And so I hold out the sleeping draught. Sometimes, we must fight. Others, surrender. “As I said, there is no shame in it. Whatever wounds y-you carry… grant yourself peace from them, if only for a night.”
The darkness between us coils, drawing the East Wind across the room until he stands before me. My mouth goes dry. My spine begins to tingle, and I fight to calm my sporadic heartbeat. His large hand curls around mine, so that we hold this draught that is both blessing and curse.
Low and throaty, he says, “Very well, bird.”
The East Wind has never let me in. But this time, he takes what I offer, climbing into bed and draining every last drop. By the time I pluck the empty vial from his slackened hand, he is already asleep.
The next morning, the East Wind elects to take breakfast with me in our suite rather than the dining room with the remaining contestants. Thus, Eurus sits across the table from me, pouring himself a cup of tea.
As I fill my plate, I cast him a wary glance. The blackberry jam is fresh, slightly acidic. I slather it across a warm croissant. The East Wind’s energy, that dark, simmering thing beneath his skin, has dulled. There is no breeze to hint of his emotions. Indeed, it seems as though he feels nothing at all.
History has taught me to keep my mouth shut. I will eat my breakfast, and he will drink his tea, and we will share the space and the silence until he departs. But I have been thinking about last night’s incident since the sun irradiated the whole of the sky. A singular moment of vulnerability, the East Wind’s defenses stripped, brought low by whatever nightmare stalked his mind. It cannot be ignored, or forgotten.
“How are you feeling?” I ask quietly.
Eurus adds a spoonful of sugar to his drink. The silver utensil clinks against the rim of the cup. “Better.” He hesitates. “Your voice… helped calm me down. It was… pleasing.”
Heat pinkens my cheeks. Eurus gives compliments sparingly, and to praise something I have despised my entire life, this shameful stutter? It smooths some jagged-edged fragment in me. “Th-thank you.”
He sets down his spoon. His cloak has been repaired, stitched and patched together. I see it for what it is: security. “I’m reconsidering my participation in the tournament.”
I pause with my jam-slathered croissant halfway to my mouth. “What do you mean?” And what would that mean for me if he decides to remove himself from the running?
Eurus stares down at his tea. Then, moving slowly as though it pains him, he takes a sip. “As you know, I haven’t returned home in a long time. It is bringing back unpleasant memories. I… don’t like being touched. Especially when I am held down.”
What child would, if it was followed by pain? Eurus may be a man grown, but he was not always. We carry those wounds with us. “I w-won’t tell anyone about last night, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“You would have every right to. After all, I stole you from your home, manipulated you into helping me claim my revenge.”
He did. But I must focus on whatis, rather than whatwas. Eurus must win. Only then will I return home. “We all have our pain,” I say. “It is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“How freeing it must be to live as a mortal, all your faults on display for the world to see.” If I’m not mistaken, there is a melancholy to his tone. “Do what you will with the information,” he says, draining his tea. “I will be gone most of the day. The Council of Gods has invited the remaining contestants to lunch; I plan to gather what information I can on their strengths and shortcomings. With the second trial to take place at the end of the week, I haven’t much time.”
Which reminds me. “Are you aware of the properties of Arin’s staff?” I take another bite of my croissant.
“I’ve heard that it is related to healing in some way.” Then his voice sharpens. “Why? Did you learn something?”
“Apparently, his staff has the ability to sap an opponent of their strength. It can also inflict ailments on a person.”
“Ailments?” His voice darkens. “I will keep that in mind.”
With that, he pushes to his feet. Generally, the East Wind departs without farewell, but he halts at the threshold of the suite, glancing back in hesitation. “The sleeping draught was helpful,” he says. “Thank you.”
Then I am alone, as I am most days. Only now, I am almost disappointed to see him go.
I take my time clearing the dining table, placing the dishes and leftover food in the hall to await collection. Meanwhile, Eastern Blood continues to simmer on my dresser. Not long now until it is complete. Only when I am certain Eurus has truly gone for the day do I make my move.
A gentle pressure against his bedroom door. I expect the lock to catch, but to my surprise, the hinges swing open.
His bed is neatly made. I peer beneath the wooden frame—also spotless, though I know he has declined the palace’s cleaning service on account of the poisons. As for his dresser, I pull open the top drawer, blink down in surprise. Tunics, tidily folded, in a variety of colors. Dark green, gray, black, white. Another drawer holds breeches. I suppose the East Windwouldwear clothes beneath his cloak. Another drawer contains socks, also folded into pairs. But no ax.
It is as expected. Despite my empty hands, I must touch base with her ladyship. I worry she will interpret my lack of response as a reason to move forward with selling the estate, if she hasn’t already. I’ve spotted no evidence of messenger birds, but perhaps I have been searching in the wrong place.
After leaving Eurus’ bedroom as I found it, I decide to wander the palace, eventually finding myself in the kitchen. It is all warm wood, its walls painted the deep shade of a lightless forest. A small fire crackles in the hearth.
Movement draws my eye toward a table stretched along the wall, and Demi hard at work kneading dough. At the scuff of my loafer, her head snaps up.
I freeze. She, too, is unnaturally still. We stare at each other inuncertainty. If I’m not mistaken, wariness touches her eyes, a shield I cannot begin to penetrate. “Good morning, Min from Marles.”
