“Your father is r-r-responsible for your wings, is that correct?”
“Yes. His experiments grew more twisted as the years passed. After that, I was unable to hide what I had become: some sick, twisted creature,” he chokes out in disgust. “An abomination that did not belong in this shining city.”
It is the pain contorting his voice that finally emboldens me to reach for the East Wind. In this moment, I am not thinking of the consequences my touch might bring. I am thinking that he has grown up believing he is unwanted, unloved, unworthy. I am thinking that he was a child, and I was a child, and love from our caretakers was conditional.
Catching his hand, I press it against my chest, atop my heart. Its pace stumbles, for the opening of his hood shifts toward me in surprise. If Eurus does not want my touch, he is free to retreat.
His fingers twitch beneath mine, then settle.
“You are neither twisted, n-nor an abomination,” I assure him. On the contrary, his wings are lovely, unlike anything I’ve encountered before. They offer him a means of freedom, escape.
But he shakes his head. “My father may have made me what I am, but the Council of Gods allowed him to do it. And when the current council banished me and my brothers, after we helped them to overthrow the old gods… As an institution, I cannot allow it to continue.”
While I may not agree with the East Wind’s decision, I understand. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe ending their liveswillheal him, though I am inclined to believe it will not.
“I’m sorry you suffered,” I whisper, teary-eyed.
His hand tightens around mine. “Do not cry for me, bird. Do not waste your tears on something that cannot be changed.” He sighs then, draping the blankets over my shoulders. “Can I tell you something?”
I nod.
“I often listened for your voice, back in St. Laurent.”
“Wh-wh-what do you mean?”
“For three months, that witch tortured me out of my mind. Most days it was too difficult to focus on anything besides the pain. But as the weeks passed, I found solace in the rhythm of your voice. It offered a kindness I had rarely encountered in my immortal life.”
I find it difficult to swallow as my awareness of his body heightens, and I am once again reminded of how large he is, how absolute. I hadn’t the slightest idea Eurus felt this way.
“Time passed, and my fascination with you grew.” His thumb rubs along my raised knuckles. “This mortal woman, weak and cowardly, or so I believed. I wondered what you might look like, what your mannerisms would be, the subtleties of your expressions. I listened for the press of your footsteps. In the evenings, when you would wake to stir whatever brews needed tending to, I began to wish you would approach my cell. And then you did, and I frightened you,and I thought it was what I deserved: to scare off the thing I wanted most.”
My belly quivers in response to his admission. So, my curiosity about Lady Clarisse’s prisoner was not one-sided after all.
“You’re not w-wrong about me,” I whisper. “I am weak, cowardly.” Then I wince, for who cares to admit such feeble traits? “After Nan passed, my… her ladyship bought the estate, relegating me to her assistant. She claimed I needed direction, claimed she would teach me all that she knew, so that one day I m-might take over the apothecary when I was ready.” My mouth bends, sullen and resentful. “It was a foolish hope, to think I might prove myself to her l-ladyship. To think I might be proven w-w-worthy of the honor of bane weaver.”
My eyes sting. Tears, again? I have tried every day of my life to be what Lady Clarisse wants, but in the end, I am only stupid Min, foolish Min, incompetent Min who is more a burden than a blessing.
“When will it stop hurting?” My words are garbled, choked by emotion.
The East Wind smooths a hand across the back of my skull. “When will what stop hurting?”
“Living.”
Wordlessly, he gathers me into his arms, one palm cradling the back of my head. My breathing grows more erratic, stretched to a high keen that cracks against my teeth. The dim is all around us. The tears will not cease. They well and gather, sliding across the dips and hills of my face as, curled into his chest, I release back-breaking sobs.
A stream of warm air stirs my hair as the East Wind says, with a gentleness I yearn for, “I understand, bird. Living does hurt. But don’t be like me. Don’t pretend your pain does not exist, because it will eat at you. Eventually, you will no longer recognize the lonely creature you have become. I would not wish that for you. I would not see your kind heart grow cold.”
“Is that what h-happened to you?” I ask, leaning back, though not far enough to completely remove myself from his embrace. With atentative touch, I trace the frayed edge of his hood. “Is that why you refuse to show your face? Because y-you fear your own reflection?”
The East Wind holds himself in high tension. I can almost feel it, like a mist against his skin, spreading taut to encase his bones. “My scars remind me of a time when I was helpless and alone. I do not like to be reminded of that. It is not pleasant, my face.”
“I’m sure it is not as bad as you th-think,” I reassure him.
His laughter contains an unexpected trace of humor. “I am aware of what I look like, bird. Trust me, it’s not a welcome sight.”
I pluck a loose thread from the blanket, considering how best to ask for what I want. I would like to think our walls are lowered and mutual understanding reached. “Would you allow me to r-remove your hood?” If I am to look upon the East Wind, if I am to understand him fully, his armor must fall.
“I do not think that is the best idea. I would shield you from what lies beneath, if possible.”
