Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(46)

Not that I mind an easy journey—but I don’t trust it either. We’re escaping the world’s most impenetrable fortress. We should be constantly dodging guards.

“I can’t imagine Raiden would only assign one Stormer to cover this area,” Gus whispers.

Neither can I.

Even if Vane and my mother are distracting him, it’s a sloppy, careless mistake—and Raiden doesn’t make mistakes.

“Do you think we’re heading for an ambush?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder.

“I think we’re heading for something,” Gus says.

He whispers to his Easterly, asking it to search the path ahead. The wind darts away, and Gus’s knees buckle, dragging us both down.

“I wish you’d absorb my Westerly,” I tell him as I pull him back to his feet. “It made you so much stronger.”

“It did,” Gus agrees. “But that draft has had more bright ideas than both of us combined. No way am I locking it up somewhere it can’t help us if we need it.”

The Easterly returns, reporting emptiness ahead.

“It can’t be this easy,” Gus says, reaching for the windslicer strapped to my waist.

As soon as he draws the sword, it slips from his weakened hand.

The CLANG! that follows sounds like a hurricane raging down the hall, announcing our presence to the entirety of the universe.

I retrieve the weapon and push Gus against the wall, standing in front of him to cover us.

A minute passes in silence.

Then another.

And another.

“I know I should be relieved,” Gus whispers. “But someone should’ve heard that.”

“Wait here. I’m going to sweep the area.”

I crouch low as I move—checking the walls, the ceiling, the floor.

Still, I don’t notice the slightly raised stone until I step on it.

The second I hear the click I drop to my stomach, knocking the breath out of my chest as a wind spike blasts out of the wall and explodes.

Pebbles and dust cloud the air, making it impossible to see if I’m near any other triggers.

“DON’T MOVE!” I shout to Gus, forcing myself to remain still. “The floor is rigged.”

“That blast was designed to maim, not kill,” Gus says. “Someone’s probably on their way to scoop up the injured.”

I’m sure he’s right. And I have no idea how to get us out of here. Gus is too weak to run—and who knows how many other traps we could set off?

Then again, the more traps we trigger, the worse they’ll imagine our injuries . . .

“Maybe we should play with their expectations,” I say as I spot another raised stone and tap the center with the edge of the windslicer.

Instead of the spike I’m prepared for, a mangled wind bursts out of the floor and tangles around me.

I’ve been caught in a crusher before, but this one is suffocating and sharp. Every time I try to twist free, it feels like the wind is peeling off my skin.

“Hang on!” Gus calls, careful of his steps as he rushes to help.

He slashes the vortex with the windslicer, but the black metal passes straight through.

One of my ribs cracks, and Gus grabs hold of the crusher with both fists.

Veins bulge in his arms, and his face contorts with agony as he lets out an unearthly scream and tears the crusher to shreds.

I collapse to my knees and he crumples beside me, both of us shaking and gasping for air. I recover first and drag us away from the rest of the trigger stones.

That’s when I notice Gus has stopped breathing.

“He needs wind!” I beg my Westerly, and it coils around him. But it can’t seem to sink under his skin without Gus giving the command.

I send the Easterly to find an exit, but I don’t have time to wait.

Gus’s lips are taking on a bluish tinge.

I faced this same dilemma with Vane—and I never did determine whether a bond would form if I pressed my mouth to his.

That did hold a much greater risk, since I already cared far too deeply for Vane.

Still, I care for Gus in other ways, and what if . . .

I don’t have time for this debate. I prop his neck on my knee and open his mouth.

Maybe if I cover his lips with my fingers, the barrier will ensure there’s no connection.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper as I lower my mouth to his and blow all the breath in my lungs.

Half of it breezes through the gaps around my fingers. The rest doesn’t sink deep enough.

I pull my hand back and suck in another breath, checking the hall around me for signs of the Stormers.

I can’t hear what the wind is doing—can’t tell if any guards are drawing close.

I lean down again and breathe straight against his mouth.

Our lips barely touch—but I can feel how cold they are.

I lean back for a new breath and repeat the process again.

And again.

By the fifth time, I notice his mouth turning warm.

“Come on, Gus,” I whisper. “You’re so close.”

Three more breaths and my lips turn tingly.

The next time, Gus gasps on his own.

I scoot back, letting him cough and wheeze. That’s when I realize I can hear footsteps charging closer.

I search for the Easterly and find it slashing at the ceiling.