“A gift?”
He draws me toward the dining table, where a gift box rests. I study it with an odd sense of fear. The wrapping paper is an iridescent green, the bow so ornate it reminds me of a flower.
“Go on,” he says. “Open it.”
I slide the top off the box. Pushing aside the delicate tissue paper, I pull out a long, sleek, ruby gown rippling like a wave of boiling lava. My breath catches. “It’s beautiful.” Gold gemstones stud the curved neckline, leading to two thin shoulder straps. I’ve never owned anything half as fine.
I lower my arms. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Generally, athank youwill suffice,” he says with unexpected affection.
Carefully, I fold the gown back into the box. “Thank you, Eurus.”
“Will you try it on?”
“Um.” I nibble on my lower lip. “I suppose.” He continues to stare at me until I swipe the box and carry it into the washroom, the scent of lemon and sage a perfume against my skin.
After slipping on the slippery red fabric, I brush a hand down the bodice. It fits quite well, though the waist is a tad large. The heels, which I uncover at the bottom of the box, are equally fine, though their added height forces me off-balance. I pray I do not trip.
The gift box holds another surprise: lip rouge and blush, which I use to draw color to my skin. Lastly, a pearl clip to adorn my hair.
The moment I exit the washroom, the East Wind stares at me like… I don’t have the words. Like I am his sun and his moon. Like the world may end, but I will still be here, a vision sent from the gods.
“You look…” He advances toward me, his daze burned away to reveal a depth of longing that frightens me even as I find myself willingly drawn into its folds.
I cross my arms, drop them, cross them again. “Do you think the gown is too immodest?”
He catches my hands in his much broader ones. “It’s perfect, as are you.”
So many complicated emotions crowding forward. “Thank you,” I whisper shyly. I feel beautiful, which is not something I have felt in, well, ever. “You look very handsome as well.” And he does. Trim trousers, emerald shirt tucked into his belted waistband, and shining leather shoes, the same polished black as his wings.
Catching the point of my chin, he draws my face gently upward. “You are sad, bird. Do you not like the gown?”
A great cloud hangs over me. What are gowns and trinkets compared to what lies in my heart? Soon, it will be morning, eve having progressed beyond my reach. I am not ready for farewells.
“Eurus.” I gaze at him openly, my eyes wet. “When we met, you were an absolute brute. You were angry at yourself, at your father, at the world. You did not trust, and for good reason. I can’t imagine the courage it took to return home and face those who hurt you.
“Despite that, you proved change is possible,” I continue. “And that sometimes we don’t need what we once did to move forward in our lives.”
His wings rustle in an endearingly bashful manner. “Min—”
“Please, listen to me.” I grasp his hand so he does not feel alone or judged. Once, his touch speared terror through me, for I believed he would treat me as Lady Clarisse had done. But I was wrong. Now, the warmth of his skin brings calmness, security. “I’m not going to plead with you to reconsider poisoning the council. The choice is not mine to make.”
His throat dips with emotion, but I go on. I cannot stop. “I know how painful it is to evenconsidergranting forgiveness to those we believe do not deserve it,” I whisper. “But at tonight’s banquet, I hope you think about what forgiveness means for you. And I hope that, when the time comes, you’ll forgive, and let go.”
Attendees mill about the palace parlor. Its ornate chandeliers emit soft lamplight, and the numerous sofas, armchairs, and chaises have been arranged in intimate groupings throughout the room, where the gods can drink and relax.
Eurus, a dark, winged shadow at my side, rests a hand on my lower spine. With the plunging back of my dress, it is almost inevitable that his hot skin will kiss mine.
Tonight, the East Wind will demand his favor from the Council of Gods. He will be welcomed back to his homeland. Then he will take Eastern Blood, poison every last one of the twelve council members for having banished him. Three weeks later, the entire council will be dead. It is everything he wants.
As though sensing my trepidation, he squeezes my hand. “Everything will be fine,” he assures me.
So he claims.
A short, squat deity whose sandaled feet glisten with oil draws Eurus into discussion. Since the East Wind revealed his face in The Blind Oracle the other night, many have begun to acknowledge him, treat him with courtesy.
While Eurus talks, I wander to a table laden with hors d’oeuvres. As I stuff two cheese tarts into my mouth, someone taps my shoulder, and I turn.
