One door, shut, locked. One window, wide and arched and garbed in teal curtains, gusts of salted air swirling into the small space. There is a simple wooden desk and chair. Against the opposite wall, a narrow cot. My trepidation deepens. Does this god expect me to live here now? Will he confine me in this highest tower, a nightingale in a cage?
Something shifts to my right. Through the window, a vague form glides over the water. I scurry to the other side of the room as fast as my wounds will allow, turning in time to witness the East Wind snap his wings closed mid-flight and drop through the open window, landing on silent feet. When he straightens to his full height, the top of his hood nearly brushes the ceiling.
I sense, rather than observe, the weight of his gaze. Instinct dictates I look elsewhere, but I force myself to maintain eye contact. Steel in my shoulders, in my spine. He stole me from my home. I was only trying to help him.
Eventually, he swivels his head toward the table. “You didn’t touch your food.”
My molars grind together, a slow back and forth. If I were of a more courageous nature, I would strike low and quick. “For obvious r-r-reasons.”
A beat of silence passes. “You think it’s poisoned.”
“I’m n-not sure, but I’m certainly n-not going to find out.”
Eurus considers me for a time. It is impossible to know what he thinks of me. “Why would I go through the trouble of bringing you all the way here, only to kill you? I told you I have need of you.”
His question pokes holes in my nerve. I falter. “I-I-I don’t know. I-I-I imagine y-you have your reasons.”
He shakes his head, takes a step forward. When folded neatly along his spine, only the crowns of his wings are visible, slender bones and thin gray skin. “The food has not been tampered with.”
“Your w-word means nothing to me,” I snap. Where this sudden mettle has sprouted from, I’m not sure, but I embrace it eagerly. “You s-stole me from my home, locked me in this tower—”
“I did no such thing.”
My lungs hollow out, squeezed with an emotion so utterly unfamiliar it takes a moment for it to process: anger. “So n-now I’m a liar?”
“I presume you did not attempt to open the door.”
I open my mouth. It hangs there, soundless, then clamps shut. He is right. I assumed it was locked.
“Go on,” he says. “Try the handle, if you don’t believe me.”
My eyes flick between door and god. But—fine. I walk the short distance to the door and turn the handle. Unlocked, as he claimed.
I shake my head, unable to hide the pink warming my face. “This m-means nothing. I’m s-still your captive, aren’t I?”
His silence is not reassuring.
Moments later, my stomach gurgles. The East Wind huffs with impatience. Picking up the spoon, he slips it into the sauce, drawing the utensil into his hood. When he pulls the spoon away, it comes out clean. “Does that prove the food is safe to eat?”
The spoon vanishes. A fresh, clean utensil materializes beside the bowl. I frown. First the fire, and now this. Do this deity’s powers extend beyond those storms and winds he mentioned?
When I refuse to move, Eurus lifts the bowl and glides toward me. His boots thud against the floorboards, and firelight glances off the scales of his wings, like oil on dark water. I try to back away, but my injured shoulder hits the wall, making me wince. He halts beside me and sets the meal on the desk. “You are hurt.”
It shouldn’t matter that he noticed. Lady Clarisse certainly never cared to. “The wounds w-will heal.” It is nothing I haven’t suffered before.
“And that is acceptable to you?” he demands.
This has nothing to do with whether or not it isacceptable. It is simply reality.
“I didn’t h-hear you deliver the food earlier,” I say, eager to shift the conversation in another direction.
He peers at me, perhaps noting my intention, but doesn’t mention it aloud. “I didn’t deliver the food.” He moves to shut the window. “The manor is enchanted to meet your every need.”
With the roar of waves muted behind glass, I am able to relax slightly. “Pardon?”
“The manor.” He gestures around the room. “Whatever you need, just ask, and it will procure it for you.”
Then it was the manor that lit the fire. It must have also left the meal. Such a marvel could only belong to the divine. “You have no servants, n-no attendants?” I question, at last reaching for the beef bourguignon. I shove a spoonful of meat into my mouth and very nearly moan in pleasure. Oh, that is delicious. Far better than Lady Clarisse’s crumbs. Somehow, despite having sat out for many hours, the food is still hot.
