“My brother says a lot of things,” he mutters. “Most of them rubbish.”
It didn’t sound like rubbish. There was true concern in the Bringer of Spring’s voice.
“I noticed Zephyrus doesn’t have w-wings,” I say, deciding a change in subject is for the best. “Is that because he was made mortal?”
“I am the only one of my brothers with wings,” he replies, so low that it is practically inaudible. “Mortality has nothing to do with it.” Before I’m able to respond, he grits out, “Zephyrus should not expect me to solve the world’s problems just because I alone retain my power and immortality. Where were my brothers when I needed them? When I became a subject of numerous sick experiments? They could not be bothered to see what was in front of their very eyes.”
The vast tract of forest streaks below as horror rolls through me.Experiments?
With anger rises a torrent of words, more than the East Wind has ever offered me. All those edged emotions, forever locked away, now set free. “Zephyrus made his choice. He did not have to choose mortality. He could have kept his heart. It seems my brothers are equally weak when it comes to love.”
The sentiment reeks of bitterness. “I do not view love as w-weakness,” I say.
But Eurus isn’t listening. He has turned inward, his thoughts his only companions as we drift through clouds. “I’d heard Boreas fell first,” he mutters to himself. “A mortal woman from the Gray. Decent with a bow, or so I’ve heard. The North Wind, my eldest brother, made mortal!” He releases a sharp laugh.
“Next was Zephyrus. Imagine, the wicked Bringer of Spring falling for a woman of the faith? I could not believe it.” His chin brushes the top of my head. It feels as though his body curves around mine fully, as though I am shielded within his strength. “But Notus was the greatest surprise, having rekindled an old love. He seems happy, if not completely vulnerable. Once, he had been the South Wind, god of the eternal summer breeze. Now, he is nothing.”
So Eurus doesn’t care to interact with his siblings, yet he keeps tabs on them. Something in him yearns for connection, whether he realizes it or not.
“I alone remain standing—the last of the Four Winds. It is why I’ve gone to great lengths to conceal my ax, for it is the source of my power. I’ve hidden it in the last place anyone would think to look.”
Curled against his chest, my ear pressed to his heart, I consider these words.
… the source of my power.
… great lengths to conceal my ax…
… last place anyone would think to look.
Where would one store an ax? An armory. What is the opposite of an armory? A place untouched by violence. So… a garden? A library? Though one could argue the written word to be the sharpest tool of all.
“I may walk through life alone,” the East Wind adds after a time, “but at least I will never again find myself vulnerable. At least I have a choice.”
There is more, I think. Much, much more in these cracks that run deep. But I am not foolish enough to press him. “We w-will return to the manor, then?”
Firm wingbeats lift us higher until the trees lose their singularity and fall into a swirling mass of green. “Seeing as Kilkare failed to provide us with nightshade,” Eurus says in frustration, “we will return briefly to St. Laurent to acquire it. This is the last component needed to complete Eastern Blood, yes?”
I nod, my heart swelling with tentative hope. Home—just over the horizon.
The pale spire of St. Laurent’s cathedral breaches the surrounding wood, crowned in the reds and golds of early autumn. A few townsfolk peer upward, their attention drawn by the massive winged shadow overhead, a woman caught in its arms. By the time the estate comes into view, morning has given way to mid-afternoon. Its wild grounds sing to me, and I grip the East Wind’s broad shoulders to stabilize myself as we touch down inside the iron fence encircling the property.
The structure appears even more dilapidated than I remember. Garden tools lay strewn across the ground, partially hidden in the overgrown grass. The sight irks me. Those were Nan’s tools, and she took excellent care of them, as do I. Her ladyship’s neglect has worsened over the years.
When Eurus strides down the dirt path toward the front door, I race after him with a piercing “Wait!”
He slows, turning to face me.
“Um.” I clear my throat. “We n-need to go through the back.”
There is a beat of silence. “You mean to tell me you’re not allowed to use the front door?”
Slowly, I shake my head. “The front door is for g-guests and clients only.”
“As it turns out, Iama guest.” Turning the handle, he holds the door open for me. I can almost imagine his eyebrows raised in challenge.
It is a peculiar sensation walking through the front entrance. A sense of belonging, of welcome, of worthiness to be here, in the place I love most. We continue through the foyer into the kitchen. A fresh loaf of bread sits on the rickety table next to a basket filled with zucchini, carrots, and potatoes. Everything appears exactly as it was when I left.
In the workshop, the door leading to the basement is locked, which only occurs when her ladyship leaves the estate. Why isn’t she here? Unless… is she investigating available flats on Market Street? With only three days having passed since my abduction, she could not have bought another place of business so soon.
