I will need to reach out to Boreas,” he says begrudgingly. “Perhaps he’ll know how best to combat this threat.” Then his attention slides back to mine. “But none of this explains why I’m awake, and why I no longer feel my power.”
And thus the story unfolds. I tell him of my crossing into the labyrinth. I inform him of the mirror, which allowed me to travel between realms. I describe to him the Deadlands: a fortress with countless doors.
The South Wind isn’t the least bit happy to hear that I visited his brother’s realm. “Tell me Boreas did not attempt to kill you. I know my brother. He stabs first, asks questions later.”
“Actually,” I say, “he seems pretty tame compared to his wife.”
“His wife.” Notus rubs at his jaw, eyes thinned, skeptical of my claim. “I wasn’t aware he had married.”
“He seems happy.” At least, that was my impression during the brief moments when he did not appear overcome with suspicion. “I quite liked his wife—Wren. They have two young children. And… he is mortal.”
His eyes snap to mine, wide with shock. “Mortal.” The hand on his chest twitches before dropping onto the blanket. “And am I? Mortal? Is that why my body feels so… burdensome?”
I hesitate, yet in this hesitation lies the truth. What’s done is done. “Yes.”
He takes in this information. I can’t quite read his expression. There is sadness, as expected, but nothing compared to the devastation I witnessed through the labyrinth mirror when Notus believed he had killed me with black iris. “How?” he asks.
“I bargained with the Council of Gods to restore you to a conscious state, but they required something in exchange: your power and immortality.” At this, my expression folds, throat squeezing my apology into silence. I force it out, an old croak. “I’m sorry you weren’t given the opportunity to decide your fate. I took it upon myself to decide for you. It wasn’t my place, but… I would have done whatever it took to save you from that half-life,” I say, pressing closer, face hidden against his neck.
His chest pulses, and my heart plummets. He is unhappy. I’d chosen wrong. It was never my place to decide. I knew this, but I didn’t care, and—
“I’m sorry, Notus,” I murmur. “It’s not fair, I know, but please believe me when I tell you I made a choice—”
A choked sound vibrates against my ear, and I frown. “You’re… laughing?” I rear back, mouth agape as the South Wind struggles to suppress his mirth. A brief shake of my head. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s nothing you need to apologize for,” he says. “I would have made the same decision.”
I wait with anticipation. “You’re not upset?”
He peers down at his upturned palms. Layered in calluses and deeply grooved. “There is loss, of course. But it’s not as strong as I anticipated it would be. I never revered my own power the way Eurus does, never used it as a shield, as Boreas did, or reveled in it like Zephyrus. What’s done is done.”
I take those wide palms into mine.Yes, I think.It is.
His mouth gathers in sudden thought. “Did the council require something of you as well? I can’t imagine they would honor your request without a proper exchange.”
My heart throbs, like a bruise. For a moment, I swear I feel the phantom weight of the violin against my shoulder and neck. “They did.”
New lines crease his face: grave crow’s feet and pleats of unexpected melancholy. Notus knows. Of course he knows. “Music?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“Sarai—” He sighs then. “I wish you had not done that.”
“It was my decision to make.”
“But was it to your benefit?” he counters.
