“It was my lady’s idea, actually.” Well, sort of. In truth, the idea was mine, but she insisted on taking credit for it. “She’d c-captured an immortal that…” The fingers of my other hand twitch, curl into a ball. I recall this prisoner. She kept him chained in his cell for nearly six months. “On second thought, it’s probably better that you don’t know.”
“I see.” His distaste cannot be misconstrued, and he withdraws his touch. I already mourn the loss. “How many poisons in this manual have you created yourself?”
“A few dozen,” I mumble.
“And did your former employer know of this?”
“Some, n-not all.” Higher and higher I would have soared. But her ladyship kept me caged, my wings forever clipped.
The East Wind ponders for a time. “Here is what I don’t understand.” He traces the sketch, each curved petal. I watch the trail ofhis finger, mesmerized by the motion. “You are kind, intelligent, yet you became a bane weaver, of all things. Do you enjoy harming others?”
I stare at him, cheeks hot to the touch. “It wasn’t like that w-with Nan. Her work revolved around healing. It was good, it was… people traveled from all over Marles for her teas,” I say, voice softening in memory. Some days, upward of thirty customers would walk through the front door. Lady Clarisse is lucky to receive twenty a week, and most only come for her beauty teas. “There was n-never an ailment Nan couldn’t treat.”
“So why hurt when you can heal?”
I do nothurtas he suggests. Not deliberately. “Her ladyship dictates what brews we m-must make. As her apprentice, I am expected to follow her lead.”
“But it brings you no joy making poisons,” he says.
Why must I continue to overturn these harder emotions? Disappointment plaited with self-doubt, all their shine coated and cracked with overuse. “If not for my lady, I would not have a h-home. And I definitely wouldn’t have the knowledge I do now.” And she’s right, isn’t she? I am slow. I do not learn quickly. Chopping, slicing, pressing, drying—with these tasks, I am only adequate.
“But you’ve said most of your knowledge came from your grandmother,” Eurus points out. “So which is it?”
Something tugs behind my sternum, the shallowest ache. The deeper I fall into poisons, the farther I feel from Nan. Perhaps it is better that she is no longer alive to witness what I have become. “Her ladyship says I should kn-know my place.”
“Why do you listen to the venom that witch spews into your ears?” he asks, but without the caustic tone I’ve come to expect.
“Because it’s true.”
“Do you honestly believe that?”
Yes.It is a noose, this word. It is her ladyship’s hand curled around my throat, demanding surrender. But I cannot force something I do not feel in my heart is true, can I?
Since leaving St. Laurent, I have more than proven my abilities. Howcan I reconcile that with Lady Clarisse’s unfair assumptions? “I-I-I… I’m n-not…”
The East Wind’s silence speaks volumes. It tells me who I was to this god days before is not who I am to him now.
“Here.” SnappingThe Practice of Herbal Remediesclosed, he hands it to me. “It’s yours.”
Our fingers brush as I accept his offering, thoroughly confused. “But I thought you w-wanted it as leverage.”
“You promised to help me,” he reminds me. “Can I trust you to keep your word?”
Concealed within his hood, his eyes capture mine. I can feel it, the heat that is intensity, and the focus that is perhaps the finest of his weapons. My heartbeat stumbles in an attempt to right its rhythm. I’m certain he can hear it. “You can.”
“Then there is no problem I can see.”
The East Wind is not all thorns. There are moments of gentleness to him. It does not seem right that he should be killed for the cost of immortality. After all, it is not everlasting life Lady Clarisse seeks. It is power and protection, a desperate grasp for control. Somehow, I do not believe the death of a god to be the answer.
“Where did you go today?” he asks.
I’m surprised he does not know, considering I am a popular topic of conversation amongst the divine. “I spent some time with Demi in the kitchen making bread. And cheese tarts.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “She said they were y-your favorite.” And why does my throat suddenly constrict around this admission?
The potency of his gaze is enough that I can all but see his eyes through the masking shadows inside his hood. They would be dark. Glassy, like obsidian. “I enjoy them.” A pause. “Does that bother you?”
“N-no,” I say. What are the odds Demi would mention to Eurus my interest in sending a message to the mortal realms?
“Hm.” He sounds as if he does not believe me. “So how is Demi?” He speaks casually, though I sense an earnestness beneath. “Did she seem relaxed, or…?”
