He shrugs, yet there is a reluctance in the motion. “I enchanted the manor because I had no staff to tend to the place. Since I won’t have need of it, I’ll likely remove the enchantment—”
“No!” I cry. Eurus drops his gaze to mine, expression bewildered. “You can’t do that. She’s alive. She… she feels things.”
“She’s not real, bird.”
“Who are you to decide what is real and what is not? You created her, Eurus. You can’t just discard her when you no longer have use for her.” My voice dies, and I swallow thickly, these words hitting too close for comfort.
“Somehow, I sense this is not about the manor,” he says. “Cover your face.”
He banks right, forcing us through the storm wall. I cover my head, trusting that Eurus’ arms will hold me. One of his large hands shields the back of my skull from any wayward debris. The roar expands, then retreats, the worst of the squall behind us.
“If it’s really that important to you that the enchantment remains,” he says quietly, “maybeyoushould consider keeping the manor company.”
It does not immediately process, this suggestion. “You mean live on the island?”
“You mentioned needing to find someplace to live, now that you intend to build your own business.” He frowns at me. “Well?”
But Eurus would not be there. It would feel too empty with him gone. “How would I make a living? Without the town, there would be no one to sell my teas to.” And I would be stuck, unable to venture to the mainland for fear of the water. “It seems a bit excessive, asking clients to pick up their teas by sailboat.”
“You’re right,” he replies, sounding a bit put out. “Forget I mentioned it.”
Ahead, the horizon lies pressed beneath the jeweled sky. But the line shifts, blurs, hones itself into clarity: the cliffs of Marles.
Soon, the sloping green rooftops interrupt the rolling hills of lavender, which ripple in a seaside breeze. St. Laurent, its perfume of fresh bread and earth, hits me. I blink away tears. Weeks havecome and gone, yet it looks exactly as I left it, from the crooked bends of Market Street, to the rolling carts selling pastries outside the bookshop.
A few merchants carting goods into town glance up as we angle toward the estate. From this height, it is clear how severely the structure has fallen into disrepair. The roof sags around the chimney. A portion of the back wall has begun to crumble. And the iron fence, which once shone proudly at the end of the long dirt road, has dulled beneath a thick coating of rust.
We land in the overgrown garden, amongst the vegetable beds and potted herbs. I touch a strand of Eurus’ windblown hair, brush it from his forehead.
“Thank you,” I say, “for returning me home.”
He glances at the back door, eyes watchful. “You’ll be all right?”
I smile and nod, because that is what is expected. Yes, I will be fine. It will hurt, our parting, but I will heal, in time. “And… you’ll be well?”
His lack of immediate response points to uncertainty. But then Eurus says, “Yes,” and I am forced to accept his answer, regardless of whether it is what I wish to hear.
I hesitate, fighting the urge to lunge, catch, hold tight. Maybe I am foolish to hope his suggestion that I stay in the manor meant something more.
“Take care of yourself, bird.”
“Wait.” I am desperate, I am bold, I am driven by impulse as I reach up, grasping his face, my hands twining in the strands of his hair. Tugging his head down, I crush my mouth to his.
My emotions burst their cage. I eat at his lips hungrily. Eurus responds with equal fervor, plundering my mouth’s soft depths. I fist the weave of his cloak, telling him with lips and teeth what my voice fails to express.I love youandI need youandDon’t go.But he has his life, and I have mine, and our journey ends where it begins.
Gently, the East Wind pulls away. “Bird, I—” Except his attention locks onto something over my shoulder, and he stiffens.
I turn, squinting into the distance where the road vanishes over the hill. A line of what appear to be armed men top the rise, dressed in long, flowing robes the color of old blood, their dark hair and skin suggesting they hail from somewhere to the south. Ammara?
“What is this?” Eurus mutters. He scans the ten, twenty, thirty soldiers marching toward us, swords drawn, their curved edges aglint. At the front, leading the armed men, are Lady Clarisse and Prince Balior.
My mind has frozen. Did Lady Clarisse not receive my most recent letter? I told her the East Wind’s ax had been destroyed in the tournament. Is it possible the message was never delivered? Or that she didn’t care to read it?
Lady Clarisse waves in the distance. “Hello, Min,” she calls. “And you’ve brought company!”
“What is going on here?” Eurus demands. “Why does she stand with Prince Balior? Why do they approach as though prepared to do battle?”
I stare at him, wide-eyed, unable to speak.
