I wince. He is right. A fire will help ward off the imminent chill. “Perhaps it is worth the risk.”
He searches my gaze before disentangling himself. “I’ll be back shortly.”
I watch his form blur, then vanish into the surrounding forest.
Knees drawn against my chest, I shiver, teeth chattering as I await his return. The forest is alive, steeped in darkness. Any subtle crack or rustle draws my body bowstring-tight.
Footsteps. I tense, but it is only Eurus, bearing an armful of sticks. He catches himself against the wall, his body trembling with the ice beginning to eat at his veins.
“Let me,” I say, taking some of the load from his arms and gently guiding him toward the ground. As he arranges the sticks in a pile, I point to a small plant resting at his feet. “What is that?”
Eurus cups his hands over his mouth to warm them. “You mean you don’t recognize it?” he asks in surprise.
I shake my head. Whatever this pink-budded plant is, it does not grow in the mortal realms.
“I know something about plants that you don’t.” He seems absurdly pleased with himself. I glare until he laughs and crushes the leaves inside his fist. “I wish I could say I knew the name of this specimen, but I don’t. My brother, Zephyrus, told me about it when we were young. If you clamp it inside your palm, the leaves release a flammable oil thatcan be applied to kindling. Then, I shove my power through my fist so it heats to a spark…” Eurus’ expression slides out of focus as an acrid scent uncurls. With a hiss, he drops the leaves—now alight—onto the pile of wood.
The East Wind droops beside me, out of breath. My trepidation grows, threatening the bounds of my skin. Gray Snare works quickly, but I fear he needs rest, as do I. And how are we to navigate the darkened wood?
“Does Demi suspect foul play?” I ask him.
“Doubtful.” He dabs at the sweat slipping down his neck. “I’ve told her nothing about your skillset.”
But I did. I wince. “And you still feel certain this is the right choice?” I press him. “Killing the council?”
“I do.”
Then he has not changed. And I have wasted precious energy attempting to forge silver into gold. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can. But whether I answer depends on if I like the question or not.”
With a gentle nudge, he bids me shift closer, and I do. Our thighs brush. When his eyes slip to my mouth, I press my lips taut, fighting the urge to throw myself into his lap. “Do you think it will have been worth it, to kill the council after all is said and done?”
“You don’t understand,” he says, and the fire is in his eyes, pooling straight down to the bottom of his black pupils. “The council as an establishment has done too much harm to me, and to others. I have to do this.”
“Why?Whydo you have to do this? You cannot change the fact that you were banished, or neglected. I truly think that if you were to forgive—”
“I won’t forgive them,” he growls. “I willneverforgive them.”
What Eurus voices is his truth, but he cannot see beyond the boundaries of himself. “Do you feel this?” I capture his hand, place it over his heart. “That is your heart, which beats only for you. You are safe. Your father cannot touch you. The council cannot take you fromyour home, not truly.” I tighten my grip. “You will always carry the scars of your past. But you have the power to decide whether you allow them to hurt, or heal.”
There is a snap of dry wood, sharp like a broken bone. Eurus appears moments away from charging out into the darkness. That must mean I have hit a particularly deep wound.
“I only say this because I know what you feel,” I tell him. “For so long, I let Lady Clarisse’s actionsdefineme, hurt me, make me feel worthless—”
“You’re not worthless, bird.”
“I know that now. And neither are you.” I brush the damp strands from his forehead, grazing the area of scarring where his hairline has receded. “What if, when the time comes to poison the council, you decide you will no longer allow your past to hold sway over you? What if,” I say, “you could start anew?”
He tosses a stick onto the fire, its warmth having gradually filled the cave to thaw my stiff limbs. “I’m not sure if that’s possible for people like me,” he says.
“People like you?”
“Irredeemable.”
My heart aches for him. How could I have gone so long without truly seeing the depths of the East Wind’s self-loathing?
“It is,” I assure him. “It absolutely is.” Seeing the doubt there, I continue to push. “You have come so far already. I look at you, the god who stole me from my home, but who I have grown to care for—”
