Page 36

35

T HE S OUTH W IND LIES ON his back, short black hair groomed, fingers linked across his bare stomach. A thin, pale scar cuts across his left pectoral where the god-touched dagger pierced his chest. Even in slumber, he strikes a magnificent form. Lamp light cascades over the shallow indentations of his muscled abdomen in waves of rich amber. Between his softly parted lips, his breath unspools.

It has been hours since I returned from Notus’ homeland. The Council of Gods assured me it would not take long for him to wake, though I question if it was all one elaborate deception, to steal my gift of music, offering nothing but an empty promise in return. Seated at his bedside, I tend to him as the lamps burn low, piling additional blankets onto the bed to combat the chill. Beyond the open window, the constellations shift horizons. The moon pulls away from the earth.

There is a tentative knock at the door. “Sarai?”

“You can come in.”

Roshar enters, bearing a tray of tea, small sandwiches, and apricot tarts. Tonight, he is dressed in frilly white bedclothes, his dark hair set in small curlers. After placing the tray on a nearby table, he takes a seat in the chair beside mine and asks, “How is he?” Quiet, demure. Very un -Roshar.

I brush a lock of hair from Notus’ brow. At all hours, I scour his face for some sign of life, but—nothing. “As well as can be, I suppose.”

“I see.” He speaks in a tone that suggests he absolutely doesn’t believe a word I say. “And how are you ?”

I stare at the pillows supporting Notus’ head. They look uncomfortably flat. I fluff them from the sides. There. That’s better. Or… have I made them too lumpy? Oh, what is even the point of this? I drop my hands in frustration. “I’m frightened, Roshar.”

His fingers catch mine, and tighten. “Of course you are, dear.” Reaching out, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Love is a scary thing. But you’ve found something worth fighting for. That’s a privilege many do not get to experience in their lifetime.”

And what if it goes no further? What if this is the end of the road? What if the South Wind does not wake? How am I to move forward with my life? I can’t spend yet more years grieving. I’ve experienced enough grief for a hundred lifetimes.

“But you’re healthy, I mean? Unhurt?” When I regard Roshar questioningly, he explains, “People are saying you were trapped in the labyrinth. Is it true?”

Ah. The truth would have exposed itself eventually, but I hoped I’d have a little more time to prepare before that occurred. “It’s true.”

“By the gods.” He lifts a hand to his chest. “And you escaped? Alive? How did you manage that? Actually—” He shakes his head, bats the question aside. “I don’t need to know. What matters is that you’re safe.”

Am I safe? Or will Prince Balior one day return to conquer Ammara?

“Although…” His twinkling eyes slide to mine. “I’m curious about what happened to Prince Balior. No one in the palace has seen him. Some claim he died, though I think the man is too crafty for that.” He pats at his hair in satisfaction.

“Gossip, Roshar. Really?”

“Well, no, not exactly.” At my pointed look, he bats his eyelashes at me. “All right, yes. But can you blame me? Ishmah nearly gets devoured by some unexplainable darkness. It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened in decades!”

The last thing I need is people worrying about things they do not understand. Even I don’t know the full implications of the beast having escaped the labyrinth. “All I know is that Prince Balior has left Ishmah and is likely on his way back to Um Salim.” To plot out his long-term plans. Now, we must wait to see where the cards fall.

Roshar wrinkles his nose in disappointment. He’d hoped for a novel, a masterpiece to divulge with those at court. I’d granted him a brief message, too short to be of any worth for gossip. “Hmph! Honestly, good riddance. He wasn’t that good-looking anyway.” My friend crosses his arms, mouth pursed in further consideration. “Well, mostly. I mean, his butt was quite nice, but his nose, eh.”

I snort. Now that he mentions it, Prince Balior’s nose was a bit large for my taste. Not to mention the gross entitlement. “I appreciate you, Roshar. More than you know.” This, paired with an affectionate smile. “Thank you for always looking out for me.”

“Of course, Sarai.” He appears touched by the sentiment. “That’s what friends do.”

My attention wanders to the open window. How velvet is the sky, how icy are the stars. “Yes, well, I don’t have many friends, as you know.”

“What about the queen?”

I pick at a stray thread edging the blanket. The idea holds a warmth that was not present months ago. “I… suppose Tuleen is my friend,” I murmur tentatively. And what a joy it is to know this.

Roshar glances at the South Wind again before turning to me. “I wish I could stay, but it’s been a long night. I’m meeting a new client tomorrow, and I absolutely want to look my best.”

My mouth quirks. “Understood.” I would not dare get in the way of Roshar’s beauty sleep.

Quietly, he departs, and I eat one of the sandwiches while passing the time. I pace, window to door to bed. A second sandwich finds its way into my mouth. As the lamp burns low, my nerves wear thin, because the night has waned, and Notus continues to sleep. But I can wait. I will wait for as long as is necessary—

With a low, rumbling sigh, the South Wind wakens.

Immediately, his eyes seek mine. Their earthy shade holds a startling clarity. I bite my lower lip, fighting tears. But the ache twists and sharpens, rendering me breathless. My hands unclench. My armor falls.

Frowning, Notus lifts a hand to my cheek. His thumb cuts the water in its tracks. “I do not like to see you cry,” he whispers.

Oh, his voice. How I have yearned for it. “If it makes you feel better,” I wheeze, the words mangled, “they are happy tears.” Relieved tears. The most gratified tears. My teeth sink harder into my quivering lip. This man, this beautiful man. “I’ve missed you.”

Notus closes his eyes at my words, as though they are his own music. “I’ve missed you, too.” Then he draws me onto the bed.

The blankets sigh at my legs as his strong arms band across my back, his face tucked against my neck, the dark, heady scent of him embracing me. There is no singular emotion claiming space inside my chest. It is all layers, each adding newfound depth to what is already present. It is deeper than hurt, deeper than the sharpest agony. It lives and breathes beneath my skin.

“I feared you were lost to me,” I whisper, tears coursing down my cheeks.

His arms tighten, and I burrow down into him, where sanctuary lies. “Not lost,” he murmurs, with enough conviction to reassure me. “Never lost. Temporarily misplaced, perhaps.”

I emit a watery chuckle into his chest. Temporarily misplaced, indeed.

“You must know,” he whispers. “Surely you must know.”

I slide a hand up his back, comforting us both. “Know what?”

Gently, Notus pulls away to look at me, his gaze earnest. Over his shoulder, the lamp light sputters, its wick eaten down. Whatever shadows emerge, they are harmless. The sun will return soon enough. “In any realm, no matter the obstacles, no matter the hardships I must endure, I will find you.”

My lips quiver. This face, this strong, beautiful face. The face of the one I love. “Don’t leave me again.”

“I would not choose to do so. You must know that I would not.”

I do know. Perhaps I have always known. Perhaps I would have accepted it sooner, had I not allowed fear to guide my life.

For a time, we sit in companionable silence, his heartbeat the lowest drum against my ear. It is too precious a sound. Twice, I have lost this man. I do not think I could survive a third parting.

“Sarai,” he whispers. Something in his voice pokes my awareness: a childlike confusion. “Why can I no longer feel my power?”

His pulse drives forward when I do not immediately respond. He questions, he doubts, he suspects. But I anticipated this. In the hours of waiting, I arranged the relevant information into something palpable, easily swallowed. This conversation is, after all, fragile. An unexpected change. It must be handled with care.

Easing back, I cup one of his broad hands in mine. “What do you remember?” I ask.

Notus searches my gaze. Perhaps it is then he understands. Or perhaps the tightness of my grip reveals this difficult truth.

“I remember you bound by shadow,” he says slowly, “your throat bared to Prince Balior’s blade. I remember the helplessness, the terror that I would be forced to watch you die. And—” His hand lifts, presses over his heart, shielding the thin white line where the prince’s dagger sank deep. “I remember thinking it would have been worth it, to take the blow in your stead. That I could not live with myself, knowing your life was cut short.” He takes a ragged breath, swallows, yet I see how his distress rises like floodwaters, this prospect that was so close to being made real.

And just like that, my love for him deepens. Just as he reinforces my weakened parts, so too will I be the steel of his blade, the stony ground when all yields to sand. “I’m here, Notus,” I remind him. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”

The South Wind expels a great, heaving exhalation. “I couldn’t be certain at the time, but the dagger looked like it belonged to Sleep, the god who is responsible for half of mortals’ lives. I’d hoped that was the case. His blades, though god-touched, are not like our other weapons. They’re coated with a powerful elixir that sends whoever the blade nicks into endless sleep.”

“Prince Balior didn’t know,” I realize. “He didn’t know the dagger he held belonged to Sleep.” Otherwise he never would have agreed to the bargain.

“In the end, it was to our advantage,” Notus says. “I hoped the elixir would be enough to thwart death, at least for the time being.”

It is a decision I would have made, had our positions been reversed. I would have given my life a thousand times. Nothing would have stopped me.

After a moment, he sits upright against the pillows. I pass him a glass of mint tea. He drains it in two gulps. “Let me guess,” he says, rather dolefully. “Prince Balior found a way to drain my power.”

I wince. “No, that’s not it.”

“Is he dead?”

If he were, I daresay it would make our lives infinitely easier. “He escaped. I’m not sure where he’s gone.” Would he return to Um Salim? Or would the beast dictate their journey? “Do you have any idea as to their destination?”

A long, heavy sigh sends him wilting into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut. “Marles. Eurus’ realm.”

I frown at him. “Because—” Ah. Because the beast seeks to punish the god who played a hand in its imprisonment. With King Halim having passed on, the East Wind—the Lord of the Mountain—is all that remains. “The beast will take its revenge on Eurus,” I say slowly. “And Prince Balior will aid him.”

Notus stares out the window. Hours from now, riotous color will infuse the sky, every grain of sand a golden coin set glinting beneath the sun. “I will need to reach out to Boreas,” he says begrudgingly. “Perhaps he’ll know how best to combat this threat.” Then his attention slides back to mine. “But none of this explains why I’m awake, and why I no longer feel my power.”

And thus the story unfolds. I tell him of my crossing into the labyrinth. I inform him of the mirror, which allowed me to travel between realms. I describe to him the Deadlands: a fortress with countless doors.

The South Wind isn’t the least bit happy to hear that I visited his brother’s realm. “Tell me Boreas did not attempt to kill you. I know my brother. He stabs first, asks questions later.”

“Actually,” I say, “he seems pretty tame compared to his wife.”

“His wife.” Notus rubs at his jaw, eyes thinned, skeptical of my claim. “I wasn’t aware he had married.”

“He seems happy.” At least, that was my impression during the brief moments when he did not appear overcome with suspicion. “I quite liked his wife—Wren. They have two young children. And… he is mortal.”

His eyes snap to mine, wide with shock. “Mortal.” The hand on his chest twitches before dropping onto the blanket. “And am I? Mortal? Is that why my body feels so… burdensome?”

I hesitate, yet in this hesitation lies the truth. What’s done is done. “Yes.”

He takes in this information. I can’t quite read his expression. There is sadness, as expected, but nothing compared to the devastation I witnessed through the labyrinth mirror when Notus believed he had killed me with black iris. “How?” he asks.

“I bargained with the Council of Gods to restore you to a conscious state, but they required something in exchange: your power and immortality.” At this, my expression folds, throat squeezing my apology into silence. I force it out, an old croak. “I’m sorry you weren’t given the opportunity to decide your fate. I took it upon myself to decide for you. It wasn’t my place, but… I would have done whatever it took to save you from that half-life,” I say, pressing closer, face hidden against his neck.

His chest pulses, and my heart plummets. He is unhappy. I’d chosen wrong. It was never my place to decide. I knew this, but I didn’t care, and—

“I’m sorry, Notus,” I murmur. “It’s not fair, I know, but please believe me when I tell you I made a choice—”

A choked sound vibrates against my ear, and I frown. “You’re… laughing?” I rear back, mouth agape as the South Wind struggles to suppress his mirth. A brief shake of my head. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for,” he says. “I would have made the same decision.”

I wait with anticipation. “You’re not upset?”

He peers down at his upturned palms. Layered in calluses and deeply grooved. “There is loss, of course. But it’s not as strong as I anticipated it would be. I never revered my own power the way Eurus does, never used it as a shield, as Boreas did, or reveled in it like Zephyrus. What’s done is done.”

I take those wide palms into mine. Yes , I think. It is .

His mouth gathers in sudden thought. “Did the council require something of you as well? I can’t imagine they would honor your request without a proper exchange.”

My heart throbs, like a bruise. For a moment, I swear I feel the phantom weight of the violin against my shoulder and neck. “They did.”

New lines crease his face: grave crow’s feet and pleats of unexpected melancholy. Notus knows. Of course he knows. “Music?”

I nod, unable to speak.

“Sarai—” He sighs then. “I wish you had not done that.”

“It was my decision to make.”

“But was it to your benefit?” he counters.

What a stupid question. “Of course it was to my benefit. How can you say that?”

“I’m only thinking about your best interests.”

He picks an odd way of showing it. “As if I would live life without you.”

“Stubborn woman,” he growls, fisting the blanket. “That’s not how this works. Everything I’ve done has been to keep you safe, loved, whole. I have lived my life. I have lived it a thousand times. You are given but a temporary existence, precious, without guarantee. Why would you give up music? It is everything to you.”

“As are you,” I say.

For whatever reason, Notus ducks his head, his expression torn. I grant him space, yet continue to maintain connection through touch. “I can’t be everything to you, Sarai.” Eventually, he tugs his hands from mine, smooths the wrinkles from the blanket, adjusts it in place across his legs. “You know that, right? You have to live your life for yourself first.”

“I think you underestimate just how significant a part you are in my life,” I tell him wryly. When he does not share in my humor, my smile wilts. He’s right, after all. In making one person the whole of your world, you consequently lose sight of yourself.

“You are not everything to me,” I say, quieter now. “But you are comfort when I sorely need it, kindness after years of slights, security when the world feels too dangerous to face.” But there is more, so much more. “All my life, I have known only the inconsistency of Father’s affections. You are balance, dependability, refuge, support. You see me.” All those rough edges, all the jagged, unhealed wounds. “And that is something I wish never to take for granted.

“Because I see you, Notus. You, a banished god without a home. A man who understands the pain of having to earn a family member’s approval. A loyal companion whose heart is true.” I straighten as, brick by brick, my spirit is rebuilt, the crisp night breeze wafting in through the window. “You’re right. You aren’t everything to me. But you are everything I want. The choice I made… I do not regret it.”

Because a sacrifice must hurt. The absence of what you give up must be enduring, for only then will the weight of what you’ve lost equal true appreciation for what you’ve gained.

“Just… tell me this. Have you looked at your violin since then?” His eyes rove my face, seeking answers I do not wish to give.

But I release a sigh. “Once.” It had become a child I no longer recognized, its curves bulky in my grip, my fingers unwieldly. When I drew the bow across the string, an awful shriek of protest had sounded. I flinched, returned the violin to its case, and cried myself to sleep.

Notus must witness the dark cloud of that moment drifting across my expression. “Sarai—”

“Enough.” I will not bend. Not for this. “It is done. I have no regrets. I would do it again. I would do it a thousand times if it meant building a life with you.” I grip his hand as tightly as I can, and reveal to him the iron strength within me. “Look at me, please.”

A muscle bunches in his jaw. But he raises his head, brown skin warmed in tawny light, so many lines of tension marking his countenance. All will be well. Perhaps not today, nor tomorrow, but eventually, in time.

“The gods have always underestimated mortals,” I say to him. “Half the time they are so blinded by their own arrogance they fail to see what lies beneath their very noses. The other half, they’re eating their own young for fear of losing whatever power or leverage they hold.”

Notus tucks his tongue into his cheek. “That’s actually an accurate representation,” he concedes.

Of course it is. As it turns out, royalty and the divine share similar tendencies toward self-sabotage. “They believe music to be a singular object that, once taken, cannot be replicated. It’s simply not true.”

“But it is what you love ,” he grits out. “And now it’s gone.”

It is only a partial truth, really. “I have mastered the violin once,” I whisper. “I will do so again, when I am ready. But you—” Reaching out, I frame his face between my palms. “You cannot be replicated, dear heart. You are my home. It has always been so. And I love you.”

“Sarai.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine. Our mouths find one another’s. The kiss is languid, dreamlike in its sweetness. When Notus draws back, color stains his cheeks. “My heart is yours,” he says. “You know that it is.”

Indeed, I do. “Will you come with me, and see the world as I wish to see it?”

“My home is with you, wherever you wander.”

It is settled then. We will travel west, then north, then east. We will climb mountains and cross the expansive plains. We will witness the might of the sea. And then? Well. Fate is such a funny thing. I cannot know for certain what our future holds, but tomorrow, the sun will rise. Who knows what the winds may bring.