What a stupid question. “Of course it was to my benefit. How can you say that?”
“I’m only thinking about your best interests.”
He picks an odd way of showing it. “As if I would live life without you.”
“Stubborn woman,” he growls, fisting the blanket. “That’s not how this works. Everything I’ve done has been to keep you safe, loved, whole. I have lived my life. I have lived it a thousand times. You are given but a temporary existence, precious, without guarantee. Why would you give up music? It is everything to you.”
“As are you,” I say.
For whatever reason, Notus ducks his head, his expression torn. I grant him space, yet continue to maintain connection through touch.“I can’t be everything to you, Sarai.” Eventually, he tugs his hands from mine, smooths the wrinkles from the blanket, adjusts it in place across his legs. “You know that, right? You have to live your life for yourself first.”
“I think you underestimate just how significant a part you are in my life,” I tell him wryly. When he does not share in my humor, my smile wilts. He’s right, after all. In making one person the whole of your world, you consequently lose sight of yourself.
“You are not everything to me,” I say, quieter now. “But you are comfort when I sorely need it, kindness after years of slights, security when the world feels too dangerous to face.” But there is more, so much more. “All my life, I have known only the inconsistency of Father’s affections. You are balance, dependability, refuge, support. Youseeme.” All those rough edges, all the jagged, unhealed wounds. “And that is something I wish never to take for granted.
“Because I see you, Notus. You, a banished god without a home. A man who understands the pain of having to earn a family member’s approval. A loyal companion whose heart is true.” I straighten as, brick by brick, my spirit is rebuilt, the crisp night breeze wafting in through the window. “You’re right. You aren’t everything to me. But you are everything I want. The choice I made… I do not regret it.”
Because a sacrifice must hurt. The absence of what you give up must be enduring, for only then will the weight of what you’ve lost equal true appreciation for what you’ve gained.
“Just… tell me this. Have you looked at your violin since then?” His eyes rove my face, seeking answers I do not wish to give.
But I release a sigh. “Once.” It had become a child I no longer recognized, its curves bulky in my grip, my fingers unwieldly. When I drew the bow across the string, an awful shriek of protest had sounded. I flinched, returned the violin to its case, and cried myself to sleep.
Notus must witness the dark cloud of that moment drifting across my expression. “Sarai—”
“Enough.” I will not bend. Not for this. “It is done. I have no regrets. I would do it again. I would do it a thousand times if it meant buildinga life with you.” I grip his hand as tightly as I can, and reveal to him the iron strength within me. “Look at me, please.”
A muscle bunches in his jaw. But he raises his head, brown skin warmed in tawny light, so many lines of tension marking his countenance. All will be well. Perhaps not today, nor tomorrow, but eventually, in time.
“The gods have always underestimated mortals,” I say to him. “Half the time they are so blinded by their own arrogance they fail to see what lies beneath their very noses. The other half, they’re eating their own young for fear of losing whatever power or leverage they hold.”
Notus tucks his tongue into his cheek. “That’s actually an accurate representation,” he concedes.
Of course it is. As it turns out, royalty and the divine share similar tendencies toward self-sabotage. “They believe music to be a singular object that, once taken, cannot be replicated. It’s simply not true.”
“But it is what youlove,” he grits out. “And now it’s gone.”
It is only a partial truth, really. “I have mastered the violin once,” I whisper. “I will do so again, when I am ready. But you—” Reaching out, I frame his face between my palms. “You cannot be replicated, dear heart. You are my home. It has always been so. And I love you.”
“Sarai.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine. Our mouths find one another’s. The kiss is languid, dreamlike in its sweetness. When Notus draws back, color stains his cheeks. “My heart is yours,” he says. “You know that it is.”
Indeed, I do. “Will you come with me, and see the world as I wish to see it?”
“My home is with you, wherever you wander.”
It is settled then. We will travel west, then north, then east. We will climb mountains and cross the expansive plains. We will witness the might of the sea. And then? Well. Fate is such a funny thing. I cannot know for certain what our future holds, but tomorrow, the sun will rise. Who knows what the winds may bring.
EPILOGUEIn which the South Wind Attempts to Read a Map
“WE’RE LOST.”
The declaration dripped reproach. Notus, who scanned Marqa’s central square, with its singular well and plethora of penned goats, turned to regard Sarai calmly. “On the contrary, we are exactly where we are supposed to be.”
Her mouth curled in an expression he knew well. After an hour spent wandering, dust and sweat layering her skin, she did not appear amused. “And where is that, exactly?”
“Marqa,” he clipped out.
Sarai clacked her teeth together. It was a sound he had heard with increasing frequency these last few months as they explored Ammara north to south, east to west. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted in warning. He, the South Wind, a once-powerful immortal, quailing under the threat of his wife’s temper. Imagine that.
