Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(10)

Raiden shoves me into a cell in the center of the row and locks the barred door behind me. I crawl to a corner, curling my legs into my chest and wrapping my arms around them, trying to preserve what little heat I can.

The cold is different here.

Damp and heavy.

It presses against my skin with a million icy fingers as my breath puffs into clouds that seem to hang permanently in the air.

The gray floor and walls of my tiny cell are bare, save for deep scratches where a former prisoner must’ve clawed at the stones.

“It’s definitely not as nice as your last cell,” Raiden tells me. “But the view is infinitely better.”

He steps to the side, and everything inside me unravels.

“Gus?” I whisper, squinting through the dim light, hoping the crumpled figure on the floor of the opposite cell won’t respond.

For a second he doesn’t move. Then he slowly lifts his head, scanning the room until his pained eyes find mine.

I choke down a sob.

His face is so bruised and swollen I barely recognize him. But somehow he still tries to smile.

“Clearly you two have some catching up to do,” Raiden tells us, and the smugness in his voice makes me wish I could claw off his skin.

I wait until his footsteps fade before I scoot closer to the bars. The damp chill makes my muscles ache, but I refuse to think about the pain. Not when Gus looks like . . .

“So it’s that bad, huh?” Gus asks, studying my face. “I guess this is the end of my Best-Looking Guardian days.”

I force a smile, trying to be brave for him. But as he pulls himself into a sitting position, my eyes brim with tears.

Thick gashes as wide as my fist have turned his broad chest into more wound than skin. Some of the cuts are covered with scabs, and others are still seeping red—but it’s the dark spot on his left shoulder that makes me feel like I’m going to be sick on the floor.

A hole.

Perfectly symmetrical and about as wide as my finger.

Bored through flesh and bone.

Aston had twenty-nine just like it. One for every day he resisted the power of pain, until Raiden found a different way to break him.

“Gus, I’m so—”

“Don’t!” he interrupts, shaking the crusty strands of his long blond hair out of his eyes. “Please don’t apologize—this has nothing to do with you.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because we’re at war. Soldiers get captured and interrogated. It’s as simple as that.”

But it isn’t.

My mother handed us over to Raiden like animals to the slaughter.

And the only reason Gus was with me was because he was trying to guard me, to keep the Westerly language safe—a language I only knew because I broke my oath as a guardian and bonded myself to Vane.

Everything goes back to me.

My mistakes.

My fault.

Gus winces as he reaches to tear a strip of fabric from the end of his pants. I try not to notice that his back looks just as shredded as his chest.

“If you need more bandages I can tear off part of my dress,” I offer.

Gus laughs. “You barely have enough fabric to cover you as it is. Pretty sure Vane would kill me.”

“I don’t care about Vane.”

I didn’t mean the words the way they sounded—or I don’t think I did. But they seem to echo off the walls.

“Is that true?” Gus whispers. “I heard Raiden say something about you breaking your bond. . . .”

I focus on rubbing my hands together, letting the friction warm my fingers.

“Do you really not care about him anymore?” Gus presses.

“I . . . don’t know. My head and my heart don’t match. I still remember everything. But I can’t feel it. I’m just sort of . . . empty.”

Gus nods as he ties the strip of fabric across the widest gash on his arm. “I guess that’s better. Maybe the broken connection will keep Vane from trying to rescue you.”

“Do you really think he’d come after us?” I’m surprised the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.

“It’s Vane. He’s the master of taking stupid risks. Besides—he’d do anything for you. Or he would have, before . . .”

“Well,” I say, my voice cracklier than I’d expected. “Hopefully he’s over it.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“I have to.” It’ll be safer for Vane if he lets me go.

“Wow,” Gus breathes. “And I thought I had it rough.”

“How can you even compare the two?” I wave my arm toward his seeping wounds.

“Uh, I got smacked around a bit. You ripped away half of your essence and gave up the guy you loved. Don’t even try to pretend that wasn’t agony.”

It was.

And the cold hollowness that followed was worse.

“You got more than smacked around, Gus,” I remind him. “You have a hole in your shoulder.”

“Yeah, well . . . it’s only a little hole.” He tries to smile as he traces his fingers along the edges. But I can hear the pain in his voice.

“I have a bandage on my side,” I say, wishing it weren’t such a pathetic offer. “Part of it’s soiled, but Vane’s mom used way more gauze than I needed. It might even have some ointment on it.”