“Well, I’m braver than you think. You can take me and you can torture me. But I will never let you change me.”
He barks a laugh, and the sharp sound stirs the vultures. “That’s what they all say. Until I find their weakness.”
He glances at Gus, then back at me, the threat impossible to miss.
He turns to give orders to his Stormer, and I realize this is it—the last few seconds I’ll have before he drags me away to his fortress.
Thousands of regrets race through my mind, but I focus on the breeze that’s suddenly tickling my skin.
It’s a strong wind.
An Easterly.
And as it braves the treacherous skies of the Maelstrom just to bring comfort to me, I close my eyes and let myself believe it’s my father. Come to say goodbye. Come to give me peace.
But when I listen to his song I realize he’s brought me a message. The same advice over and over, turning more urgent with each repetition.
Time to let go.
I have no idea what he means, but the next time I inhale, the breeze slips inside with my breath, pressing into the darkest places in my mind.
The melody swirls around my head, and as I focus on the simple verse, something starts to stir.
A pressure.
A gathering.
It’s not my essence.
It’s not any part of me.
And as the mounting rush shocks me with warm tingles, I realize what the wind is telling me to let go of.
Who to let go of.
The Easterly’s song turns mournful, echoing my grief as it whispers the command I’ll need to give.
It’s a familiar word. A word that’s defined the last ten years of my life.
But I can’t make myself say it.
It’s too much.
The wind is asking too much.
I’ve given everything—suffered anything.
Why must I lose the one thing I’ve taken for myself?
Protection, the Easterly whispers, and the word is like fog, thick and numbing as it clouds my resistance and cools my rage.
This will break my heart—and likely break me.
But I know it has to be done.
I give myself one final second to cling to the only thing that’s ever brought any joy or hope to my life. Then I close my eyes and whisper the command to rip it all away.
“Sacrifice.”
The draft inside me splits into a million blades—slicing and slashing and shredding every part of me until there’s nothing but splinters.
The warm, calm shards slip with my ragged breath and vanish like wisps of smoke. The cold, angry pieces cling, hardening into a wall that holds in all the emptiness inside me.
“Stop!” Raiden shouts, snarling something in his wicked language and drowning me in a flood of arctic winds.
They shove and beat and batter my body, trying to force back together what’s already lost.
But it’s gone.
It’s all gone.
Everything that matters is gone.
CHAPTER 43
VANE
Pain crashes into my heart, so sharp and sudden I clutch my chest expecting to find a windslicer sticking out of it.
Nothing’s there.
No wound.
No weapon.
It’s like the pain is coming from inside me instead of . . .
Oh God.
Audra.
I have to—I never should’ve—I—
The crack of a whip way too close to my head yanks me back to reality, and I barely manage to fly out of the way as the Living Storm tries to swat me out of the sky.
I steer east, gathering any winds that are willing to listen to me and tangling them around me to fuel my speed.
But Solana’s scream stops me cold.
I turn back just in time to see one of the Storms toss her to the other. Playing with her like some sick toy.
If I leave, she dies.
But Audra needs me.
The pain in my heart cuts deeper, and I know it means she’s in serious danger.
But I can’t leave.
I can’t fly away and let Solana die.
I can’t have another death on my head.
Audra has Gus and the power of four and years of training to make her strong enough to hold her own for a few more minutes.
I’ll be there as fast as I can.
“Come!” I shout, calling one of the broken wind spikes Os made.
The Westerly shielding me changes its tune, singing about traitors as it whisks away.
“What else do you want me to do?” I shout, flailing to strengthen my hold on the other drafts. “Do you want them to die?”
The Westerly doesn’t respond, disappearing into the clouds.
I feel like I’m turning my back on my heritage—but I’ve tried fighting with my own wind spike and it did nothing. And the Westerlies told me themselves that they couldn’t stop the Storms.
So, seriously, what am I supposed to do?
I order the winds still holding me to hover, and I test my swing, aiming for the Storm that’s carrying Solana. I check my swing twice to steady my nerves, and on the third sweep I let it fly.
The freaking Storm ducks.
I shout commands to adjust the spike’s trajectory as it passes, but the angle’s too sharp and the spike swishes across the Storm’s shoulder, making such a small slice, the wound doesn’t even leak any fog.
But it does still piss the Storm off, and I turn to flee as it tosses Solana back to the other Storm and takes off after me.
“Hang on,” I shout as I duck the crack of a whip and call the broken wind spike back to my hand.
I race toward Solana, knowing this is probably the stupidest strategy I’ve ever come up with. But I don’t have time to play Keep Away with the evil Storms anymore.
“Take my hand,” I shout, stretching out my wounded arm as I duck another blow from the whip. I know it’s going to hurt like hell when she grabs on, but I need my good arm for other, even crazier things.
Before she can reach me, the Storm yanks her away, tossing her back to the other Storm and swatting its massive hand at me.
“Get down, Vane!” Os shouts from somewhere behind me, and I decide not to question him, dropping toward the ground as fast as I can.
I glance up just in time to see a spike streak above me, nailing the Storm in the head and making the monster explode.
“Now it’s one-on-one,” Os tells me, and I steal a quick glance, surprised to see he’s still pinned under the rock. I’m not sure how he reached one of the wind spikes, but I’m grateful for the help. I can’t afford to waste any more time.
The Storm carrying Solana races away, and I chase after them, cursing every second this is wasting as I go back to my other crazy plan. I sneak up on the Storm’s blind side and hold out my bad arm, shouting at Solana to grab on when I pass.
It takes two tries, but she manages to snag my hand. My elbow screams from the pain, but I grit my teeth and bear it, knowing it’s only the beginning as Solana tangles our fingers together and I warn her to get ready. When I feel her get a firm hold, I raise my wind spike and slash it through the Storm’s wrist, severing its hand and pulling Solana free.
The Storm screams and howls, and I do the same as Solana’s weight—light as she is—rips my elbow back out of joint.
“Hold on,” Solana shouts as the sickly yellow fog explodes around us, making me want to gag.
She wraps her legs around mine and shimmies up my body until she has a solid hold around my waist. “Are you okay?”
I can’t answer.
It takes the last of my energy to order the drafts carrying us to fly as fast as they can toward the Maelstrom.