Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3) (8 page)

It’s a pain only guys understand—one I honestly wasn’t sure if Aston could feel, since I had no idea if Raiden had left his dudehood intact. But clearly Raiden did, because Aston’s clutching his stomach and looking ready to hurl.

“This—doesn’t—prove—anything,” he mumbles.

“It does, actually. It proves that if I fight my own way, the violence won’t get to me. I just inflicted a crap-ton of pain on you, and I’m not even queasy.”

“You think Raiden will ever let you get close enough to kick him?”

He hisses a command through his teeth, and a draft coils around my neck, twisting so tight, spots flash across my eyes.

“LET HIM GO!” Solana screams, but her next words sound very far away.

I’m stuck in that weird haze between panic and blacking out, so I can’t really tell what happens next. All I know is that the draft unravels and I get some much-needed air.

When my chest is done heaving, I find Solana and Aston in the middle of some sort of epic stare-down.

“Time to tell your fiancé what we’ve just discovered,” Aston tells her. There’s no teasing in his voice. “Five seconds . . . four . . . three . . .”

“I gave the command, okay?” Solana asks, not looking at me.

“Judging by the idiotic look on your face,” Aston adds, “I’m guessing you have no idea what that means. Think it through. The draft I attacked you with was broken. So the only people who can command them . . .”

I stumble back when I figure out how to finish the sentence.

Solana used the power of pain.

G
us is vomiting blood.

Between every retch he keeps begging me not to worry.

But I doubt he’ll survive another round of Raiden’s torture.

I don’t even know if he’ll survive this one.

I try to convince myself that Raiden won’t let him die—that he needs Gus to pressure me.

But Aston was captured along with another Gale.

Only Aston made it out alive.

Even the Westerly shielding me seems worried. It keeps stretching thin, offering Gus gentle breezes of comfort. But whenever a noise warns that a guard might be approaching, it snaps back to protect me.

I wish it would shield the person braving the torture, not the one standing uselessly by.

But the wind is making its own decisions.

And it keeps choosing me.

So I sing until my throat turns raw and Gus finally falls silent. I can’t tell if he blacked out or fell asleep, but his labored breaths promise he’s still holding on.

I try to do the same.

I’d thought knowing what the guide meant would give me hope. But Aston’s escape plan is far more dangerous than I’d realized. We don’t just have to get out of our cells and through the mazelike fortress and past the myriad of guards—without any useable winds to assist us.

We have to survive the blades of
seventeen
fans.

There’s also no way to know if Raiden has adjusted the blades since Aston’s escape. And I don’t understand how he found a path through the Shredder—or how he mapped it out ahead of time.

But we have no other options. So the first step will be finding a way into Gus’s cell. I need to study Aston’s exact markings. There’s no room for guesses or errors.

Maybe I can convince the Stormer who helped me today that I need to ensure Gus doesn’t choke on his vomit. He wasn’t necessarily kind, but he seemed afraid of upsetting Raiden. I doubt he wants Gus to die on his watch.

I practice how I’ll ask, choosing each word carefully. But the next Stormer who checks on us is the one who tried to choke me.

I can still feel his sticky breath on my face—his roving hands on my waist.

I pull the fabric of my dress as far as it will cover.

“Believe me, I intend to do all the things you’re imagining right now,” he says as he opens my cell. “But not while you belong to Raiden.”

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

He sniffs my hair as he binds my arms behind my back, and keeps me pressed against him as he marches us up the stairs. He rests one hand on my shoulder, the other hand gripping my waist. When it slides toward my hip, I kick out his ankle.

He clings to me to regain his balance, but I shake him off, ignoring the tear of fabric as he topples back several stairs.

I run the other way, even though I can see the staircase dead-ends ahead.

A hand drags me through a hidden doorway before my assaulter catches up to me, and I scream until I realize it’s the scarred Stormer from the day before.

He seals the door behind us, and his eyes dart to my chest—then away.

I realize my damaged dress isn’t covering me as much as it was before.

Fury and shame burn my face as he ties the shreds of fabric back into place.

He clears his throat. “Did he . . . ?”

I can’t look at him. “Not
yet
.”

He mutters something I don’t catch before he says, “I’ll escort you to Raiden.”

We walk in silence for several minutes, weaving through another tangle of corridors. Eventually I have to ask, “Why do you serve him?”

I don’t understand how someone who appears to possess a few shreds of decency could choose Raiden’s side over the Gales.

“The better question is:
Why do you resist?
” he asks. “Our people have been forced to the fringes of this world while the groundlings poison our sky. Raiden’s only trying to reclaim what should be ours.”

“Well, I guess that’s the difference between us. I want no part of whatever world Raiden claims.”

“Keep refusing to cooperate, and Raiden will grant that request.”

He ends the conversation there. But when we reach a narrow staircase, he tells me, “You’re not a fool, Audra. You’re not like the others I’ve delivered. Give yourself a chance to see the value of Raiden’s methods before you throw your life away.”

He doesn’t allow me to reply. Just pulls me to a rusty door at the top and gives the broken command to open the lock.

Please let Gus still be safe in his cell,
I beg as I wade into the waist-high snow. The sky is the same dull gray, swirling with snowflakes that stick in my eyelashes while my teeth chatter as loud as my heartbeat.

The courtyard seems smaller.

Less wind—though I can hear soft chimes tinkling a quiet song.

Or maybe I’m imagining them.

I forget my name again and lose my grasp on anything I’m seeing. The dome of black metal we stop in front of seems familiar, but I can’t figure out what it is.

“She’s not good in the cold,” a voice says beside me.

A figure in white seems to melt out of the snow. “Yes, I’m noticing that.”

Someone drapes scratchy fabric across my shoulders, and as my head slowly clears, I realize I’m standing near a large birdcage housing two ravens. They eye me with a stern sort of wariness I’m not used to seeing from birds.

“If I’d known you were this weak,” Raiden says, “I would’ve given you warmer clothes.”

I should’ve guessed he’d be the figure in white at my side.

His cloak is feathered this time, plucked from soft, downy doves.

No wonder the ravens look wary.

“Of course, then I wouldn’t get to watch your lips tinge with blue,” Raiden says.

“You’re not the only one watching her lips,” the scarred Stormer mumbles.

He’s no longer wearing his jacket, and yet his huge, muscled arms show no sign of shivers.

Raiden’s eyes narrow. “You doubt my security?”

“Of course not, my liege.” The Stormer dips a deep bow.

Raiden waves his hand to dismiss him, and the Stormer turns to leave. But he only makes it a few steps before he pivots back and drops to one knee.

“Forgive my boldness,” he says, his words hasty and jumbled, “but I know you value whatever bond remains between her and the Westerly.” He pulls back my coat and points to the torn sleeve. “I’d hate anything to damage that connection. Or
anyone
.”

A bond can never form through force.

Still, the point gives Raiden pause.

“Tell Nalani she has a new charge,” he tells the Stormer. “And to bring an extra uniform to the dungeon.”

The Stormer stands and offers a salute, raising his arm straight in front of him and sweeping it toward his forehead in a wavy motion.

“I keep hoping you’ll prove to be worth all of this hassle,” Raiden says when we’re alone. “And yet I fear I’m setting myself up for another disappointment. Still . . .”

He reaches for my cheek, his fingers grazing the breeze of the Westerly instead of my skin.

I jerk back.

Raiden laughs. “You have many reasons to fear me, Audra—but
that
is not one of them.”

“Hard words to believe coming from the mouth of my torturer.”

“Ah, but you haven’t been tortured yet, have you?”

“Only because the wind protected me.”

“Is that what you think?” He laughs and reaches for my torn sleeve. “The wind can only do
so
much. Surely you realize that.”

Shame and rage burn my cheeks, and I refuse to meet his eyes, searching the courtyard for the source of the music I hear.

Small silver wind chimes dangle from the top of the birdcage, swaying in the gentle breeze.

“I see no reason to destroy you, Audra,” Raiden whispers. “Why else would I try your mother’s mind trick to interrogate you?”

“Do you think I only count what happens to me? Gus is—”

“Your friend is a separate matter,” Raiden interrupts. “He challenged my authority.”

I feel my lips smile as I remember that day in Death Valley. The look in Raiden’s eyes—the shock and fury after Gus’s wind spike hit its mark.

A teenager made him bleed in front of his army.

Proved he isn’t the invincible force he claims to be.

And I realize.

Gus will never get out of here alive.

“My patience is wearing thin,” Raiden tells me. “That’s why I’ve had you brought here. One final attempt to make you see reason.”

He steps closer to the cage, slipping his hand through the bars. The closest raven nips gently at his fingers.

“Your mother trained these birds. They were our messengers.”

I meet the ravens’ beady eyes, surprised to find my mother’s connection in their gaze.

No one is ever the same once they trust my mother.

“I . . . don’t understand.”

The whole reason she came up with her bird-messenger system was so Raiden couldn’t read the coded messages she sent to the Gales—unless that was another of her brilliant lies. . . .

A tempest swirls to life inside me as questions and theories crash together. I don’t want to hear the answer, but I have to ask, “How long has she been helping you?”

“Helping me,” Raiden repeats, his laugh as frosty as the wind. “Surely you know better than anyone that your mother is always the eye of her own storm.”

It’s a fitting description.

But it only adds to my confusion. “Why are you showing me this?”

“In the hopes that past mistakes might not be repeated. Your mother and I used these birds long ago—before you. Before your father. Years and years before our more recent interactions.”

“You mean the times you tried to kill her?”

Not that I care.

My mother was trading lives—she should’ve expected to pay the same price.

But it dawns on me then that my mother might already be dead.

The last time I saw her, Raiden had sped up the winds of her Maelstrom, leaving her trapped in their draining pull.

No one was around to help—the Gales were all busy with the battle.

I’m . . . not sure what to do with that thought.

“I’ve spared you this far,” Raiden says, snapping me back to attention, “because you’re intriguing. An Easterly who speaks Westerly—”

“I don’t speak Westerly,” I interrupt.

“So you keep saying. But we both know there’s more you’re not telling me. End this ridiculous charade, or I will be forced to change my tactics—and trust me when I say you can’t imagine the pain I will rain down upon you.”

I believe him.

“Why do you want it so badly?” I ask. “Everyone claims the power of pain is greater than the power of four.”

“What about the power of four pains?” Raiden counters. “Oh, don’t look so disgusted. I seek power to rule our people. Our race has always been weak—no less pathetic than these caged birds. I’m trying to set them free. Trying to make them strong.”

“No, you’re trying make yourself strong.”

“It’s the same thing. No group can ever be strong without a strong leader. Look at the groundlings. Those powerless, talentless wastes have taken over this earth through the strength of a few great men. And yet you fault me for trying to do the same?”

“You and I have very different definitions of the word ‘great.’ ”

“Indeed we do. You bonded yourself with that pitiful boy—do you honestly believe he’ll become the leader the Gales desire?”

“No,” I admit after several seconds of silence.

But Vane has other greatness to offer.

He saved me from myself.

Showed me the value in living—the value in who I am.

Even without our connection, I can still feel the strength of that gift.

“He will give our people peace,” I whisper.

“Peace,” Raiden scoffs. “Peace is taken—not given. All I’m asking for is the power to ensure that it happens. Let me rebuild our world the way it was meant to be. Let me give our people true security—a ruler who conquers everything. Even the wind.”

“The wind will never be conquered. And our people don’t want your power. Strong winds have their place, but we all crave the calm.”

“That sounds like a final answer,” Raiden says, turning back to his ravens. “Are you sure that’s what you wish?”

I have to swallow, to make sure my voice is steady as I say, “Yes.”

Raiden sighs as he reaches through the bars to stroke the birds. “I’d hoped you’d turned out smarter than your mother.”

“I did.”

“Perhaps,” Raiden agrees. “I did make her a much better offer. She had a chance to blend her power with mine—and let mine blend with hers.”