But my interactions with Demi have thus far been harmless. She has been kind to me, open. My heart speakstrust; my mind warnsperil.Always, I have heeded the latter. Now, in the dark hours before dawn, I choose the former.
My knock echoes, folding onto itself as the deserted corridor swallows evidence of my presence. Then a lock tumbles, and the ornately carved door is pulled open.
Demi, dressed in a gauzy sleep robe, blinks her long-lashed eyes, as though convinced I might be an apparition. “Min?”
She is bare-faced. Without the powder and paint coating her cheeks, I notice her skin is a bit rough, as if she spends ample time outdoors—which does not necessarily fit the image of a well-dressed goddess in heels. Then again, I am not certain what power Demi presides over. She’s never told me. And I’ve never asked.
“Sorry to wake you,” I murmur, hands clenched at my front.
“It’s no trouble, I was just resting,” she says, appearing both intrigued and concerned. Her lazy posture unkinks itself into something straight-backed and keen. “Did something happen?”
I bite my lip. Still, the tears rise, a stinging pressure behind my eyes. “Can I stay with y-you tonight?”
As the last vestiges of slumber dissolve from her features, the sharpness of her gaze grows sharper still. “Come inside,” she says, holding the door open. I shuffle across the threshold, shoulders hunched.
Her suite is far more personalized than the one I share with Eurus. The fireplace mantel boasts small trinkets: stones and feathers and dried flowers, all gifts the earth provides. Articles of clothing have been tossed over many a chairback. An assortment of plants reach leafed tendrils toward the windows and across curtain rods.
I’m impressed. Demi has managed to make this temporary space a home in less than two weeks. She may not be participating in the tournament, but many attendees prefer to reside in the palace until a victor is announced, due to the arena’s proximity.
“Tea?” she asks, leading me to a quaint seating area.
“Please.”
I settle into a comfortable armchair while she puts a kettle on the stove. Through the window, the moon hangs swollen and full. When the kettle screams, she adds tea leaves, allowing them to steep before pouring me a cup. The tea’s warmth gradually thaws the ice in my chest.
“What is that taste?” I ask. “That hint of licorice. Not anise…” Once more, I take a healthy swallow, letting the flavor suffuse my tongue.
“Heathersworth,” Demi replies.
My eyebrows climb so high I would not be surprised to find them lost behind my hair. “You know of heathersworth?” It is an extremely rare herb, found only in Under.
After lighting a candle—a guard against the waning day—she takes a seat across from me, curvy legs tucked beneath her sleep robe. She pours herself a drink, takes a sip. “Let me guess. I don’t seem like the type of goddess who knows her way around a garden, right?” She regards me with a haughty jut of her chin. There are many kinds of shields, after all. I recognize this as hers. “Did you know heathersworth is used by some cultures as a sedative?” she asks.
“I didn’t.” Though I do know it helps slow one’s heart rate, so this does not surprise me.
“We women are more than just looks, Min.” She sets down her cup. Then, as if having changed her mind, picks it back up and drains its contents. “We have skills, knowledge. We are worthy of praise. I imagine your Mother of Earth welcomes appreciation every now and then.”
She is trying to tell me something. I cannot put my finger on it, only its hazed edge. “I thank the Mother of Earth for every successful harvest,” I say. “Without her favor, I doubt Marles’ soil would be as rich as it is, our vineyards as abundant.”
The strain around Demi’s mouth eases. “I enjoy speaking with you, Min from Marles. Not all my friends care to talk of plants and harvests. They much prefer eating, shopping, gossiping, and the like. They invited me out for drinks tonight but—” She shrugs. “I suppose I wasn’t in the mood. And I appreciate my alone time, perhaps more than I let on.”
Indeed, she appears comfortable dressed down, at ease after a long day.
“But we’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about you.” Her expression reflects a fierce intrigue. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, setting down my drink. Now that I’ve givenmyself distance, I find it difficult to recall the details of our argument. “It was just Eurus being Eurus.” By which I mean rude, inconsiderate, pacing like an animal in a cage. “I can’t tolerate it anymore.” And I shouldn’t have to.
“I see.” The goddess pours herself another cup of tea and sits back, hands framing the porcelain. Without her usual face paint, she appears younger, more approachable. “Did he do something in particular that bothered you?”
Yes—and no. There is much I might say, were my circumstances different. But I am forbidden to expose the true nature of our relationship. I cannot speak of Eastern Blood. And where has my bargain with Eurus left me? Trapped in this realm of gods, no allies, no friends. It hurts to find my situation no different than it was back home. Am I not worthy of something better?
“If you must know,” I say, fiddling with the fabric of my dress, “I d-didn’t choose to come here.”
She cants her head, and I’ve the distinct impression of being cornered, as a hare is forced into its burrow. “What do you mean?”
I could stop there. I could excuse myself and return to my suite with Demi none the wiser. But perhaps it’s time I place my trust in another. “I’m not here as Eurus’ assistant. I’m here as his c-captive. I was taken from my home in St. Laurent. Eurus and I… made a deal.”
“A deal?” Her gaze sharpens.
