I frown at Eurus, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. What does relaxation have to do with gathering information? “I guess. She seemed her usual pleasant self.”
“Did you learn anything of significance during your time with her?”
“No.” Though I did not bother asking. I should feel guilty, but I cannot regret the lovely afternoon. “What about lunch?” I say, eager to turn the conversation away from the goddess. “Didyoulearn anything significant?”
The East Wind shrugs. It is an unnervingly human gesture. “I learned what Arin intends to ask for as his favor if he wins the tournament.”
I set the manual aside to check on Eastern Blood. “Oh?”
“His sister suffers from debilitating seizures.” Eurus watches as I test the poison’s color against a chart in the book. Currently, it is an olive shade, but as it continues to boil, it will transform to a deep gray-green, eventually settling into the color of red wine. “There is no cure. He intends to ask the Council of Gods for help if he wins.”
While my knowledge of the divine has been limited thus far, my observation exposes a common vein: selfishness. That Arin wants to win for the benefit of his sister’s health is touching. With his affinity for healing, it must be frustrating that he cannot help her himself. “I think that’s very n-noble of him.”
Eurus snorts. “You believe him?”
I stiffen and lower the strip of dyed paper onto the dresser. “You don’t?”
“Of course not. It’s clear he’s lying so that others lower their guard.”
Not that I know anything about Arin, but I choose to see the light instead of the dark, if I can. “He d-does have a sister, right?”
The East Wind’s wings stir, then settle. A whiff of salt pervades the space, which generally occurs when he is flustered or frustrated or battling some other tumultuous emotion. “Yes, though I have not seen her since my banishment.”
“Shouldn’t you give him the benefit of th-the doubt?”
“Why? He is a competitor.”
Or an ally, should Eurus choose to reach out rather than retreat into isolation. “Arin isn’t a bad person. He’s doing what is r-right by his family.”
“So you’re siding with him? Do you believe hisnobilitytakes precedent over my vengeance?” His next words emerge as a snarl. “I suppose I should count myself lucky you are here at all.”
A familiar numbness takes hold of my limbs. I must shrink, but to shrink is to move, to draw the enemy’s eye, the flat of their palm, a raised fist. But I forget that I am not powerless. Eurus cannot get his revenge without the poison. Only I am skilled enough to complete it.
“I w-w-won’t have you speak to me that w-way,” I whisper as my pulse flutters like a bird freeing its cage. “As for counting yourself lucky, y-y-you forget I am not here of m-my own volition. Or did you fail to r-remember th-th-that you forced me into y-youremployment, as you continue to call it.” I’m trembling. If only my tongue remained unaffected, my words untouched by stutter. In this moment, it is enough to know I have the strength to challenge Eurus at all. “I don’t know why I’m s-s-surprised. Of course you would regard Arin as the enemy. You, who d-doomed thousands in Ammara to suffer, because you believed y-y-your need for isolation was more important than their l-l-lives. To you, everyone is y-your enemy!”
The East Wind has gone still. “The matter of Ammara’s drought does not concern you, bird.”
“Maybe n-not, but I still don’t understand how you can live with so little r-remorse. Doesn’t it bother you that people are suffering, dying? Perhaps even your own b-brother?” My every impulse screamsretreat, but I edge closer, reaching for his arm. My hand halts a hairsbreadth away. There, my fingers hover, just on the threshold of touch. “Will you not r-return what you have taken,” I whisper, “and give life back to the earth?”
“It is not so simple.” The rasped response draws bumps along my arms. “If I go back on my word, then what does that say about me?” He does not give me the opportunity to respond. “It says I am weak,” he growls. “The power must always rest with me.”
How wrong he is, how confused. “When you refuse to see the error of your w-ways, you are no better than the ones that hurt y-you.” Gently, I press the pads of my fingertips to the underside of his wrist, where the sleeve of his cloak ends. “You are one of the divine. The people of Ammara are mortal. You could ch-change their lives for the better. Real, lasting change.”
He pulls away. “The deal was made years ago. It is already done.”
“Can’t you change your mind?”
For one indeterminable moment, he neither moves nor speaks. “I thought you were on my side, bird.”
As if a captor and his captive could ever work together. “Just because I h-have agreed to complete this poison for you doesn’t mean I have no conscience. I am my own p-person, I…” My teeth begin to chatter. I clamp them down. I am not defeated. I am standing, and will continue to stand. “I’m going out.”
“Bird.”
But I’m already across the suite, the scent of burning chasing me out the door.
Lifting my fist, I knock.
Or rather, that is the intention. Before my knuckles make contact with the wood, however, I balk. Room twenty-two, second floor, as Demi said. Now that I’m standing on the other side of her door, I question my sanity. What of the first trial, the roar of deities having gone feral over battle? She, too, had lusted for blood. Imagine what she would do to an injured bird or lame fox, as I often perceive myself in this City of Gods.
