I’m not able to take a full breath until Eurus pulls himself off me. There I lie, staring at the sky, gasping for air. My thoughts feel akin to shredded cotton, possessing neither substance nor shape. What is wrong with me? What ailment do I suffer from?
As I force myself to stand on wobbly legs, another cold gust cuts through my dress. “They’ve used Ashes to Ashes. It kills instantly.” Immortal or not, whoever is hit by the poison-coated arrows will die.
He swears, spins around to study the landscape, as do I. Arrows spear through the air, unaffected by the wind. One deity is hit near the spine. He hangs by mere fingertips for one breath, two, before he slips. The drop is long. His body splinters into a thousand fragments of bone.
“Climb onto my back,” Eurus orders. One, two, three arrows spear toward him. He ducks to avoid being impaled.
I can’t do this.“I’ll fall,” I whisper.
“You won’t fall. I won’t allow it.”
“You can’t know for certain.”
The East Wind angles toward me. “Look at me,” he demands.
If I die, then Nan’s dream dies with me. As for Lady Clarisse, she will never know of my demise. Would she care? Dull, stupid Min, out of the picture at last.
“Bird.”
His suppliant tone coaxes my gaze upward. The edges of his cloak ripple, and shadow spills from inside his cowl. A glint of light, like the sheen of a single eye, lures my focus. For one breathless moment, I am staring into Eurus’ shining pupil.
“I won’t let you fall,” he murmurs. “I promise.” He catches my wrist, shackling it with his fingers. “Climb onto my back.”
“And expose m-m-myself to the arrows?”
This silence bears the peculiar shape of a pursed mouth. “Very well. Hold on to my front. You will be well shielded.”
He is the East Wind, he is undying, he is my captor, but here, now, he is my protector, my teammate, reluctant or not. If we are to successfully survive this trial, then I must trust him, for however little his trust is worth.
Trust is thus the press of two bodies: mortal and divine. It is my arms draping his neck, my legs wrapped around his solid waist, the lack of tension in his frame as he accepts my touch. It is the stuttering rise of his chest, those massive hands curving around the backs ofmy thighs. It is my face tucked against the curve of his neck, the only warmth to be found on these exposed bluffs.
Carefully, Eurus kneels, crawling backward until he reaches the ledge. I squeeze my eyes shut, emit a small, breathless squeak as he lurches, lowering himself until we are fully vertical, clinging to the overhang.
Thunder erupts. The rock shudders. I clutch Eurus harder, torn by two warring desires: to burrow deeper into ignorance, to open my eyes and see. A muffled scream pierces the thickening gloom—yet one more competitor tumbling to their death.
It begins to rain.
In seconds, I am drenched. The heavy cotton hangs off me like bags of old skin. Arrows cut the air with increasing frequency, but Eurus angles nearer to the cliff face, protecting me from any projectiles. He fumbles for a handhold, swearing softly beneath his breath, and I realize how difficult it must be to bear both our weights. There must be something I can do, some way to help him.
The moment I force my eyes open, my vision wavers. The sky seethes darkness, and wooziness loosens my hold around the East Wind’s neck.
As though sensing my slackened grip, he snaps out, “Min!”
I sag backward against the rock. The water is all around, its hiss deafening. My tongue stings; my throat is on fire. I choke for breath, drowning on dry land.
“Min, listen to me.”
“I feel faint,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. “But the water can’t touch you. You’re safe. Do you hear me? Listen to my voice.” And the East Wind cups the back of my head, cradling me against his broad, muscled chest. Vaguely, I realize that cannot be possible unless he clings to the cliff with only one hand.
“You’re safe,” he reassures me. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
And he proceeds to tell me a story as he maneuvers downward, though I do not immediately recognize it as such. He tells me of his time in Marles, his visits to the vineyards and old, cobbled villages. His velvet voice slips through my bloodstream, its low thrum like a pulse.
But the story is cut short as he jolts wildly. My skull strikes the rock, and I recoil with a soft cry of pain. Beneath my palms, the muscles of his upper back spasm.
Tentatively, I open my eyes. An arrow protrudes from his shoulder. “Eurus.”
