“What will happen if you are unable to defeat Prince Balior?”
“I expect he will continue to amass power until he has taken over the mortal realms. Then, I imagine he will set his sights on the City of Gods.”
It is not meant to scare me, but to offer clarity. When all is smoke and shade, what remains? The understanding that inaction is a choice. I cannot afford to stand idly by. “How can I help?”
“You can help by keeping your distance. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I want you safe, understand?” When I do not reply, he shakes my arms. “Bird.”
“Yes, I understand.” Though I am not willing to remain in the background as I was months ago. Perhaps there is something I could do. I may not be able to fight, but I do know poisons.
Mentally, I flick through the pages ofThe Practice of Herbal Remedies.
Before I can properly identify a solution, the East Wind shoves himself upright. Another gust nearly knocks him over, but I grab his arm, steadying him. Slowly, his wings expand. I hear a softpop, like a bone slipping out of place. Eurus winces.
“Are you fit to fly?” I ask.
“It’s not far.”
That does not exactly answer my question.
He gathers me into his arms. “Hold on tight.”
Looping my arms around his neck, I settle against his chest as he launches toward the top of the cliff where his brothers battle Prince Balior. We alight on the grass near the manor. It is still—too still.
I gasp. Boreas, Zephyrus, and Notus are shadow-bound, piled in a heap. The South Wind isn’t moving. Boreas struggles feebly, and the Bringer of Spring stares blankly as black oozes across his face, blotting out his eyes, seeping down into his mouth.
“He’s suffocating them!” I cry.
Eurus is already halfway across the terrain, releasing a great, bellowing roar that sets the air to trembling. His ax appears in one hand, and he hurls it toward the ground with ruthless force.
Air erupts to blast Prince Balior off his feet. Before he goes over the cliff, a massive pair of shadow hands pluck him from the air and deposit him safely onto solid ground.
The prince gifts Eurus a thin, closed-mouth smile. Blood stains the front of his garment where the dagger impaled him, but he does not appear woozy from blood loss, or even weakened from the injury.
“Your battle technique is efficient, though crude.” He retaliates with an explosion of his own.
Eurus ducks, an arm raised over his head to create a full-body shield, a hardened barrier of air that deflects the attack.
And so it goes. A mortal man possessing powers divine. A deity who commands the eastern storms. Eurus reaches out a hand, dragging the tempest nearer to him. Clouds split and collide. A bolt of lightning tears down his arm, the sky flooded white.
As I squint against the brilliance, a large stone drops from the sky, thudding into a pool of muck only steps away.
I stare at it in perplexity before peering over my shoulder. Did the storm somehow blow a boulder from the beach onto the cliff?
Prince Balior leaps, one, two, three spheres punched toward the East Wind’s face. Heartbeats later, a second rock slams into the ground, a stone’s throw from their skirmish. Except… My gaze thins against the thickening rain. That’s no rock. That looks like…
A startled laugh hiccups through me, and I look to the towering stone edifice in disbelief. A gap in the wall reveals where two stones have been pried loose. I suppose this is the manor’s island, too. It is her home, and one always protects one’s home.
Another rock peels away from the manor’s walls. It arrows toward the prince’s back, missing him by inches. The next projectile clips his shoulder. He spins, snarling, only to find an empty stretch of grass.
It is the distraction I need. As Eurus engages the prince in another round of vicious cuts, I dart toward his brothers, who lie smothered in shadow. When I attempt to drag the substance away from their motionless bodies, it suddenlyflinches.
I frown. Nothing has touched the encasing darkness that I am aware of. When the next gust of sea air skates over the grass, however, the shadow again recoils.
Salt—a common ingredient that protects against dark sorcery.
I’m up, racing toward the manor, shouting, “I need salt!”
A bowl appears on the threshold of the doorway. I snatch it up, sprint back to the brothers’ sides. Grabbing a fistful of the white crystals, I toss the salt over the piling shadow.
