Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3) (19 page)

I could leave the apology there—pretend there’s no awkwardness hanging over us. But Gus is still focused on my mouth, and I know my face must be ten different shades of red.

“I’m also sorry for the way I saved you,” I whisper. “I know it was very . . . personal.”

“It was,” Gus says, a small smile curving his lips. “Don’t worry, I didn’t feel any connection, in case you’re worried.”

“Neither did I.”

“Yeah, I figured.” His smile fades. “What you did though . . . that was
way
above and beyond anything anyone has ever done for me. So I just wanted to say . . . thanks.”

My cheeks burn hotter, and all I can think to say is “Anytime.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Vane will want me taking you up on that.”

I focus on my hands.

For all I know, Vane and I will never—not that Gus and I would
ever
 . . .

“You’re overcomplicating it. You know that, right?” Gus asks. “You and Vane chose each other once—why wouldn’t you choose each other again?”

“I don’t know. Things change.”

“They clearly haven’t for Vane. Mr. Lazypants flew across the country, scaled a mountain, and took on an army of warriors—for you.”

“And you.”

Gus rolls his eyes. “He loves you, Audra. And I know you love him, too. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to resist the power of these.”

He puckers his lips.

I want to laugh, but the gesture draws too much attention to his wounds, and I find myself wondering how much his handsome face will forever be ruined by scars.

Gus leans across the hall, closing some of the space between us. “Whatever you’re thinking about that’s causing that wrinkle between your brows? Stop it. And promise me you won’t give up on what you have with Vane just because you’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.”

But I am.

Loving Vane was the bravest thing I’ve ever done, and I barely survived it the first time. It’s terrifying to imagine making that journey again.

And yet, I can feel pieces of myself stirring—like my essence is shifting, making room for something.

Or someone.

“Come on,” Gus says. “The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can find him.”

I let Gus take the lead so I can keep a better eye on his wobbly movements.

“Is it getting colder?” he asks, his breath clouding the air.

“They’re trying to freeze us out.”

The winds are also getting stronger, speeding our feet, erasing our caution. I’m moving at such a blur that I don’t notice the metal grate ahead until the sharp, angled slats glint in my eyes, and I barely manage to grab Gus and pull him backward in time.

The contact sends us into another tailspin and Gus shoves me away, sending us both crashing hard to the floor.

“Thanks,” I mumble, rubbing my bandaged side.

“Yeah, you too,” he says. “Good eye. I don’t know how I missed that.”

“Might be the cold getting to us. But I think these winds are toxic.”

“Then let’s get away from them, shall we?” He inches toward the grate. “I wonder if Raiden has a welcome party waiting for us.”

He peeks through the slats and gasps.

“That bad?”

He shakes his head. “You . . . have to see this.”

I’m imagining every possible worst-case scenario as I shuffle toward the grate. Still, I’m definitely not prepared to see two figures standing in the room far below, watching the spinning gears of a giant turbine.

One is a blond girl in a tiny dress.

The other is a boy I’d recognize anywhere, even wearing a Stormer uniform.

Vane and Solana.

W
hat was that?” Solana asks, grabbing my arm—and totally screwing up my throw.

My windslicer sails in a wobbly arc and lands nowhere near where I was aiming.

Even better: It settles between the teeth of one of the giant cogs, and when the gears spin together . . .

CRUNCH!

“What the hell?” I timed that throw perfectly, and now I’ve lost my weapon,
and
the freaking turbine is still spinning.

Solana turns a slow circle, studying the fans and vents. “I saw something,” she tells me, reaching for her windslicer. It’s all mangled from banging it against the gears in our other failed attempt to sabotage this stupid thing—who knew a turbine could be so indestructible?

I ask my Westerly for a report, but I can’t separate its song from the roar of the wind and the gears. And the constantly swirling air throws off my senses, with all the waves of hot and cold and swishes of sour and bitter.

And then . . . I see a flash of light.

I can’t tell which vent it came from, but I’m guessing it’s some sort of signal for a bunch of Stormers to attack from every direction. They probably followed our trail through the maze—or maybe this turbine is sending our trace through the fortress.

Solana pulls me behind her. “I’ll get us out of this, but I need you to let me fight my way.”

“You’re not using the power of pain—”

“We don’t have time to argue.” She snarls a garbled command and two yellowed drafts seep out of her skin and coil around her hands like sickly gloves.

“How is that supposed to help?” I ask.

“The need will tell me.”

Her voice sounds flat and far away and her eyes look glazed, like she’s turned into a zombie—which definitely isn’t selling me on the power of pain.

Then again, it’s probably a good thing we have it. The light just flashed again, and this time I saw where it came from. One of the vents way up high looks like its bending, and I swear I saw a quick glimpse of something gray.

“They’re coming,” Solana says, still in that faraway voice. “Stay back and let me fight.”

“You can’t take them all by yourself.”

“I only feel two. It will be easy.”

I’d be a lot more excited about this plan if she didn’t sound like a possessed kid in a horror movie.

But two Stormers is good.

We’ve already done that and won before—surely we can pull it off again.

“We have to keep this quick,” Solana says. “The air here is too turbulent. As soon as they land I’ll use the need to end them. Cover eyes so you don’t have to see.”

I want to tell her I can handle it, but I’m not sure if I can. I’m getting flashbacks to the bloody carnage after our last battle, and the dead Stormer we left in the storage room, and—

Don’t think about it.

My legs shake as I watch the last of the vents’ metal slats get ripped apart by a seriously scary-looking Stormer.

He’s too high up to see details, but I can tell he’s bloody.

He shouts something I can’t understand, and he and another Stormer dive for us.

Solana starts murmuring a creepy command, and I beg my Westerly to come up with something useful. But as the Stormers drop closer, I notice the bloody one’s a guy with long blond hair. And the other—

“Solana, STOP!”

I shake her out of her frenzy right as she releases the drafts and they spiral away from her hands,
barely
missing the two figures as they land.

“Why would you . . .”

Solana’s question trails off when she takes a closer look at the “Stormers.”

Meanwhile five million emotions have taken up the epic battle of What Should I Feel Right Now? as I ask, “Audra?”

V
ane won’t look at me.

He did when he first said my name. But then his eyes moved to Gus, and they haven’t strayed.

I can’t fault him—even
I
haven’t gotten used to Gus’s altered appearance.

But every fiber of my being is screaming,
Why won’t he look at me?

That first quick glance—those brief seconds he gave.

It wasn’t enough.

The craving is both new and familiar. Hot and cold. Terrifying and exhilarating.

I want him to see me. Talk to me. Reach for me.

But I also want to run away.

I’m not ready for this—any of it.

Vane clears his throat, his eyes still focused on Gus. “Gus, I . . .”

His voice breaks.

“It’s okay,” Gus tells him, limping closer.

“No it’s not.” Vane wipes his eyes with shaking hands. “You . . . I can’t . . .”

“I know,” Gus tells him. “But I’ll heal. Don’t worry about it, all right?”

“I can’t believe
you’re
comforting
me
.” Vane shakes his head hard, tearing his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry—I don’t know how to do this.”

He smears away more tears as he finally turns my way, meeting my eyes for barely a second before shifting his full attention to my nose.

His eaglelike focus helps me understand what he’s really avoiding.

“I’m fine,” I promise. “Just a few cuts and bruises.”

“Her Westerly’s been protecting her,” Gus adds.

Vane’s whole expression shifts to something heartbreakingly tender. “You still have your shield?”

“She does,” Gus says when I forget that I’m supposed to answer. “The winds have done some amazing things—but we’ll get to that later. Do you know where the Stormers are?”

Vane shakes his head. “We’ve barely run into any. What about you guys?”

“We saw a few, but not as many as we should have,” Gus says, “so I’m pretty sure they’re setting up an ambush somewhere.”

“Sounds about right,” Vane grumbles.

“How did you guys get out of your cell?” Solana asks.

“Kinda a long story,” Gus says. “Right now, we should keep moving.”

“We should,” Vane agrees.

“But first we need to stop the turbine,” Solana reminds him.

She explains their sabotage plan, and it’s actually a smart play. I hate myself for not thinking of it—and I hate myself even more for glaring at her tiny dress and shiny hair.

She’s risked her life to help us—that should be my only focus. But I can’t stand the way she keeps using the word “we” as she describes how she and Vane snuck into the fortress through a secret tunnel.

A bitter, unreasonable anger clouds my thoughts, devouring several seconds before I remember something actually important. “Wasn’t my mother with you? I heard Raiden say her name.”

The worry in my voice surprises me—as does the flood of relief when Vane says she’s still alive.

“Aston was worried they’d end up betraying us if they had to face Raiden,” he explains. “So they created a distraction to help us sneak in, and now they’re probably on their way back to his cave.”

“Aston helped you?” I ask.

Gus chooses the smarter question. “How do you know they’re not betraying us right now?”

“I don’t,” Vane admits. “But . . . sometimes you have to trust people.”

The brief look he and Solana share turns my insides to needles.

I try to listen as they hash out ideas for how to sabotage the turbine, but it’s hard to focus when I’m standing this close to Vane.

Every twitch, every blink, every stolen glance he gives me. I can’t help studying them, searching for answers—and I don’t even know the questions.

The words won’t take shape in my mind. Only the feelings.

So many feelings.

Too many feelings.

“We’re not doing it your way!”
Vane snaps, dragging me back to attention.

“What’s her way?” Gus asks.

“It’s . . . also a long story,” Vane says. “Add it to the list of things we need to talk about if we get out of here.”

“Oh, we’re getting out of here,” Gus says. “Lend me that Westerly of yours—and any other winds you have—and I’ll tear this thing apart.”

“Westerly?” Vane and Solana ask.

Gus nods.

Vane’s lips twitch with questions, but he manages to shake them off. He sends Gus his Westerly along with a Southerly, and I watch his eyes widen as Gus absorbs them and heads for the turbine.

Even with the extra burst of strength, the pull of the motor nearly sucks Gus in. Solana darts to his side—annoyingly surefooted among the flurries—and grabs him by the waist, keeping him grounded.

“Do you need help?” Vane calls.

“Nah, we got this,” Gus tells him. “You guys have other things you need to take care of.”

Vane tenses at the words, and goes back to not looking at me.

What does that mean?

Seconds pass, each one making it harder to breathe.

Eventually Vane mutters something I can’t catch before he finally strides toward me.

Three steps and he’s at my side, his words bursting out in a frenzied breath. “I’m so sorry, Audra. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

It’s not the question I was expecting—and I hate that he’s noticed my jacket, his eyes locked on the bloodstains crusting my shoulders and back.

I need to tell him this wasn’t his fault. Convince him I’m okay. Thank him for risking everything to come get me.

But the words won’t push past the lump in my throat.

How did I get this broken?

I didn’t think I was this broken.

“It’s okay,” Vane says, and the softness of his voice feels like clean, sweet air. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He starts to turn away, and a swell of panic brings back my voice.

“Vane, I . . .”

That’s all I have.

But it seems to be enough.

He reaches for my face, brushing away a tear I didn’t realize was there.

His soft fingers vanish just as quickly—his hands dropping firmly to his side—but the heat of his touch lingers under my skin.

Tiny sparks left from better days.

I close my eyes and soak them in.

“I know this isn’t the time or the place,” he says, his face close enough for me to feel his breath on my cheeks. “But there’s one thing I have to say.”

He stops there, and I realize he’s waiting for me to look at him.

When I do, his beautiful eyes burn with the most desperate sort of longing—no attempt to deny it or disguise it.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that I still deserve you,” he tells me. “But only if that’s what you want. And I don’t need you to decide now. I just . . . needed you to know.”

Our eyes hold one second longer.

Then he turns and walks away.