I lick my lips. “Min.”
“Stay here, Min. I’ll be back shortly.”
As soon as the door creaks shut, my thoughts plummet into an endless spin. I’m safe, or so that woman claims, but for how long? Can I trust her, or anyone in this town? I spotted no ring on her left hand. Does she have a husband, or was that, too, a lie?
I hunch lower to the ground, arms curled around my middle despite the sweltering heat. Eurus has likely noticed my absence. Once he finds me, he will not let me go, not for anything. It will take weeks, possibly months, of travel to reach Marles. Though I still lack the East Wind’s god-touched ax, I know the location of his manor. That should be enough to appease Lady Clarisse and convince her not to sell the estate, for now. Needless to say, I cannot stay here.
Easing open the door, I peek outside. Trees and swirling winds. The river that runs clear. Keeping to the cooling shadows, I skirt the forest path until I return to the edge of Kilkare. Its crowds have swelled beyond its muddy streets—men hauling sacks of grain on sweat-dampened backs, a harassed mother carting pails of fresh daisies. I spot a merchant tossing crates into the back of a wagon—an ideal hiding place.
“Pardon, sir?” The gentleman lifts his head, squinting against the brightness. “Are you leaving town? Do you have room on your cart for me to hitch a ride?”
Abruptly, the sun goes dark. My hand lifts, eclipsing the scorching orb overhead. A winged creature circles above, as a vulture does over a fly-swarmed carcass.
Shrinking into the shadow of a nearby building, I watch the East Wind spin oh-so-slowly, low, lower. He searches for one thing only: the bird that has fled its cage.
Eventually, Eurus veers off. Only when I lose sight of him do I sag against the wall, knees knocking.
“Miss?” The merchant peers at me in worry. “Were you still wanting a ride?”
I press a hand to my stomach. I feel sick. “No.” Too risky, with the East Wind circling overhead.What to do, what to do?The ginger-haired woman and her forge at the edge of the forest—I should have stayed. It may be too late now, but… I have to try.
Keeping to the shadows proves difficult at high noon. The alleyways provide temporary shelter, but eventually I’m forced to cross the road, the forest just ahead.
It is the scent of brine that alerts me. My gaze snaps upward where the East Wind searches, and I freeze—my first mistake. His hood angles toward me, and he dives.
I dart for the nearest alley.Hide. Run and do not stop.For this is a hunt, and the East Wind seeks his prey.
I am crashing through gatherings, hurtling around beggars, leaping over carts. A cooling tendril snags my ankle, and I stumble, hitting the ground. But I’m up, pushing myself to the brink of what I can sustain. Around another corner, across a busy intersection. I duck into a shop smelling strongly of leather and crouch beneath a shelf. The woman—a book binder, judging from all the parchment and thread—gapes at me from her position behind the counter.
“Please,” I pant. “Pretend I’m not here.” I was not meant for running. I was meant for slicing, grinding, stirring, crushing, boiling. With a shaky hand, I wipe the sweat dampening my face and neck.
The door opens. I freeze.
“Where is she?”
The shopkeeper licks her lips nervously. “Good day to you, sir.”
The East Wind crosses to the counter, searching with those unseen eyes. The door stands open. A crowd has begun to gather in the streets.
“We can make this easy, or difficult,” Eurus says in his coarse rasp. “I’m looking for a young woman with black hair and brown eyes. Where are you hiding her?”
“I have seen no such woman. As you can see, my shop is empty.”
“What of that curtained doorway? What are you hiding behind it?”
“Sir, please—”
As the East Wind slips behind the curtain, I dash outside, but as I hit the muddy road, the door explodes behind me.
I scream, darting between two buildings. Dust puffs beneath my flashing soles. The steadywhump whumpof his wings vibrates like thunder through me. I duck as the East Wind swoops low, his hand just skimming my shoulder.
He snarls a curse, the narrowness of the space between the buildings forcing him upward, lest he crush his wings. Spinning, I flee inthe opposite direction and find myself at another intersection. Which way was the forest path? I choose a course at random. My lungs strain, each heaving gasp collapsing into the next as I turn down an alleyway, then stop.
Dead end.
A wave of air slams me against the ground. Dirt crunches underfoot. I flinch, eyes squeezed shut. My muscles lock, body curled inward for the cut of the lash, a swift kick to the leg. Whatever the punishment, I will endure it, as I have always done.
An unexpected warmth washes the entirety of my spine in heat. A helpless whimper slips out as the East Wind’s broad hand comes to rest at the base of my nape, his fingers shaping the curve like a heavy collar.
