She arches one beautifully groomed eyebrow. I can’t stop staring—those heels, that gown, the cascade of dark ringlets over her shoulders,the lush, scarlet-painted mouth. She is effortlessly striking. “I’m here for the tournament, of course. I assume you are, too.”
“I am.”
“What an unexpected surprise.” The goddess then scowls at our audience. “Away, all of you. Scat!” The crowd breaks apart to sounds of disappointment. “Vultures.” But she smiles, shifting her weight onto her other leg. “To think how quickly a few centuries pass. I would say you haven’t aged a day, but it’s a little difficult to tell with that hood covering your face.”
The East Wind’s hand drops from my back. “You certainly haven’t aged.”
Smoky laughter slips from between her perfect white teeth. “It takes work to look this good, love.” She peers at him, and something sharp and uncomfortable pokes at my innards. I glance away, feeling as if I am intruding on their exchange. “We’ll have to catch up soon. You’ll seek me out?”
There is a pause. Then: “I will.”
Though the goddess peers at me peculiarly, she continues onward, the sway of her body reminiscent of rippling silk. I question the way Eurus studies her retreating form. He did not seem particularly enthused to see this goddess.
The moment we enter the palace, a scrappy fellow races toward us, head buried in a pile of documents. With his twig-like limbs, he looks akin to a prepubescent boy, though he is likely many millennia old. “Hello there, and welcome. I’m the tournament coordinator, so if you need anything, please let me know. Once I have you checked in, you’ll…” He lifts his head, nose wrinkling. “What is thatsmell?” Then he blanches, having recognized who stands before him. “Eurus?” A slow, bewildered blink of his long-lashed eyes. “You’re here, you’re—” He flips through his documents furiously.
“The announcement stated that the tournament was open to all deities,” Eurus clarifies. “No exclusions.”
“Ah… hmm. Yes, that is true, but…” The coordinator consults his notes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “It seems youdohave a rightto enter the tournament. That is… well. Let me see what rooms are available.”
We stand in a massive foyer, multiple curtain-draped corridors leading deeper into the palace. Three women climb the curved, central staircase, hands sliding along the gleaming banister. They wear long white shifts and swords strapped across their backs. Their hair is red as flame. Sisters? As one, they glance at Eurus, then at me. The tallest woman mutters something to her companions. They laugh and continue to the level above.
I suppose news of the East Wind’s arrival has spread. Some of the other competitors cannot resist passing through the foyer for a closer study. I shy from the sapphire gaze of a massive centaur, its large hooves clopping against the tile as it disappears down one of the halls.
“We do have a single suite on the fourth floor that is available. It should fit your, er—” He glances at the East Wind’s wings. “Needs.”
My attention snaps back to the coordinator. “We need two suites!” I blurt.
Only then does the god look at me. His eyes widen. “A mortal?”
“She is my assistant,” Eurus clips out.
Assistant. Right. I imaginebane weaveris a bit off-putting, especially to those Eurus intends to harm.
“But she is mortal,” the coordinator repeats.
“And?” The East Wind glowers at the smaller god until he drops his eyes. “There are no rules barring mortal assistants. I have checked.”
“That’s true,” he murmurs, flipping through his documents nervously. “Very well. Two suites—”
“One. My assistant and I will share.”
The blood drains from my face so rapidly I sway, hand raised in an attempt to shield myself from the idea of the East Wind and me cloistered in a room together. “B-but—”
The coordinator motions for us to follow him up the stairs. I clutch the back of Eurus’ cloak, vaguely aware of the passing doorways blurring in my periphery. Our suite is located at the end ofthe corridor. The East Wind pushes inside, shutting the door in the coordinator’s face.
As soon as we are alone, I collapse onto a cushioned chair, eyes closed. Strangely, I yearn for the manor. How she always provided me food, or blankets, shifting pieces of furniture in her unique form of communication. This… this was a mistake.
“Bird.” When I squeeze my eyes tighter, Eurus sighs. “Min.”
It is a reluctant unfolding, but eventually, my heartbeat settles, and I open my eyes, straightening in the chair.
The suite is far more spacious than I anticipated. Windows span the far wall, green curtains tied back to welcome the sun. They grant a stunning view of the city in autumn. Red maples brighten the green spaces, and the mountains have begun to turn as well, all the colors of the earth.
The walls are painted a warm, dandelion yellow. A handful of smaller chambers branch off the main sitting room, which houses low sofas, a fireplace, cozy blankets draped over the backs of stately armchairs. A partially open door reveals a washroom, while a set of double doors lead to a large bedroom.
“Sharing a suite is a necessary inconvenience,” the East Wind states, studying me from his position near the door. “I cannot trust the other contestants not to pit you against me.”
There is a roiling beneath my skin. I cannot discern its flavor—anger, helplessness, frustration, all three? “I gave you my w-w-word that I’d help you w-win,” I reply tersely.
