I study the three men before me: the North Wind, the West Wind, and the South Wind. They have traveled far to aid their brother. An opportunity to set things right. A chance to make amends.
“Come,” I tell them. “I know where we can acquire blades.”
The basement below the estate is a soiled hovel, a hole in the earth. At the bottom of the rickety staircase, I light the wall sconce. The shadows withdraw, but only just.
Here, crammed between chilled walls of dirt, the air reeks of old piss and blood. The stench is so putrid I’m forced to breathe through my mouth. Lines of cells stretch end to end down the long, slanted space. The low ceiling forces Boreas and Zephyrus to crouch, though Notus is short enough that he need not worry about knocking his head.
The imprisoned creatures retreat from the sudden glare. Due to wounding or prolonged emaciation, they do not move quickly. Behind me, Boreas swears softly. I bite the flesh of my cheek as a deep shame rises from the depths of where I’d buried it.
I did not often venture below. Lady Clarisse spent countless hours here, gathering whatever ingredients—hair, tears, fingernails, organs—she required. If I did not witness the atrocities, then I could not be blamed for them.
“What is this place?” The South Wind’s tone is low, horrified.
“This is where my m—Lady Clarisse—conducts her experiments on immortals. She uses their… parts to create poisons and teas, which she then sells to the townsfolk of St. Laurent.”
Zephyrus has covered his nose with his tunic. Boreas peers into a nearby cell, saying nothing at all.
It is clear to me now just how perverse her ladyship truly is. And how spineless I have been not to have fought against this injustice.
In the corner of my eye, an immortal slinks toward the cell door. It curls its long, semi-translucent fingers around the iron bars, theeel-like body clothed in tattered rags that may have once been trousers, a tunic. The creature gazes at me with large white eyes set over a slitted nose. In the end, I’m forced to look away.
“Has Lady Clarisse ever captured gods, aside from our brother?” Notus asks.
Zephyrus and Boreas turn to peer at me as well.
“Once,” I admit. “A minor goddess, if my memory is correct. After extracting the necessary, um, supplies however, she let the goddess go.”
“Does she release the immortals once she no longer has a use for them?” Notus presses.
Has a use for them.It sounds horrible. “Y-yes.” I accidentally inhale with my nose, and the reek hits full force. I gag and quickly shift back to breathing through my mouth. “Well. Actually, I’m not sure. Lady Clarisse always claimed she set them free, but I don’t think that’s true,” I mumble, my voice tapering off.
A faint scratching comes from somewhere down the line of cells. I study the men, wondering if they will punish me for my negligence.
“What did she extract?” the North Wind demands.
There is no easy way to say it. The words will hurt. “One of her lungs, I believe.”
The men utter a string of curses.
“I can’t remember any gods from recent memory though,” I hurriedly add. “The majority of Lady Clarisse’s tonics use parts from other immortal creatures, as they are easier to come by.”
“You mean easier to capture,” Boreas spits.
I drop my eyes, shame-faced.
“So,” the West Wind murmurs behind the cloth shielding his nose and mouth. “Our list of enemies has now multiplied.”
“She must die.” Notus’ deep rumble shivers across my skin. “She is a threat to all of immortal-kind.”
Die.My breath comes short. “That’s a bit hasty, don’t you think?”
“You would allow her to live?” Zephyrus cuts in. “To continue hurting innocents for her own gain?”
“No! You misunderstand me.”
“Zephyrus is right,” Boreas says. Somehow, he has closed the distance without me having realized it. “Shall our list of foes extend to three, then?”
My back hits the wall. Dampness seeps into the fabric of my thin, cotton dress. “I’m on your side,” I protest.
