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

“You miss someone,” Raiden says.

It’s not a question, but I still answer.

“Yes.”

The confession is sharp as knives, and I realize that I’ve crossed my cell again. This time I must’ve crawled, because I’m on my knees, clinging to the bars like a child.

Raiden covers my hands with his. His skin is warmer than I expected. His grip comforting.

Protective.

“Who do you miss?” he asks, his voice as soft as his skin. “Who have you lost?”

“My father.”

Tears drip off my cheeks, and my hold tightens on the bars.

I don’t want to cry for my father—not here. Not with the man responsible for his death.

But
is
Raiden responsible?

I thought it was him—but with my head floating and the world spinning, I realize these warm hands wrapped around mine couldn’t belong to a killer.

A killer couldn’t be so soft.

“You’ve had to grow up too fast, and you’ve had to do it alone,” he whispers. “But it doesn’t have to be that way anymore, Audra. I can keep you safe.”

“Safe?” Repeating the word doesn’t help me understand it. “But . . . I’m in a cage.”

“To shield you from the others. The ones who took away your father.”

My mother’s face fills my mind. “You can protect me from her?”

“That’s why I brought you here. Now she can never hurt you again.”

I close my eyes and lean against the bars, grateful to feel them.

“You’ll keep her away?” I whisper.

“As long as you stay here. But I might have to send you off alone.”

I try to open my eyes but my eyelids feel too heavy. “Why?”

“Because you’re hiding something from me. The secret I need in order to protect you.”

“I don’t have any secrets.”

“That’s not true, now is it?”

“It is.”

At least, I think it is.

It used to be true. But everything feels so faded and blurry I can’t be sure anymore.

He sighs, slow and sweet. “Don’t you trust me, Princess?”

“Of course I . . . what did you call me?”

He leans closer, stroking my cheek. “Tell me what you’re hiding,
Princess
.”

I jerk away and crawl backward across the floor.

My father had a dozen nicknames for me. But he never called me Princess.

Raiden is not my father.

The statement feels so glaringly obvious—but it’s earth shattering too.

Raiden. Is. Not. My. Father.

Did I really think that he was?

How could I . . .

The wind.

This ruined, Southerly wind.

It’s clouding my mind somehow and shifting my emotions.

I pull myself to my feet and press my cheek against the wall, letting the shiver clear my head. “Does that usually work?”

Raiden sends the wicked Southerly away, stealing the last of the warmth—but I’m grateful for the cold.

Each shiver makes me
me
again.

Even the pain that floods back to the wound on my side is a welcome reality check.

“Actually you’re the first person I’ve tried it on,” Raiden says. “Your mother taught me the trick while we waited for you and your friend to arrive at the Maelstrom. She claimed it would be the
only
way to get answers from you.”

“Leave it to my mother to help you capture me
and
torture me.”

Raiden laughs—as bitter and cold as the air. “Actually her method was far gentler than what you’ll face now.”

I can’t stop myself from shaking. But I force myself to meet his eyes, noting that they’re rimmed with dark smudges. Further shadows line his brow and deepen the creases around his frown.

He looks tired.

The realization boosts my confidence as I tell him, “I’ll never give you what you want.”

“They all say that in the beginning.”

He snarls a word, and a ruined Northerly coils into a whip and cracks my face so hard it knocks me to my knees.

Pain stings my cheek. But when I reach up to check for blood, my hand comes away clean.

Raiden seems as surprised as I am and lashes me again, this time across my chest.

The force of the blow makes me wheeze, but a second later the pain fades and no marks line my skin.

My loyal Westerly shield must be strong enough to protect me.

“I
knew
you had more to hide!” Raiden shouts, his voice a strange mix of fury and triumph.

“No—everything’s gone.”

Everything Vane shared with me.

Everything that mattered.

I stripped it and shredded it and scattered it on the wind—whatever I had to do to make sure it was safe.

“Then why did your friend’s shield abandon him at the first blow?” Raiden asks. “The draft you wrapped around him before we took you both away rushed back to the sky at the first crack of my whip.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

He holds his sleeve up to the moonlight so I can see the splashes of red staining the fabric.

I turn away, trying not to imagine Gus—smiling, handsome Gus—bloody and alone in some dark dungeon.

“Let him go,” I beg, knowing it’s pointless but needing to try. “He has nothing to give you.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. Your Westerly won’t let me hurt you. But I can hurt
him.
And I’ll make you watch, until you tell me what I need.”

I
’m starting to worry that Os is right.

Not for attacking us. Or taking our weapons. And definitely not for tying Solana, Arella, and me to the sturdiest palms in the grove and telling us we can sweat here until we’re “ready to cooperate.”

But the fact that he was able to do all of that—and create some sort of weird vortex around us that’s spooking all the winds away—makes it pretty hard to argue that the power of pain isn’t more effective.

Come on Westerlies—time to prove you’re the big, legendary things you’re supposed to be. . . .

I close my eyes, waiting for my instincts to whisper something that will get us out of this mess. But all I hear is the creaking palms and the chirping bugs and the wails of the ruined drafts whipping past, trapping us with the heat and the swirling sand.

The sun rose a little while ago, so we’ve lost at least seven or eight hours.

Looks like I’m failing pretty epically at this “hero” thing.

“You’re going to tear your elbow out of joint again,” Solana warns as I try to squirm free of my ropes.

“If that’s what it takes to get out of here, I’ll deal with it.”

But all I’m really accomplishing is scraping the hell out of my skin.

I curse my dad for having a stockpile of industrial strength, rampaging-elephants-couldn’t-break-this-stupid-rope in our garage—though I guess I should be grateful Os didn’t use draining winds to bind us instead.

“Save your energy,” Arella tells me. “This vortex isn’t all that different from a Maelstrom. It won’t kill us—but it is slowly sapping our strength. Os is making sure I have no means of escape.”

The bitter edge to her voice reminds me that this isn’t the first time Os has held her prisoner—just the first time she didn’t deserve it.

“Why did you refuse to train with them?” I have to ask.

She’s sacrificed everything in her quest for control.

Her daughter.

Her husband.

Even her own life.

And yet, here was a chance to learn this incredible new power, and instead she chose to be tied to a tree.

Arella stares at the sky for so long I assume she’s not going to answer. But then she whispers, “I could never destroy the wind.”

Her whole body quivers with the words and I’m . . .

. . . not sure how I feel about that.

She murdered both of my parents with a couple of flicks of her wrist. Does she really think the wind is more important than
them
?

Then again, if even
she
wouldn’t cross that line . . .

I honestly have no idea how I feel about Os teaching the Gales the power of pain. I know I could never do it. And part of me wants to drag him underground and never let him near another gust of wind again.

But another part of me—a part I’m not necessarily proud of—can’t help wondering if it’s the only way we stand a chance against Raiden.

How else do you win when someone doesn’t fight fair?

“So what’s our plan?” Solana asks when I finally admit that wriggling out of these ropes isn’t going to happen.

Arella shakes her head to shoo the gnats away from her eyes. “We wait for Os to come back and convince him to let us go.”

I snort. “You really think he’s going to do that?”

“I can be very persuasive.”

She definitely can.

She’s fooled me a pathetic number of times—but she’s never managed to convince
Os
. He was ready to let her die in the Maelstrom. The only reason she’s still breathing is because I dragged her out, needing her alive so she could tell me what happened to Audra.

What she did to Audra,
I correct.

And now she’s just standing there, waiting for a chance to try to talk her way out of this—after we’ve already lost so much time.

“That’s not good enough!” I shout, wishing I had a way to fling something at her head. “Don’t you care that Audra’s a hostage right now? That Raiden might be . . .”

I can’t say it.

Can’t even think it.

“Of course I do,” Arella says. “But caring doesn’t change anything. All it does is waste energy.”

I know she’s right.

But I hate how calm she is.

I hate
her
.

“This is
your
fault!”

“I know.” Her voice hitches, and for a second she sounds like a mother who’s actually worried about her daughter. But her tone hardens again as she tells me, “Raiden left me no choice.”

She keeps using that as her excuse, but she still hasn’t explained what Raiden threatened her with. Not that it matters—nothing matters except getting to Gus and Audra.

“We
will
find them,” Arella promises. “We just have to bide our time. Without the wind I have nothing except—”

She sucks in a breath.

“Except what?” I ask, but she’s too busy bending into a position that would make even a yoga master yelp.

Somehow she stretches around her ropes and gets her head close enough to her hands to slip her fingers between her lips.

The high-pitched, shrieky whistle makes my ears ring, and Arella’s practically beaming as she pulls herself back up. “Os always forgets about the birds.”

I glance at Solana, glad to see she looks as confused as I am. I know Arella has a special connection with birds—it’s one of the few things she and Audra share. But I don’t see how that’s going to help us. All a bird is going to do is flap and screech and peck and . . .

“Oh God,” I groan, realizing what her plan is. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

A minute later I see dark shapes moving toward us on the horizon, and the blood drains from my face.

Solana laughs. “Are you seriously afraid of birds?”

“Hey, they’ve made horror movies about them for a reason!”

The cloud of birds streaks closer, and I abandon all hope of playing it cool. There are dozens of them—huge black crows and vultures. It’s officially my nightmare come to life. All that’s missing is the screeching violins playing in the background as they dive.

I try to hold still, but there’s so much flapping and cawing, and I can feel their talons digging into my skin as they peck and peck and—yeah, I’m definitely going to be sick.

“Close your eyes,” Solana tells me, so I’m guessing I look as awful as I feel.

I take her advice, but I still hear all the flapping and pecking—and now it makes me imagine they’re stripping away flesh.

“Okay, that’s
so much worse
!” I yell, ripping my eyes open again.

I’m relieved to see there’s still skin on my hands. But I also have five evil crows perched all over me, and I flail harder than I’ve ever flailed before—which is especially impressive considering how tight my bonds are.

“Stay calm,” Arella orders. “Remember why you’re doing this.”

I try to focus on Gus and Audra as the crows land on me again. But I still flail—it’s a reflex.
Creepy birds wanting to peck my eyes out—run away!

I’m trying to come up with a plan C when I hear a familiar screech, and as I turn toward the sound, I see a gray hawk heading straight for me. This time I’m not afraid.

Gavin and I have come a long way since the days when he used to terrorize me if I accidentally wandered too close to where Audra was hiding. I still don’t
like
him—and I like him even less when he lands on my bad arm and glares at me with his beady, red-orange eyes. But then he goes to work on my ropes with his razor-sharp beak, snapping through the strands like they’re made of paper.

“We have to hurry,” Arella says, slipping her hands from her shredded bonds. “Os could’ve spotted the birds as they swooped in.”

She unties her ankles and rushes over to me, shooing Gavin away as she unravels the last of my frayed ropes.

Gavin screeches and I tell him, “Don’t try to follow us—and don’t go near Os.”

I watch him land among the palms, and our eyes meet for a second.

“I’ll bring her home,” I whisper.

I swear when he blinks, it feels like a nod.

“Come on,” Arella says, ruining the moment.

“Wait for me,” Solana calls, still struggling to break free.

Arella shouts that we don’t have time, but I turn back and tear at Solana’s ropes—not that I’m much help with only one strong hand.

“We don’t need her,” Arella insists.

“Excuse me?” Solana asks. “I’m the one who’s guiding us to Raiden’s fortress.”

“I can do that,” Arella says. “In fact, I’m fairly certain Vane’s the only Windwalker in our world who doesn’t know how to get there.”

“Uh, maybe I would if you hadn’t scrambled all my memories with your little wind tricks,” I grumble. “Especially since you only did it so I wouldn’t remember that you
murdered my parents
.”