“My intentions for the poison are of no concern to you,” Eurus says.
Of course.
With the dishes clean, I wipe down the sink and countertops. That done, I hang the cloth from its hook on the wall. “I w-w-won’t do it.”
“You will.” The East Wind takes a step closer. Those wings unfold, adding to his height and breadth. My every instinct screams at me to quail in the presence of this predator. “You are under my employment. If I need you to brew a poison, you shall brew it. Or have you forgotten that your simple town will fall should you refuse to cooperate?”
“Employment implies r-r-recompence for services.” Miraculously, I manage to speak without choking. “I’m j-just a captive h-h-here.”
He moves—too swiftly. A blink, and he is pressed against me, one massive hand curled around my throat. He squeezes. Not enough to cut off my air supply, but enough that I feel the resistance when I swallow.Stupid girl. What is wrong with you? Have you any sense? Were you given rocks for brains?Her ladyship’s scathing affronts are never far.
My frail wheeze stirs the fabric of the East Wind’s hood. His fingers twitch, and he leans closer, until darkness brushes my face and I can all but taste the sea foam coating my teeth.
“You are mortal,” he rumbles lowly. “Fragile. I can crush you with but a thought.”
“You can,” I agree. “But you w-w-won’t.” Eurus saved me, whether or not it was for his own gain. He cared for me, or tried to. “Without m-me, Eastern Blood will remain unfinished. Whatever revenge you seek, you w-will not get it.”
His hand loosens, thumb tucked beneath the edge of my jaw. “Perhaps.” His response quakes along my bones. “But you have given me the means to create it myself, haven’t you?” With his other hand, he pulls a slender volume from the folds of his cloak.
I inhale sharply.The Practice of Herbal Remedies.
“This book was your grandmother’s, was it not?” He skims the book cover to cover before tucking it back into his cloak. “It would be a shame to lose an heirloom so valuable.”
“Give it b-back,” I whisper.
“I will give it back when Eastern Blood is complete and I have claimed victory in the tournament.”
Even if the East Wind were to follow the rules exactly as written in the book, the poison would, in all likelihood, fail. Some things can only be known through experience: the exact pressure of a knife blade, the proper method or direction to stir. My skills are valuable. He has need of me. And I, too, require something from the East Wind. Until I learn where his ax is hidden, I must accompany him.
“In all the days trapped in my cell, tortured out of my mind,” he says, “I watched, and I listened, and I learned. That woman worked you like a damned dog, and not once did you try to fight back. You, who have teeth of your own.”
For a moment, the shadows inside his cowl seem to fade, just briefly. There, coming into focus, is the glimmer of two dark eyes. “Why?” he demands. “Why do you let her treat you so horribly? Why do you seek to return to that life?”
The question settles all its uncomfortable edges alongside my ribs. When I attempt to shove the feeling aside, my nerves worsen. I can provide a partial truth. It will not change anything.
“My lady is s-selling the estate,” I murmur. It hurts, speaking aloud what I fear most. “It is wh-where I grew up. Where my grandmother raised me. I can’t purchase the estate unless I r-return.”
“She promised to sell you the estate?” Eurus asks skeptically.
“Yes.” In exchange for information. Not that he needs to know that.
A curl of darkness feathers against my cheek. “Don’t you need funds to purchase property?”
“I have some coin s-saved.” A pause. “I received an inheritance following my grandmother’s passing. Her ladyship doesn’t kn-know of it.” Which is to my benefit, as far as I’m concerned. “Once I’ve purchased the estate, I could open my own practice, if I w-wanted.”
“Is that what you want?”
I shiver, and my throat pulses against his palm as I swallow. If the East Wind—a powerful immortal—trusts me enough to create poisons correctly, maybe others would request my services as well. But I would not create those beauty teas her ladyship is so fond of. I would not be a slave to vanity, seeking to alter what the gods have bestowed. My remedies would be different. They would heal—physically, mentally, emotionally. “It would be nice,” I whisper. “I think.”
Leaning back, the East Wind removes his hand from my throat. “Then allow me to suggest a trade of sorts.”
My hands seek movement, but I have already washed the dishes, cleaned my mess. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to wipe down the counters again. “A trade indicates a f-fair and willing exchange.” Somehow, I do not believe that is his intention.
“Finish making the poison,” he says. “Help me win, help me get revenge on the ones who wronged me, and I promise to free you and return you home.”
It is too easy. Too good to be true.
“You cannot kill a god by mortal m-means,” I point out. Even I know that. The poisons Lady Clarisse concocts can weaken divine beings, maim them, but they live on unless a god-touched weapon is used against them. “Whoever you are targeting, they will not succumb.”
