Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(24)

“I do,” Arella says from behind us.

She stands on shaky legs and stumbles to our side, looking pale and sweaty and haggard. “Can’t you hear it?”

I’m pretty sure she’s proving my point about too many psychos on this mission. But I strain to listen and . . .

Yep. Nothing.

“The Southerlies’ songs have shifted,” she says, drawing the winds closer.

The drafts drift around us, and even Aston closes his eyes to listen.

“Southerlies usually mourn change,” Arella says. “And sing of things lost or slipping away. But now . . .”

The whispers are so soft I barely hear them. But all the drafts sing together, united in a single verse.

Rise beyond doubt and storm forward.

Solana blinks back tears. “They know I won’t use the power of pain against them.”

I’m pretty sure that’s not the kind of promise she can actually keep. But if the wind is going to trust her, I guess that means I have to do the same.

“Fine,” I say. “Let’s go find that secret tunnel.”





CHAPTER 12


AUDRA


Raiden proposed to my mother.

The words flit around my mind, refusing to settle.

I know my mother’s beauty and power earned her attention from many men. And I know Raiden began his career as a high-ranking Gale.

But still.

The thought of them together makes me want to laugh—and throw up in my mouth.

“It was more about mutual advantage than desire,” Raiden says, though I notice he’s still stroking one of her ravens. “But when I see her fire in you, I can’t help mourning what we could’ve created.”

Now I really might throw up—and I silently thank my mother for marrying my father.

“You have too much of him in you,” Raiden says, as though he knows what I’m thinking. “But you still have her drive and ambition. Don’t squander it like your mother did. Give me one Westerly command, and you have my word that I will spare you through these final battles.”

His tone is surprisingly sincere.

But I know better than to be tempted.

Raiden’s a cyclone, snatching things up and hurling them back out when he’s finished.

Nothing survives his path.

“You think you’re so wise,” I say, too disgusted to hold back my anger. “You think you’re some brave leader destined to rule the world. But you’re just a fool shouting at the wind, trying to pretend he’s stronger.”

Gusts crackle around me, turning the song of the wind chimes deep and ominous.

“Well,” he says, turning slowly away from me. “Clearly I have my answer.”

He strokes the raven one final time.

Then he snaps its feathered neck.

The other raven shrieks and flies to the top of her cage. I can feel her fury and heartache wafting through the air.

Ravens mate for life.

She will mourn this loss until her final breath.

“Sentiment,” Raiden says as I bite back my tears. “Such a dangerous waste. Your mother proved that to me. And now I’ll prove it to you.”

He spins around, knocking me to the ground with his whip of winds—but once again my Westerly spares me most of the pain.

“The wind won’t shield you from blades. Did you think I’d forgotten?” His whip cracks against my side, right where his windslicer left its jagged gash. “You think it’s fear you’re feeling—but it’s doubt. Your essence knows this isn’t your fight. You’re an Easterly. Your winds are survivors. But it’s too late to change your mind.”

He drags me to my feet and presses his knife against my right shoulder. The needled blade slices through my coat as though the thick fabric were made of air.

“One word,” he tells me. “One word of Westerly.”

I focus on the lonely raven, crying for the loss of her companion. “There’s nothing you can do to me that will ever make me help you.”

Pain stings me then.

And again.

And once more.

“No tears,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s livid or impressed. “Don’t worry—they’ll come.” His breath is humid in my ear as he whispers, “My winds tell me your precious Westerly is on his way. He’ll be here tonight. Then the real fun begins.”

I feel another sting, on my left shoulder this time. Longer than the other, but I’m too dazed to react.

Vane came after me.

The thought cuts deeper than Raiden’s blade as he slices me again, across the lower part of my back.

“That’s enough for now,” he says, sheathing the knife. “Can’t have you losing too much blood. I want you awake when I tear your love apart piece by piece.”

“I thought you wanted his power.”

“That’s how I’ll get it. You share another thing with your mother. You both crumble to protect your men.”

He drags me back to the dungeon, nearly dislocating my shoulder in the process.

A new Stormer is waiting for us there, a woman with black, angled hair. I assume she’s Nalani.

“The prisoner needs new clothes,” Raiden tells her, shoving me into her arms. “But do not treat her wounds. I want them to scar.”