A subtle curl of her fingers, and the flower’s snowy edges blacken. “Begging your pardon, madam, but I’d rather not say.”
“Not into gossip, are you? That’s probably for the best. To be fair, I did not think Eurus would grace our homeland again, but here he is. I’m particularly happy to see him.”
Her fondness for the East Wind is undeniable. I feel small in the presence of this deity. Small and overlooked. “You knew each other, long ago?”
“That’s one way to put it.” At my blank stare, she elaborates, with a relish that borders on violence, “We were lovers.”
“I see.”
“Does this upset you, knowing Eurus and I once shared a bed?” A scarlet fingernailtap-tap-tapsagainst her defined bicep. The toes peeking from her sandals are painted a dusky pink.
“No.” But a pang sharpens beneath the hard plate of my sternum. It is not jealousy, exactly. More like… envy? Yes, that must be it. I envy this goddess her freedom and poise. “Why w-would it?”
“Why indeed.” Her eyes narrow, and sweat blooms beneath my breastband. Eurus was right. I should never have left the room. Four walls to keep me in—and others out.
The goddess sighs then, dropping the flower onto the grass and crushing it underfoot. “I wondered if you would do me a favor, Min.”
“A favor?”
“I’m supposed to meet some friends in the city for lunch this week, but one of them canceled last minute. Would you care to join me?”
My mouth parts, hangs open a moment. “Oh, um…” In St. Laurent, wandering Market Street brought with it mixed emotions. The joy of freedom, however brief, yet paired with this, always, was longing, melancholy, for I was separate from those gathering in the cafes, always on the outside looking in.
“Don’t worry about the cost. Everything is already paid for,” she says, noting my hesitancy. “And just between you and me, the palace can get a bit stuffy. The city is much more fun.” Unexpectedly, her eyes soften; their yellow glow dims. “How does that sound?”
The East Wind ordered me to keep to the grounds, yet I do long to see more of this alluring realm. “Can I ask you something first?”
“Of course.” Demi leans forward, an eager participant in our conversation.
“Why do you want to have lunch with me?” After all, she was at the welcome banquet, scheming, observing, strategizing. “I won’t reveal anything to you about Eurus, so if that’s the r-reason you’re asking, you will have to find your information elsewhere.”
“You claim you are not lovers,” Demi says with savored intrigue, “yet you defend him as fiercely as though you are.” Then she does what none have done in my life, save Nan: she frames my face in her warm, roughened palms, studying me as though I am a young pup in need of a firm hand.
“There is mettle in you, Min from Marles.” The goddess nods in satisfaction. “You will need it amongst these immortals. And no, I’m not asking you to lunch to press you for information. I’m asking because you smell of chervil, and it is my favorite scent in all the realms.”
With the first trial less than a week away, there is nothing to do but wait.
Following the humiliation of the banquet, I elect to receive my meals in the suite, sitting cross-legged in bed as I arrange the ingredients for Eastern Blood across my bedspread. The brew itself warms over a burner, with my notes and tools arranged neatly on the dresser. With nightshade finally integrated, the poison must simmer for another ten days before the next ingredient can be added. During this time, Eastern Blood gives off a rather putrid reek. The East Wind has made his distaste for the scent known.
“Well, if I hadThe Practice of Herbal Remedies,” I’d told him yesterday, “I could find a solution to mask the odor.”
He refused to hand it over. Unsurprising. If I must suffer the stench, so must he.
Turning from my work, I stare out the window, searching for a messenger bird, but I fear they are unable to reach the City of Gods. If I cannot communicate with her ladyship, how am I to purchase the estate and preserve Nan’s legacy?
As for the East Wind, he comes and goes at odd hours. Occasionally, I see him lounging on the sofa in the common room, poring over accounts of past tournaments. Or perhapsloungeis the wrong word. The East Wind perches. Settles. Not lounges. Never lounges. For the most part, we coexist, each keeping to our respective bedrooms. Rarely does he greet me when entering the suite. Rarely does he bid me farewell.
While smoothing the petals of a chamomile flower, a clean, herbaceous scent drifts across my nose. My bedroom door lies ajar, offering a partial view of the shared washroom: door shut, steam seeping through the crack beneath.
I hear the slosh of water, the East Wind’s gratified sigh. I swallow, my skin tightening at the sound. Who is the East Wind without his cloak? Sometimes I question whether he trulyisa god, for I have never seen his face in full. All that I am given—the rasp of his voice, the motion of his hands and fluidity of his movements—paints only the haziest image.
Another splash jolts my system, and I slide to the edge of the mattress, hurriedly plant my feet, a grounding in the earth. Why am I listening to the East Wind bathe? No, I’ve plenty to occupy myself with.
Pushing to my feet, I move to my workstation. Head bent, I grind down the root with painstaking slowness.It must be the finest of powders, Nan would say.Too many clumps, and the root will fail to fully dissolve.
The washroom door creaks open. I swallow, refocus my attention on crushing the last of the fibrous rhizome as Eurus steps into my bedroom without bothering to knock. I bite the inside of my cheek against a sudden swell of irritation. For all he knew, I could have been half-dressed!
“One of the competitors is having a small gathering at their residence this evening,” he says. “It’s a good opportunity to study the competition. I probably won’t return until tomorrow.”
