Before I realize he has moved, I’m pulled from the window and set on my feet. Immediately, he releases me.
My legs tremble so severely I’m forced to lower myself onto the ground. “I c-c-can’t go back to the g-garden,” I garble, the words choked by my useless tongue. “The water… I c-can’t do it. I’m s-s-sorry.”
Tentatively, I peer at him through my eyelashes. He lifts a hand to his face with a sigh. The motion pushes back his hood enough that a lock of black hair pokes out. “I will see about finding another way for you to access the garden.”
I should not feel gratitude toward this immortal. But it is so small a thing, to be known, to have my fears heard, arrangements made with my comfort prioritized. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“What of your progress?”
“Th-there is one ingredient I still r-require for Eastern Blood. It is called nightshade and it is g-grown in the realm of Under. Lady Clarisse has s-s-some, back at the estate,” I offer too quickly.
His head snaps toward me, and I promptly shut my mouth. “And if I allowed you to go there to gather the nightshade, you would not attempt to slip from my grasp?”
“N-no.” I force down a swallow. “It w-would be the fastest w-way to acquire what we need.”
“As I said before,” Eurus replies darkly, “you should forget your home. You will never return.”
As if I need a reminder. I can only hope my message arrives to Lady Clarisse safely. If she learns that I live, might she try to save me?
The East Wind dips his chin, pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “We will travel to Kilkare. It is a town located in the realm of Carterhaugh. There, you will find your nightshade plant.”
I knead my arms in uncertainty. I’ve never traveled so far west. It would be a reprieve to leave these high stone walls, but— “Will w-w-we be traveling by boat?”
“We’ll fly.”
8
THE AIR IS BREATHLESSLY COLD. Curled against the East Wind’s chest, I listen to the steadywhump whumpof his wings, the ebon glitter of his scales reflecting the light. He holds me as though I am weightless, one arm slotted beneath my bent knees, the other bracing my lower back. The strength of him cannot be denied. His body has been honed, cut, carved out. Despite this, I’m held gently. Somehow, these two realities do not blend together, one sharp, the other dull.
We abandoned his island of isolation hours before, crossing the sea westward. Below, she waits. She thrashes and she howls. This god is no safe harbor, but I cling to him.
“Have y-you visited Kilkare before?” I ask, pitching my voice over the wind.
We dip lower. My stomach surges into my mouth, and I dig my fingers deeper into his shoulders until the sensation ebbs. He tries yet fails to shrug away my touch. “No.”
The terseness of his reply exposes a discomfort I do not understand. Not that I expected in-depth conversation, though it would certainly make the journey more pleasant.
On and on and on we fly. My hamstrings twinge from the discomfort of holding myself in place, but I dare not stretch my legs for fear of slipping. I’m beginning to wonder if we will stop for a break when Eurus says, “We’re past the sea.”
He’s right. The cliffs sketching Marles’ eastern border are at last behind us. I’m relieved to leave the water behind.
Peering through my lashes, I search for shape and definition within his cowl. The glimpses I’ve been granted thus far are crumbs. I’ve an odd hunger for more. “Why do you live the w-way you do? I can understand the need for solitude, but y-you live on an island that is nearly impossible to reach. It makes me think you are avoiding s-s-something.”
“I avoid nothing,” he all but snarls, but his arms remain secure around me. “I like my space and my freedom. I do not care to give that up.”
I frown, for I said nothing about sacrificing one for the other. “Is that wh-why you keep your face hidden?” I ask. “Because you do not w-want anyone to know you?”
His wings thrust us forward, fast, faster. Yellow-green streaks below—the forest and fields. My eyes sting from the rapidity of our pace.
After a time, Eurus slows. “The hood is a necessary precaution,” he explains. “Some things the world is not meant to see. Some truths too brutal. Some wounds too deep.”
We stop for the night in Aburgan, a region in western Marles known for its production of fine oil. The inn roosts atop a hill, cast in amber light from the setting sun. Its surrounding fields are plentiful, the air tinged with the musk of pressed olives.
The East Wind checks us in, to the wariness of the innkeeper. Separate accommodations, thankfully. After wolfing down a delicious roast in the commons, I return to my room to wash away the day’s salt and sweat. I try the door: locked. The window: locked. It seems Eurus has covered all locking mechanisms with a layer of impenetrable air, preventing my escape. He is wise to have done so.
I succumb to exhaustion, falling into a dreamless sleep, and wake well rested. After breakfast, Eurus offers a brisk “Let’s go” before ushering me out the door. Scooping me into his arms, he launches skyward, and we’re off.
Before long, Marles’ rolling pastures begin to diminish, the land patched with dried grasses, bare rock. The sun boils down. My eyes find the horizon, that seam of earth and sky. In the distance, the air wavers over red stone, a glaze of heat. Cracked earth transforms into expansive hills of sand. It is unlike anything I have ever witnessed. A land completely devoid of water and life.
