I hope this letter finds you well. I come bearing unfortunate news. The East Wind’s god-touched ax has been destroyed. A tournament took place in the City of Gods, and his weapon was smashed to pieces in the process. I apologize that I was not able to carry out my promise. I know how eager you were to acquire it. If it is a potion of immortality you seek, I am certain we can find another way.
—Min
There. That should stop her scheming.
With the letter and an extra generous helping of Nan’s strength tea in hand, I venture down to The Blind Oracle, where the Courier sits at the bar nursing a glass of whiskey. He agrees to deliver the final letter and accepts the tea for payment. I then return to the palace, where I draw myself a bath, scrub the filth from my skin. And when the water is all murk, I dry myself with a towel, don a clean sleeping gown, and tumble into bed, where I think no more.
I wake to the sound of rushing water.
Snapping upright, I gasp, a hand to my chest. Darkness swathes the bedroom. Dried saliva blots my cheek, which I hurriedly scrub clean with the sleeve of my sleeping gown. I blink as my surroundings come into focus.
Is that…? I frown. It sounds like water slopping over the rim of a tub.
Dropping my legs over the edge of the mattress, I push from bed, easing open the door. The main chamber of the suite is empty, though three candles brighten the space. A light splash sounds from within the washroom. Then: a low, tortured groan.
Gooseflesh stipples my arms and legs, and warmth gathers in my pelvis. The East Wind—bathing. But of course, who else would be behind that door? He must have been released from the infirmary.
My eyes squeeze shut as Eurus emits another satisfied groan. Would it be absolutely absurd to enter the washroom? I could help wash his wings, that hard-to-reach area between his shoulder blades. It would be no hardship.
He sighs as though he sinks deeper in the water, and I imagine his wings draped over the sides of the tub. A low, breathless exhalation escapes me before I can call it back.
His sigh cuts off. “Bird?”
I bolt to the opposite side of the room. Just as I throw myself onto the sofa, the East Wind emerges from the washroom, enveloped in a hot cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around his solid waist.
My face flames. I never believed myself capable of envy, but I am incredibly envious of that towel. Water beads like diamonds across his supple skin, stretched taut over thickly muscled arms, shoulders, and thighs. The plane of his abdomen is demarcated by shallow grooves.
Eurus stares at me with dark eyes. My insides quiver beneath his regard.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him.
He hesitates: step forward, or stay put? In the end, he approaches, one hand gripping the towel at his waist. “I should be back at my old strength in a few days.”
The scent of his soap—lemon and sage—mists the air. I drink it down. “I’m glad to hear it,” I reply.
“Did you worry?” he asks, much knowing in his voice. And perhaps a shred of vulnerability, too.
“I did.” The longer he gazes at me, the more I fear I will do something rash, like leap into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist. “You were in good hands, but… I did worry,” I admit, my words fading to a whisper.
Perhaps that is a sentiment he is not willing to scrutinize too closely, for the East Wind abruptly says, “I need to change.”
I nod, swallow. “Of course.” My eyes track his retreat into his bedroom. I release a long,longexhalation. My skin fizzles with heat.
When the East Wind reemerges, dressed in trousers and a crisp, button-down shirt, he takes a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. I study him, never more aware of his body than I am in this moment. Helplessly, my eyes drop to his mouth.
His nostrils flare, and he murmurs, one arm outstretched, “Come here, bird.”
After a slight hesitation, I slide toward him and allow him to tuck me against his side.
“How does it feel?” I ask him. “Victory?”
Shadows carve the corners of his mouth and eyes. It is a long moment before he responds. “I suppose I thought I would feel some sort of relief.” He stares out the window for a time. “So why does it feel as though nothing has changed?”
That, I cannot answer. I am not privy to the inner workings of the East Wind’s heart.
“You won,” I say, but for whatever reason, I find it difficult to dredge up the enthusiasm. “This is what you wanted.”
“What I wanted,” he murmurs to himself. Before I can fully evaluate that comment, he stands, tugging me to my feet. “I’ve a gift for you—for tonight’s banquet.”
