I squint into the distance. A fog-like substance slips through the understory. It swallows a second tree, and that, too, withers beneath its touch.
“Eurus!” I tap his cheek, but he does not wake.
Again, the bell tolls, scattering multicolored birds into flight. I yank his arm in an attempt to drag him down the hill, away from the creeping fog. I recall passing a cave a while back. It is the only viable shelter I can think of.
But—the East Wind. Enormous, overpowering, all brawn. And me: a woman, mortal. Moving him will be impossible with strength alone. But if I can drag him to the river, that wide bend of unhurried water, I could pull him along with the current until we reach shelter.
“Sorry, Eurus,” I mutter, and shove him downhill with all my strength.
His body flops, back to chest to back, a laborious roll that soon gains momentum as the incline steepens. His wings snag against the vegetation, and he tumbles through a muddy pool, which coats him thoroughly.
When he rolls to a stop along the riverbank, I scramble downhill to check his body and wings for breaks. There are only surface wounds.
A distant shriek cuts the stillness as I scan the river with reluctance. The water is clear: I can see the pebbled bottom. It does not seem too deep, and the current is blessedly slow. It is not the sea, I remind myself. These waters are tame. There are no hands to hold me under, no salt to scour my throat and lungs.
After tucking the arrow into my waistband, I grab the East Wind’sarms and heave. He doesn’t budge. Well, what did I expect? The god is easily twice my weight.
I tunnel deep, down into the core of me. Not strength of body, but strength of spirit, strength of character, strength of mind.
A second yank slides him into the river on his back. The frigid water laps against my thighs like hungry tongues. The silty riverbed sucks at my ankles.
You are safe. Do not think of the water. Focus on saving Eurus’ life.
Travel is slow, and the hours pass into darkness. Gripping the collar of the East Wind’s cloak allows me to keep his head above water as I haul him downstream. Night sounds descend, each rustling branch dragging my awareness skyward, but no sign of that eating fog. Despite this, I cannot let my guard down. One of the competitors might be watching this very moment, awaiting the opportunity to strike.
At last, we reach the fallen tree where I recall spotting the cave. With the sun having set, the temperature has plummeted. My teeth chatter, loud in the dark.
Grabbing one of Eurus’ arms, I drag him across the forest floor, aiming for the knoll marked by rising cliffs. Another heave brings us to the cave’s entrance. I peer into its stony mouth. No sign of a competitor. I will take my chances.
Once I’ve dragged the East Wind inside, I kneel beside him. “This is likely going to hurt.” When he fails to respond, I grip the arrow shaft, brace myself, and yank—hard.
Skin tears. The East Wind wakens with a harsh bellow, arms raised in defense.
“Eurus.” I catch his arm. “It’s me.”
He curls the fingers of one large hand around my wrist—an anchor. “Min?” His eyelashes flutter, hazed in shock. “What are you doing here? What—”
“You have to stay awake.”
“I’m trying,” he rasps. “Why am I so tired? My shoulder…” He squints at the hole that weeps blood. “The trial… You can’t be here. Why…?” He trails off in confusion.
“You’ve been poisoned,” I say, ripping a strip of fabric from the bottom of my nightgown to staunch the wound.
A slow, dazed blink. “I was hit by one of the Fates.”
“Yes.” And speaking of the Fates… “I think they’re the reason I’m here. I found their hair on my clothes. They must have kidnapped me while I slept and—” What? Planted me in one of the arena caves? But how? Why?
I suppose it doesn’t matter. All my efforts must now turn toward helping the East Wind, whose blood has already soaked the crumpled cotton.
Noting my grimace, he asks, “How bad is it?”
“If left untreated, you will enter a hypothermic state. The poison will rob you of warmth and ease of movement. Eventually, you will fall unconscious.”
He is grim—too grim. “Is there an antidote?”
“Yes,” I whisper, “but I haven’t the components to create one.” The rare root of vervesworth, found only in arid habitats, must be dried for two hours in direct sunlight, then another two over open flame.
If Eurus falls unconscious, it will likely be the end for me. I’ve certainly no hope of besting a god. When I am gone, no one will mourn me. Lady Clarisse may mourn immortality having slipped from her grasp, but she will not mournme.
