Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3) (2 page)

But nights are stuffy in the desert. The only winds I can sense are miles away, skirting the base of the mountains. So, by the time I reach Arella, my jacket is soaked with sweat. I’ve also had to swat away about fifteen bugs.

“The sky is restless,” Arella whispers, rubbing at the goose bumps covering her arms. “A storm is coming, but I can’t find the source of the turbulence.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t be leaving,” a deep voice says behind us.

I fight off a sigh as I turn to face the captain of the Gales. “We already discussed this, Os, and—”

“I know,” he interrupts, reaching up to smooth the narrow braid that hangs down the left side of his face. The hairdo is supposed to represent his authority over the guardians. Mostly I think it looks super dorky.

“But I’ve taken some time to think,” he tells me, “and the fact of the matter is, we need you here.”

He points to my back patio, where the faded lawn chairs have been dragged into the dim glow of our porch lights to create some sort of makeshift triage center. Only seven guardians survived our last fight—and most of them barely. The few who can actually move are working to bandage up the others with the meager supplies I tracked down in my bathroom.

Guilt makes the stone in my stomach burn hotter than asphalt in the sun, but I let my bigger worries snuff out the pain.

Os put out a call for the remaining guardians at our other bases to gather here and provide additional support and supplies.

I’m
the only chance Audra has. I know Os. He may be worried about Gus, but he’d celebrate if Audra didn’t make it back. Shoot—a few days ago he threatened to break our bond himself.

He’s the president of Team Solana, still rooting for her to be queen. Which I’m not opposed to, as long as
I
don’t have to be king—but that’s a whole other complicated nightmare I’ll worry about later.

“You ready?” I ask Arella.

Os blocks us as we try to walk away. “Being king is about what’s best for your people, Vane. And your people need you alive. We
will
battle Raiden’s forces again. We
will
finish this. But first we need to ensure we’re properly prepared.”

“Gus and Audra don’t have that kind of time,” I remind him. “Besides, this is a rescue, not an invasion.”

I’m probably being naive, but I keep hoping we can run this like a heist movie, sneaking in and out like clockwork. All I have to do is come up with an actual plan for how to pull that off.

I try to look confident as I call the drafts I can feel in the distance, choosing one of each of the four winds. They whisk smoothly to my side, and I weave them into a deep blue wind spike infused with the power of four. Os watches me work, rubbing the fresh scabs along the scar under his eye.

It used to be a
T
for “traitor”—a present from Raiden—but the last battle added a new cut that crossed the whole thing out.

“You harness a tremendous power,” he says. “But you’re still not strong enough to challenge Raiden alone.”

“He won’t be alone,” Arella reminds him.

She straightens up, looking a bit more like the scary Arella I’m used to—until the air shifts and the ache of her gift makes her double over.

Arella’s always been affected by the wind, but being separated from the sky for so many weeks must have weakened her further.

“I’m going too,” Solana says, marching up beside me.

She pats the windslicer she’s strapped around her waist, and I’m sure she means to look tough and soldierly. But something about her tiny dress and fluffy hair makes it a little hard to see her as
scary.

Os sighs. “Oh good, a princess, a deranged murderer, and an inexperienced, untrained teenager incapable of violence will be flying across the continent and trying to sneak past the greatest warrior our world has ever seen—and his entire army. How could that possibly go wrong?”

“You’re underestimating my power,” I tell him, holding up my wind spike.

“No, you’re
over
estimating it, Vane.”

He hisses a word I can’t understand, and the Northerly in the spike screams, twisting and writhing and turning a sallow yellow as the spike hums with a different energy.

The power of pain.

Solana cringes, and Arella covers her ears and collapses to her knees.

I can’t blame them. The sound of a draft shattering makes me want to cry and vomit and punch something really hard all at the same time.

Instead I drop the spike and kick it away from me. Then I grab Os’s shoulders.

“What gives you the right—”

“What gives
you
the right?” he asks, shoving me away. “We’ve sacrificed everything to protect you and train you and make you a king worth serving—a king who will lead our people out of these treacherous times. And what has it gotten us?”

He turns to the wounded Gales again, and the reminder stings worse than if he’d smacked me.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re destroying the wind,” I say when my voice is working again.

“Raiden’s left us no choice! We wouldn’t be here right now if I hadn’t broken the drafts in your worthless weapons.”

I want to argue, but I remember the battle all too well.

My spikes bounced off Raiden’s Living Storms like we were pelting them with giant Q-tips.

“In war,” Os whispers, “sacrifices have to be made.”

He retrieves his yellowed spike, running a trembling hand over the edge and examining his creation with a look that’s part horror, part fear, but mostly a whole lot of something else. It takes me a second to figure out that it’s awe.

Audra warned him that the power of pain is like a drug—a craving that feeds on itself, getting worse every time anyone harnesses it.

“You have to stop, Os,” I say. “You’re deluding yourself if you think the power isn’t corrupting you.”

Os’s laugh sounds like thunder. “The only one deluding himself here is you, if you really think I’m going to let our future king run off on a suicide mission.”

“Is that a threat?” I ask, not missing the way he’s lowered the ruined wind spike so it’s aimed right for my chest.

“Think of it as an order.”

I glance at Solana, who looks about as dangerous as a hissing kitten. And Arella’s still on the ground, clawing at her skin, crippled by the wind’s pain. So . . . Os may have a point about my backup.

But I’m still going.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I tell him, calling the nearest Westerly to my side.

“You’re also not nearly as strong as you think,” he warns.

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

His fist tightens around his spike, and I brace for him to throw it. So I’m completely caught off guard when he ruins another draft and sends it crashing into me like a semi.

I skid across the grass, careful to shield my injured arm as I beg my instincts for a command I can use to retaliate.

Another shattered draft slams into me first, pinning me to the ground and pressing on my chest and throat, closing off my windpipe.

Voices scream around me—Solana? Arella? I can’t tell. The roaring winds sweep them away as the world turns to a mushy haze.

Just before the darkness swallows me, the pressure eases enough for me to roll to my side and cough and hack until I’m pretty sure I’m bruised both inside and out.

Os leans over me as I lie in the dirt like a Vane-crumble.

“It’s time to admit that your powers are useless, Vane. Dust yourself off and rest up for a long day of training. Every Gale—including you—is going to learn to harness the power of pain.”

T
he Easterly winds surrounding me have carried a steady stream of whispered assurances.

Stay calm.

Have hope
.

Believe.

But as the final strands of darkness fade to morning gray, their songs change to a verse that chills me far worse than the frigid air.

He’s coming.

I barely have time to process the words before the drafts whisk away, vanishing through the invisible cracks they came from and leaving me with nothing but the echoey thud of footfalls climbing the tower stairs.

I pull myself to my feet, determined to face Raiden from a position of strength and confidence. But I can’t help falling back a step when his tall form appears through the darkness.

The majority of the tower is taken up by my cell, but there’s enough space beyond the bars for Raiden to stand in his fur-lined white cloak, his long blond hair whipping in the ruined winds, his figure silhouetted by the dawn light as he studies me with an expression that’s more curious than menacing.

He’s brought no guard and carries no weapon—but he doesn’t need them. One carefully chosen word can make his winds beat me, break me, ruin me a million unimaginable ways.

I’ve seen the effects of his methods firsthand, and the memory alone of the thousands of holes bored through Aston’s body is enough to make my knees shake so hard I have to steady myself against the icy wall.

And Aston was simply a captured Gale, not someone Raiden suspected of speaking Westerly.

I’m stronger than this.

I am.

“You look cold,” Raiden says, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. “I can’t say I blame you. You’ve spent how long sweating away in that dusty desert?”

“Almost ten years.”

I feel a hint of pride when his smile fades. He must’ve thought we kept Vane on the move, constantly running to stay undetected. But placing Vane with groundlings hid him so well that we never had to take such extreme measures. And Raiden fell for my mother’s trick and believed Vane died in the attack. He only learned the truth four years ago when he broke Aston and Normand during his interrogations.

He won’t break me.

“Where’s Gus?” I ask, bracing for the worst possible answer.

Raiden’s smile returns. “My questions first.”

He hisses a word, sending a draft rushing toward me.

I square my shoulders, expecting pain—but the breeze is feather soft and warm as sunlight. It drapes around my body like silk and sinks under my skin, calming my nerves, easing my aches. Even the windslicer gash on my side—a wound left over from my confrontation with Raiden in Death Valley—seems to dull under its bandage.

A sigh escapes my lips and Raiden’s smile widens. “Better?”

I give him a nod, even though he doesn’t deserve it.

The draft is a ruined Southerly, robbed of its will and its voice, and no more than Raiden’s slave.

I hate myself for drawing comfort from it.

But it’s so nice to be warm.

“I’m glad,” Raiden says, and I’m surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “Regardless of what you may think, Audra, I want you to be comfortable here.”

I want to tell him that he shouldn’t have left me trapped like a flightless bird in a frozen cage. But the words stick in my throat when I meet his eyes.

He’s looking straight at me, studying me with an intensity that makes my cheeks flame.

“A short red dress seems like a strange choice for such a fierce warrior.” His gaze travels over my body, making my face burn even hotter. “Dressing to impress?”

“
Are
you impressed?”

I don’t know where the question came from, but I want to suck the words back as soon as they leave my mouth—and kick myself for saying them.

Especially when Raiden says, “Incredibly. I see so much of your mother in you.”

He stalks closer, running his hands down the bars. “I don’t use this tower cell often. But I couldn’t lock you away in a dim, filthy dungeon. You’re too . . .”

“Too what?” I whisper, not realizing I’ve moved forward until I feel my knees graze the frost-coated bars.

I’m so close now that I can see the blond stubble that lines his jaw, and the blond lashes rimming his ice-blue eyes.

His features aren’t handsome, but there’s something striking about him.

Something
powerful
.

My hands curl into fists when I realize what I’m thinking, and I shake my head to clear it. But the sweet, soothing wind is making everything spin too fast.

Or maybe it’s Raiden’s piercing stare.

“You’re different,” he whispers. “Most prisoners I can read in an instant. But you . . .”

He licks his lips, and my stomach turns sour even as my heart starts racing.

I want to look away but I can’t. His gaze is the only thing keeping me from melting with the rushing warmth.

He reaches through the bars and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I should flinch away, but I’m rooted to the floor. A tree clinging to the earth as a storm rages around it.

“If I told you that you belong as a queen, what would you say?” he asks.

My breath catches.

I can see myself sitting on a gleaming throne. And beside me stands . . .

I rub my head, trying to concentrate on the man beside me, but he’s blurry and shifting.

Old one second.

A boy the next.

Blond, then dark haired. Stolid, then smiling.

A jumble of contrasts I can’t make any sense of—but one feels warm and safe, like the wind whipping around me.

The other feels empty.

I don’t want to be empty anymore.

I try to focus on the man, try to wrap myself in the steadiness of his safety.

But I can’t forget the boy.

He materializes in my mind.

Beautiful.

Heartbreaking.

Why can’t he be mine?

“Perhaps that’s the wrong question,” Raiden says as I back against the wall and let the cold stones press against my skin.

I try to shove the fog from my thoughts, but it’s too heavy to lift, and my mind keeps drifting with the sweet, soft breeze.

“You love the wind, don’t you?” Raiden asks.

“The wind is all I need.”

I laugh when I hear the words out loud.

I’ve said them in my head hundreds of times, and at some point I must’ve believed them.

But can the wind ever really be enough?

Can the wind fill the space between the things I’ve lost?