He snatches the spoon while the soup gives another wet gurgle. Scooping up the sludgy, yellow substance, he brings it to his mouth and promptly chokes, spitting it back into the pot. Laughter threatens. I clear my throat, expression wiped clean.
Eurus hurls the spoon into the sink without comment.
At least my meal is done. I transfer chunks of perfectly seared meat and sauteed vegetables onto a plate, topping the dish with extra parsley before taking a bite. The meat is tender, with a slight char. The onions’ sweetness rounds out the taste. It seems I still remember what Nan taught me.
The East Wind angles his head toward the fruit basket, as if checking to see whether I’ve pilfered another peach. “I assume,” he says, “if you are well enough to cook a meal for yourself, you are well enough to travel?”
A piece of squash sticks to the back of my teeth unpleasantly, and I lower the fork onto the counter. “Travel?”
“We’re going home.”
10
“HOME?” IWHISPER. AND OH, how my heart soars.
“Notyourhome,” he clips out, wings stirring in irritation. “Mine. The City of Gods.”
The sinking sensation in my chest hits hard. Lady Clarisse has always stated that if something is too good to be true, it usually is. Stupid, to have hoped. “I see.” After all, he has mentioned it before. “And where is th-this City of Gods?”
“Far,” Eurus replies. After dumping his scraps into a wastebin, he carries the dirty pots, bowls, and utensils to the sink. He glares at the mess, probably waiting for the manor to clean it up, but—as I suspected—she has decided not to enable him.
Grumbling, the East Wind wanders off. He returns carting a bucket of water, which he uses to wash his crockery. It is quite domestic of him.
“How far?” I press him while he dries a bowl and sets it aside.
“The City of Gods cannot be accessed by a simple trek across the mortal realms.” He glances sidelong at me. I straighten, my face warming for reasons I cannot name. “But to answer your question: farther than you can comprehend.”
This isn’t how things were supposed to go. Traveling to a completely different realm, one inaccessible to mortals… my apprehension deepens. Will Lady Clarisse be able to receive my messages? And what of the East Wind’s god-touched weapon? Does Eurus intendto bring it with him on the journey, or will it remain hidden in the manor?
“What about the p-poisons?” I ask. “Only Goldenrod is complete—”
“I don’t want Goldenrod,” he interrupts. “I want Eastern Blood.”
Right. A triple dose to punish those who have wronged him. “Now that I have nightshade, I can complete the poison, but it still n-n-needs weeks to brew.”
“We haven’t the time,” he says. “The Council of Gods is hosting a tournament, and I’ve just received word that all participants must complete their registration by tomorrow.” After drying a pot, he returns it to the cupboard before turning to surveymymess.
I shrink, though I have done nothing wrong. “I w-was planning on c-c-cleaning up,” I mutter.
When he vacates the area, I carry my dishes to the sink and begin to wash them. All my life I have bent to the wills of the strong, the wise, the elder. Today should be no different. And yet, it is not enough. Not for me. “I don’t understand. What tournament? Why go to the city before the poison is ready?”
“The council hosts a tournament every few hundred years,” Eurus says. “Seeing as it will last for several weeks, that is plenty of time for you to finish brewing Eastern Blood while I compete for the prize: a favor granted to the victor by the Council of Gods themselves.”
“And you w-wish to be granted this favor,” I say in understanding.
“Yes.”
The opening of his hood tracks me as I dry the cast iron skillet with a cloth and place it back into the cupboard. My gaze flicks from Eurus, to the cupboard, back to Eurus. “I put it b-back in the right place, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he grumbles.
I allow myself a small, satisfied smile. Internally, of course. I do not want the East Wind to think I care for his approval.
Only a few utensils remain to wash and dry. As I soap up a wooden spoon, I say, “Didn’t your brother say you all were banished? Wouldn’t that bar y-y-you from returning to the City of Gods?” Beneath his scrutiny, I find myself hastening to complete my task. Lady Clarissewould often watch me work, pointing out my failings with scathing remarks. The sea may separate us, but I cannot deny the power she holds over me.
“It would, had the council specifically barred those exiled from the tournament. A gross oversight, but unsurprising.”
There is a coarseness to his inflection that speaks of old wounds. I decide not to press it. “And you wish for me to poison, what, agod?” The thought makes me ill. What if it is the Mother of Earth? The Master of Sea? How will it impact Marles, should they disappear? This goes so far beyond what I was raised to believe: respect for all life, compassion, kindness toward others. Nan would be heartbroken to learn I went against those principles.
