My back molars grind together. He’s not evenattemptingto see this from my perspective. “I say that it can.”
“My powers are not infinite,” he explains. “Eventually, they will deplete, likely before we ever reach Ishmah. When that occurs, we will have no protection from the elements, or from any darkwalkers we encounter along the way. I would rather we seek shelter and conserve my power for when we really need it.”
“And I would rather we take the risk.” As for shelter, there is none, only the dunes, an eternal rise and fall of sun-bleached sands.
“Stop it,” he snaps. “You’re being ridiculous.”
I stiffen. “So my needs are ridiculous?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” A huff of air—pain, or frustration—punches from his chest. “If you go out into that storm, you will die.”
He is not wrong. “And if I were to tell you I will do as I please?”
“I forbid you.”
My eyes flare, and I retreat from the shelter of his arms. “I am Princess Sarai Al-Khatib.Youbow tome.” If I so desired, I could request his head on a spike and no one would stand against me.
Notus swipes at his face with the sleeve of his robe. It is subtle, but our small, domed barrier begins to sink inward. “Think about what is atstake, Sarai. This is ared storm. It has flayed the flesh off men and beasts alike. Even my power struggles to repel it—”
“Father is dying!” I scream. “I must go to him!”
“I don’t care about your father!” he cries. “I care aboutyou.” His fingers tear through the disheveled locks of his black hair. “Do you think I would let you walk into certain death? I could not live with myself knowing something happened to you that I could have prevented.”
“Stop.” But the word quavers. “You don’t mean—”
“Don’t put words into my mouth. Don’t tell me what I feel.”
I am pinned. Frozen by my own feelings of inadequacy, the lies I spin.
He is quiet when he asks, “Why is it so hard to believe that I care for you?”
To my horror, hot tears spill down my wind-abraded cheeks. Notus lifts a hand, thumb smoothing away a watery track.
“Because I’m afraid,” I say hoarsely.
“Of what?”
I cannot say it. And yet, it feels inevitable, each interaction having led here, to this moment of heartbreak and peril and dread. “What if I let you in again,” I whisper, “only to turn around and find you gone?”
Sadness tugs at the South Wind’s mouth. There would have been a time when he hid the emotion from me, but I like to think we have both evolved. “I know that I left,” he murmurs. “I know that it hurt you. And I’m sorry—deeply, profoundly sorry—for the pain I have caused you. That is something I regret to this day.” He steps closer. The pull is there—to fall into him, to forget. It takes all my courage not to retreat. “But I would protect you to the best of my abilities, and that means delaying our journey to Ishmah until the storm passes.”
He’s right. It would be a senseless decision, yet— “You don’t understand,” I choke out, swiping at my eyes. “I said horrible things to Father. I have to apologize. I have to tell him—” That I love him. That I have never understood whyIfelt unloved in turn. “I have to see him before it’s too late.”
“I hear you, Sarai, and I understand. We will travel to Ishmah as soon as it is safe. But don’t think of sneaking off on your own. If you leave this shelter,” he says, expression stony, “I will find you. Do not make the mistake of thinking no one cares for your life.”
My knees wobble. Slowly, I sink to the ground. I am made of cracks, and all that I have struggled so hard to dam begins to leak through the slivered openings. For now, I can only wait, and pray the storm will pass quickly.
Hold on, Father. Hold on.
Eve falls, and still the storm howls, squatting over our fragile shelter like a territorial beast. The absence of sun draws a chill from the earth, and I shiver. With the protective dome intact, Notus managed to salvage pieces of the sailer, planting them deep in the sand to form three unstable walls. Miraculously, he recovered my satchel, which still contains my waterskin and two bruised peaches. I’m not sure that it makes a difference. In all likelihood, I will succumb to this squall before ever reaching Father.
Seated beside me against the shattered hull, the South Wind scans the area. His shoulder braces mine, and I fight the impulse to ease against him and draw his strength into myself. This god, whose presence has caused so much turmoil in my life. Yet Notus would happily gift me comfort, if I asked.
Reaching into my satchel, I remove the waterskin and offer it to him. He hasn’t drunk in hours.
His glare rakes over my body with borderline affront. “I am immortal,” he growls. “Drink.”
“Prickly,” I mutter, yet I pour the tepid water down my throat. I’ve only a few mouthfuls left. I will need to ration them carefully.
