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

I didn’t destroy the house, but it’s safer if you don’t come home yet. I’ll call you if I make it back.

I’m sure the smiley face really set my mom’s mind at ease.

I hate telling my parents to keep running, but I didn’t know what else to say. They’ll never be safe here. Not unless . . .

I kill Raiden.

The thought makes my legs wobble and my vision dim as my peaceful Westerly instincts rebel against the idea of violence. But I grit my teeth and remember that everyone’s counting on me.

Audra’s counting on me.

So is Gus.

I repeat their names until the fear fades into something I can swallow.

But it’s still there, so deep and solid it feels like a stone sloshing around in my stomach.

I need air.

I jam my phone onto the charger—it’s better to plan on making it back, right?—and run outside, hoping to find a few breezes to clear my head.

But nights are stuffy in the desert. The only winds I can sense are miles away, skirting the base of the mountains. So, by the time I reach Arella, my jacket is soaked with sweat. I’ve also had to swat away about fifteen bugs.

“The sky is restless,” Arella whispers, rubbing at the goose bumps covering her arms. “A storm is coming, but I can’t find the source of the turbulence.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t be leaving,” a deep voice says behind us.

I fight off a sigh as I turn to face the captain of the Gales. “We already discussed this, Os, and—”

“I know,” he interrupts, reaching up to smooth the narrow braid that hangs down the left side of his face. The hairdo is supposed to represent his authority over the guardians. Mostly I think it looks super dorky.

“But I’ve taken some time to think,” he tells me, “and the fact of the matter is, we need you here.”

He points to my back patio, where the faded lawn chairs have been dragged into the dim glow of our porch lights to create some sort of makeshift triage center. Only seven guardians survived our last fight—and most of them barely. The few who can actually move are working to bandage up the others with the meager supplies I tracked down in my bathroom.

Guilt makes the stone in my stomach burn hotter than asphalt in the sun, but I let my bigger worries snuff out the pain.

Os put out a call for the remaining guardians at our other bases to gather here and provide additional support and supplies.

I’m the only chance Audra has. I know Os. He may be worried about Gus, but he’d celebrate if Audra didn’t make it back. Shoot—a few days ago he threatened to break our bond himself.

He’s the president of Team Solana, still rooting for her to be queen. Which I’m not opposed to, as long as I don’t have to be king—but that’s a whole other complicated nightmare I’ll worry about later.

“You ready?” I ask Arella.

Os blocks us as we try to walk away. “Being king is about what’s best for your people, Vane. And your people need you alive. We will battle Raiden’s forces again. We will finish this. But first we need to ensure we’re properly prepared.”

“Gus and Audra don’t have that kind of time,” I remind him. “Besides, this is a rescue, not an invasion.”

I’m probably being naive, but I keep hoping we can run this like a heist movie, sneaking in and out like clockwork. All I have to do is come up with an actual plan for how to pull that off.

I try to look confident as I call the drafts I can feel in the distance, choosing one of each of the four winds. They whisk smoothly to my side, and I weave them into a deep blue wind spike infused with the power of four. Os watches me work, rubbing the fresh scabs along the scar under his eye.

It used to be a T for “traitor”—a present from Raiden—but the last battle added a new cut that crossed the whole thing out.

“You harness a tremendous power,” he says. “But you’re still not strong enough to challenge Raiden alone.”

“He won’t be alone,” Arella reminds him.

She straightens up, looking a bit more like the scary Arella I’m used to—until the air shifts and the ache of her gift makes her double over.

Arella’s always been affected by the wind, but being separated from the sky for so many weeks must have weakened her further.

“I’m going too,” Solana says, marching up beside me.

She pats the windslicer she’s strapped around her waist, and I’m sure she means to look tough and soldierly. But something about her tiny dress and fluffy hair makes it a little hard to see her as scary.

Os sighs. “Oh good, a princess, a deranged murderer, and an inexperienced, untrained teenager incapable of violence will be flying across the continent and trying to sneak past the greatest warrior our world has ever seen—and his entire army. How could that possibly go wrong?”

“You’re underestimating my power,” I tell him, holding up my wind spike.

“No, you’re overestimating it, Vane.”

He hisses a word I can’t understand, and the Northerly in the spike screams, twisting and writhing and turning a sallow yellow as the spike hums with a different energy.

The power of pain.

Solana cringes, and Arella covers her ears and collapses to her knees.

I can’t blame them. The sound of a draft shattering makes me want to cry and vomit and punch something really hard all at the same time.