Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(11)

“Not worth it. This is the kind of wound that’s never going to heal.”

He presses his palm over the hole and a hint of fear creeps into his eyes.

“How did Raiden do it?” I whisper.

“You don’t want to know.”

I don’t.

But I’m going to have to see it.

The realization sends me spiraling, and I can’t tell if I fall backward or crawl. All I know is that I’m somehow pressed against the wall of my miniscule cell, gasping for air.

“What’s wrong?” Gus calls.

I try to relax—to focus on slow, deep breaths. But even when my heartbeat steadies, it doesn’t calm the panic.

I close my eyes, swallowing the bile on my tongue as I tell him, “I can’t watch him hurt you.”

“It won’t be as bad as you think.”

“No—it’ll be worse. I saw Aston. One hole is only the beginning.”

All the color drains from his face. But he straightens up, promising, “I’ll be okay.”

“How?”

I trail my fingers along the scratches in the floor, wondering if a prisoner made them while they were being tortured—or a friend who had to sit there and let it happen. . . .

My hands shake with rage, and I’m not sure if I’m angry with Raiden or myself. All I know is: “I can’t do this.”

The words hang in the silence between us until Gus sighs, sounding so weary and broken a few tears creep down my cheeks.

“So what’s going to happen, then?” he asks. “Are you going to teach Raiden Westerly?”

“I don’t even know Westerly anymore—I tried to tell Raiden that, but he wouldn’t believe me. Because of this stupid wind!”

I claw at the draft still whipping around me, wishing I could pry it off and fling it away.

I don’t care that it’s loyal or protecting me. “I don’t deserve to be shielded!”

“Stop it!” Gus shouts, and the anger in his voice makes me freeze.

He takes a deep, labored breath before he speaks again.

“I know you’re worried about me. But my dad used to say, ‘No matter what happens—trust the wind.’ It’s part of us. It’s our kin. And that draft—for whatever reason—has decided it needs to protect you. So trust it. Let me deal with Raiden.”

“You don’t know what he’ll do to you.”

“I have a pretty good idea.” He uncovers the hole in his shoulder again. “But I can take it, Audra. Raiden’s already attacked my mother. Murdered my unborn sister. Turned my father into a Living Storm and forced me to kill him. And I’m still here. Still fighting. I’m stronger than Raiden. He did all of this to me, and still has no idea you taught me that command—and he never will.”

The words bury me in shame.

I’d forgotten I taught him Westerly.

Only one word—and I didn’t even tell him what it means. I didn’t want to trigger the breakthrough and put him in more danger.

And now he’s bruised and bloody, facing who knows how many more rounds of torture. Yet he has no doubt that he can bear through it, while I’m wallowing in self-pity.

“I can’t believe you know more Westerly than I do,” I whisper.

“Gotta love the irony, right? But it’s good. It gives us an advantage. We know that Raiden has his suspicions backward.”

I don’t understand how he can stay so positive, but I try to draw from his confidence.

There has to be something we can do—a way to change Raiden’s mind, or get us out of this somehow, or . . .

I jump to my feet when I realize what I’m forgetting.

Aston gave me some advice before I left his cave—something that could be the answer to everything. I scour my cell, but all I find are the scratches in the floor, and no matter which way I study them, their pattern remains random.

“Do I want to know what you’re doing?” Gus asks as I squint through the bars of one of the cells next to mine.

I scan the dungeon for hidden guards before I lower my voice to the softest hint of a whisper. “When I left Aston’s cave, he told me that if I ever got captured by Raiden, I should look for the guide he carved into his cell. He said it would help me escape.”

“Did he say how?”

“He was obnoxiously vague. But if we can find it . . .”

“I think I already have. There are some marks in here that are clearly supposed to mean something. I don’t know how they could be a guide, though.”

He points to the back corner of his cell, but all I can see is shadow.

“Can you describe it to me?” I ask.

“It just looks like a bunch of dashes and scribbles. Do you really think it matters? I’m sure Raiden’s figured out how Aston escaped and made changes to prevent it from ever happening again.”

That sounds like Raiden.

But it’s the best chance we have.

“Aston is smart—and he was convinced the guide would get me out of here,” I tell Gus, hoping I sound more confident than I feel. “I wish I could see it.”

Gus nods and crawls toward the shadowy corner. “I guess it’s a good thing I have all these handy wounds, then.”

He rubs his finger against his chest. Then draws a red line on the floor, painting a copy of the guide in his blood.