Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(20)

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.