“Get her some soup!” he barks toward the ceiling.
A warm shimmer of air tightens around me, yet no soup appears.
“You could act a little m-more appreciative of the manor’s efforts,” I point out. “She’s doing you a favor.”
I can all but see his eyebrows lift toward his hairline. “She?”
“Yes,she,” I say with a glower. Perhaps illness has granted me courage in addition to this terrible chill. The manor feels like a maternal figure. Thus:she. “You should be grateful she is h-h-helping you at all.”
“I gave this place life,” he growls, beginning to pace. Once he reaches the door, he pivots, striding back to the window. “If anyone should be grateful, it’s this damned, useless building!”
Well, the manor certainly isn’t going to do him any favorsnow.
“Hello?” Eurus waves a hand. The hem of his cloak rises high enough to reveal the fabric of his trousers. “Did you hear me? I require soup for the mortal.”
“Perhaps if you ask nicely,” I offer, enjoying his frustrations more than I care to admit.
“The manor is under my power. It bows tome.”
I shrug. If he cannot see reason, I am certainly not going to waste my breath convincing him.
When the soup still does not appear, the East Wind rubs the back of his neck, then sighs. “Please, can you get the mortal soup?”
Nothing.
He utters a colorful string of curses before barging down the stairs. It is quiet but for the wet creak of my lungs. “Why didn’t you deliver the soup when he asked?” I say to the manor.
That warm caress wanders into the strands of my hair, tugging the black threads playfully. I smile and settle deeper into the pillows. “You’re right,” I say. “He needs to learn some respect.”
Sometime later, Eurus returns bearing a bowl of soup. He plops it onto my lap with a growled, “Eat.”
All the aches and pains of yesterday’s ordeal conspire with the still-tender wounds across my back as I slowly push into a seated position. As soon as my throat closes around the broth, my stomach heaves, threatening to reject the substance. I cough, spewing the vile liquid into the cloth napkin I hastily use to cover my mouth.
“Well?” he demands.
It is poison. Every last drop. The taste is horrendous, like… like earwax mixed with spoiled meat.
“It’s delicious,” I croak.
Eurus gives a satisfied grunt. He rolls his shoulders, as if working out the kinks following hours spent toiling over a hot stove.
Carefully, I set the bowl onto the bedside table. “I’ll finish it l-later.”
Eurus stands there in uncertainty for a moment. He steps toward the door, almost in retreat. “Rest,” he tells me. “The sooner you recover, the sooner you can return to work.”
After he departs, I sag into my pillow and scrub the taste of the broth from my tongue. That was absolutely, without a doubt, the most disgusting meal I’ve had in my life. What did he put in it? Feet?
Something large and feathered whisks through the window into the tower. I nearly tumble from bed in surprise. A large bird perches on the back of a wooden chair.
The note. Lady Clarisse!
I toss off the blankets and remove the message from the bird’s leg.
Min,
I’m pleased to know you have the god-touched weapon in your possession. Where are you keeping it? Where has he taken you?
—Clarisse
