Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(31)

“It might,” Aston says, a slow smile curling his lips. “Get us to the exit and have your drafts ready. I’ll make sure the winds burn.”





CHAPTER 16


AUDRA


The wind is stirring.

Rustling through the cracks all around us—each draft whispering the same words I feel deep in my core.

It’s time.

Gus is as strong as he’s going to get—still slipping in and out of consciousness, but able to move on his own. And Raiden is distracted by the near tangible silence beyond the fortress.

He stands with his back to me, the full force of his focus aimed at the window, where his sallow drafts trickle in with updates from his Stormers.

His replies are calm and hushed. The air around him radiates confidence.

But there’s a rigidness to his posture. A tension seeping from his shoulders.

Clearly, his trap is taking too long.

Somehow Vane and my mother are eluding him.

Which means now is the time to change the game.

But what move am I supposed to make?

I’m still locked behind bars.

Still slowed by an injured companion.

Still under Raiden’s watch, even if his eyes aren’t on me.

The restless Easterlies whisper among the hidden depths in the walls, offering strength, courage, calm.

But if I’m going to do this, what I really need is a new plan.

We can’t flee through the Shredder—not until I know whether Vane has been captured.

Vane.

Thinking his name makes my Westerly hum with an urgent sort of energy, flickering against my skin in strange, deliberate patterns, like it’s trying to signal me—but I don’t have the key to translate the message.

Gus coughs, and I’m relieved when no red leaks from his mouth. I help him sit up, and he leans his head against my shoulder, his fingers tracing the bloodstains on my back.

“I’m fine,” I whisper. Whatever Raiden did was meant to mark me, not end me. “What about you?”

He gives me a weak smile. “Never been better.”

“Sounds like someone is nearly ready for our important conversation,” Raiden tells us. “As soon as I tie up a few loose ends . . .”

My Westerly presses tighter, repeating the same pattern as before.

I wait for Raiden to turn away and breathe into my breezy palm. “I can’t understand you.”

The wind stops for a moment, and I worry it’s going to leave. But it picks up again, gathering around my face, whooshing so fast it makes my hair scatter.

Gus pulls me behind him, letting his broad shoulders hide me.

He presses his lips against my ear. “I think it’s trying to trigger a breakthrough.”

My eyes widen, and I can’t decide if my heart is racing with excitement or fear.

The Westerly must sense my unease, because it grows softer.

Gentler.

“Trust the wind,” Gus whispers.

I close my eyes and nod.

It’s not easy to clear my head, but I let myself think of nothing but the soothing wind.

The rush of power.

The call of freedom.

And with my next breath, the Westerly slips into my mind.

My eyes water as it presses deep into my consciousness, whisking around my memories. I feel my essence stir, drawn toward the freedom of the sky. Even without understanding the words, the pull of the Westerly is irresistible, begging me to flee this grounded body and become pure motion and energy and strength.

If it weren’t for the steady pressure of Gus’s hand holding mine, I might surrender.

Instead, I focus on the mushy, garbled words, trying to shape them into something I can translate.

If only I weren’t an Easterly.

I’m too cold.

Too unsteady.

I’m not worthy of the beautiful language the Westerly is trying to give me.

It belongs to someone sweet and soothing and stable.

Trust the wind.

I can’t tell if Gus is whispering the words again, or if it’s an echo from earlier. But the next sound I hear crashes against my essence like a wave on the shore, smoothing the battered places inside me and filling the cracks in my heart with a single, simple word.

Peace.

The thought is a hurricane, flooding my mind with wants and needs—so different from my last Westerly breakthrough, where every thought was tangled up with Vane. This time it’s only me—just the wind and my consciousness, fusing our hopes and dreams into something new.

Something powerful.

My whole body trembles as the draft flees with my next breath, and I drift with an overwhelming sense of calm.

I’ve never felt so settled in my own skin. So right in who I am.

But my nerves spark when I hear Gus gasp with a startled breath.

I sit up and find him still—too still.

His pulse feels strong, though, and his skin is warm. His expression peaceful.

And that’s when I realize . . .

Gus is about to have the fourth breakthrough.

My Westerly shield must’ve shifted to him.

I pull Gus close, tangle my arms around him—anything to help keep him grounded. His flesh is so weak, I can’t be sure he’ll hold on.

“You have to come back,” I whisper. “Take the wind’s strength and make it your own.”