After a few harried moments, attendants arrive to carry the Vintner from the garden. The moment he is gone, everyone breathes a sigh of relief, and the lightning god pushes to a standing position.
“First,” he says in a voice that is as deep and clear as a forest pool, “I must congratulate you all for making it this far. You have persisted. That is no insignificant undertaking.” He inspects the faces of those seated at the table, including mine. I blush and duck my head as he goes on. “Unfortunately, only one of you will have the opportunity to claim the prize: a favor of your choosing from the Council of Gods.”
The remaining competitors straighten to attention, including the Fates who, thus far, have failed to show any interest outside of their own whispered discussion. In the corner of my eye, Eurus discreetly scans the table. Has he already finalized his plan for the council’s demise? Of the twelve, who will be the first to fall beneath his blade?
“The final trial will commence in two days’ time. There is no need to gather at the arena, nothing you need to do to prepare.” A slow smile stretches his mouth. “The tournament will come to you.”
A rush of puzzled whispers. Even Eurus appears befuddled. Leaning closer to Arin, I murmur, “I assume this is unprecedented?”
The dark-skinned deity nods. “I’m not sure what he means by this, but I suppose there is little point in ruminating. We will find out soon enough.”
“For the final trial, you may use whatever powers, weapons, and surroundings are at your disposal to outlast your opponents and survive the obstacles the arena presents you. Only when one contender remains standing will the door reveal itself. But what comes between you and that door,” says the lightning god shrewdly, “will determine whether you end the tournament in victory, or defeat.”
The thought is sobering, and I no longer feel hungry. The East Wind must survive. He must end eleven immortal lives. He must endArin’slife.
It is kill or be killed.
Back in our suite, Eurus stands before the open window, his wings lax. After the smallest hesitation, I join him, staring out at the city lights.
It is a subtle thing, but his thumb skims the cotton of my dress where it meets my stocking. Heat blooms beneath my sternum, crawls up my neck. It would be easy to lean against him. Eurus would catch me, shelter me.
“Are you ready?” I whisper into the darkness.
The edge of his hood stirs, and I nearly reach up to tug it back, let the bright, bright moon cast the planes of his face in white. “No,” he says. “But it must be done.”
“You mentioned w-wanting the Council of Gods to reverse your banishment,” I hedge softly. “Do you still want that?”
“Yes.” He, too, speaks no louder than the lowest whisper. “Why?”
Was there a pause preceding his response, or did I imagine it? “Well… it seems like you don’t very m-much enjoy life in the city.”
He shrugs, and something brushes the backs of my thighs. I startle, muscles tightening as warmth moves through my system. The edge of his scaled wing, I realize. He does not move it aside. Nor do I shift away. “It is the place where I was born. Why should I want something else?”
“But are you happy here?” When he does not respond, I press, “What if you used your favor differently?”
Now the East Wind faces me fully. I sense his suspicion, even if I cannot discern his expression. “Like what?”
“I was talking with Arin at dinner tonight.” I clasp my fingers at my front so as to avoid tracing the bones of his wings. “He mentioned his s-sister. She is ill.”
He regards me for an indeterminable amount of time. “Are you implying that I should use my favor to heal his sister?”
“Would it be so terrible?”
“The only way Arin’s sister will be healed,” Eurus growls, “is if Arin wins the tournament.”
The notion is a swift kick to the gut. With Eurus dead, I would no longer be under his protection. They would come for me, these vultures, these wolves.
Wordlessly, I reach into my pocket, grasp the small vial of poison nestled inside. The opening of his hood angles downward, toward my outstretched palm. His massive hand curls around mine, Eastern Blood sheltered between.
“It is done,” I say.
I expect him to release my hand. Instead, Eurus tucks his thumb against the inside of my wrist, where the pulse beats rabbit quick.
Lean forward. Close the distance.The desire to taste the East Wind’s mouth is so compelling my teethache.
My tongue darts out to wet my lips. The weight of his gaze tracking the motion cannot be missed. “What is the plan?” I whisper.
Still, he stares at my mouth. Only when he glances elsewhere do I find myself able to breathe properly. “On the eve of the victor’s banquet,” he rumbles, “I will add Eastern Blood to the council members’ drinks. Before the night ends, they will grant me my favor, my banishment reversed before they ever realize that poison weakens them. In the coming weeks, the Council of Gods will begin to fall. One by one, I will strike until they are gone. I will make sure that none suffer from their negligence again.”
