Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(16)

“Not used to the cold, I see,” Raiden shouts over the raging winds. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him. “And here I gathered the squalls just for you. Can you feel their energy?”

He grabs my wrist and presses my palm against the wall, which hums with a steady vibration.

“The power of the earth meeting the sky,” he breathes in my ear. “And it’s only the beginning. I’ve learned so many incredible things in my years living here. There’s so much I could teach you.”

I jerk my hand away.

“Clearly you have other lessons to learn first.” He points behind us, to where Gus—how could I forget about Gus?—has been dragged to the side of a tower and bound to the stones.

“What are you doing to him?” I ask.

Raiden smiles. “Patience, my dear.”

“I’m not your dear.”

“No. I suppose not.” He raises his fingers to his lips and blows a screechy whistle.

Metal scrapes across the courtyard, and I turn to find five Stormers dragging open a heavy door. Behind it is an enormous round grate, and just beyond the bars I catch a glimpse of fans spinning at top speed, filling the air with an unsettling howl.

“This might be my favorite creation,” Raiden says. “I call it the Shredder. It’s Brezengarde’s air purification system. No wind can pass near my fortress without learning to be submissive.”

Goose bumps prickle my arms as I realize the strange howl is the cry of innocent drafts being torn into Raiden’s ruined slaves.

“The true brilliance of the Shredder, though,” Raiden adds, “is that I can concentrate its force. For instance . . .”

He whistles again, and the Stormers crank a wheel next to the grate.

Metal panels curl inward, creating a beam of wind that blasts into Gus.

He stands silent and still, but his agony is carved across his face.

“Are you getting the idea of how this is going to work?” Raiden asks, steadying me as my body shakes with rage. “If I have them narrow it one click further, it gets rather dangerous for your friend—especially fueled by these violent Northerlies. So, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

My eyes stay focused on Gus. He’s watching me, mouthing the same three words again and again.

Trust the wind.

Still, I can’t help feeling like a coward as I tell Raiden, “I have nothing to say.”

“I was hoping you would say that. Now we get to have a little fun.” He smiles as he whistles the command.

The Stormers narrow the grate to a jet stream that slams Gus in the stomach, and this time Gus can’t fight back his screams.

I try to look away, but Raiden grabs my neck. “You will watch every second, or I will gouge out your eyes, understood?”

I turn back to Gus, feeling my heart break when I see his beautiful eyes pleading with me to be strong.

I owe him that much.

So I watch every minute, trying to pretend it’s not really happening. But my stomach heaves and I cough up bile onto the snow.

Raiden whistles to end Gus’s agony and offers me a white handkerchief to dry my mouth.

I refuse, using the sleeve of the Stormer’s coat instead.

“Ready to talk—or do we need to continue?” Raiden asks.

I shake my head, spitting out the same worthless response I gave him before.

The wheel cranks again, and Gus’s screams turn into deep, guttural groans that will echo in my mind from this day forward. When it’s over, his breaths are so ragged they sound more like gurgles, and blood is streaming from his nose.

“Very few have survived a third blast,” Raiden tells me. “And none when the Shredder was fueled by the squalls.”

My mouth tastes of iron as I bite my tongue.

But Gus is still staring at me. Still pleading with me to keep going.

Raiden gives the command, and I curse the wind for obeying—for blasting Gus so hard he goes silent.

I don’t realize I’m sobbing—or that I’m digging my nails into my hands—until the Stormers at Gus’s side declare him alive.

“You’re both stronger than I thought,” Raiden says, ordering his Stormers to haul Gus away. “But don’t worry, the strongest things are the most fun to break.”

“Then take a turn on me!” I shout.

“I intend to. But for you it needs to be special.”

He stalks away then, leaving me to imagine the horrors he’ll dream up as the Stormer with the scars hauls me down the stairs.

Another Stormer is waiting for us in the courtyard, and he strips off my coat, sending sharp pain shooting through the wound on my side. I suck air through my teeth, trying to keep it together. But when he shoves me again, I heave more bile, not sorry at all when most of it ends up on his shoes.

He pins me against the wall, proving he’s less disciplined than the others.

I can use that.

I spit accidentally-on-purpose onto his coat, and he grabs my hair, yanking my face closer to his.

“You’ll have to do something to make that up to me,” he growls.

“We need to keep moving,” the Stormer with the scars warns him. “Raiden ordered us to take her straight to the hold.”

“Raiden’s not here right now,” he argues, sliding his hands to my waist.