Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(47)

I send the Westerly to help and order them to Sever as I drag Gus toward the exit I hope the winds are making.

Silt rains down, stinging my eyes as the drafts cut the seams around a square hatch.

I drop into a deep crouch, begging my Westerly to fuel my jump as I burst off the ground. The stone is heavier than I expected, and my wrists scream in protest, but I manage to knock the hatch aside and make an opening.

I land next to Gus and throw him over my shoulder, wondering if I can leap high enough with his added weight.

My Westerly has a better solution, coiling around us both and repeating the command it wants me to use.

“Elevate.”

The wind pulls taut and drags us like a rope. It’s not a comfortable process, but it’s worth it when we launch through the hatch. I’ve barely pulled my legs inside when the Stormers burst into the room, and I shove the hatch closed and collapse on top of it.

“Is there a way to seal the door?” I ask the winds.

Neither have any suggestions.

And Gus is barely conscious.

And I left the windslicer down below.

I scan our new tunnel, searching for actual options.

The thin metal slats lining the ceiling could possibly serve as a weapon—but when I try to pry one off, the metal is welded too tight.

The best I can manage is to coil the Easterly and Westerly into a weak sort of wind spike. The point feels dull—wind spikes need the strength of the Northerlies. But it’s better than nothing.

I drag Gus behind me, glad to see he’s still breathing. If only his eyes weren’t closed and his wounds weren’t seeping through his bandages.

I’m wishing for wind—and maybe the sky hears me—because the metal slats tilt and cool air rushes in.

For two seconds I let hope swell in my heart. Then I realize the Stormers haven’t tried to follow me. And when I pull on the hatch, I find it sealed shut.

I press my ear to the floor and hear the voice of the Stormer who ripped my dress.

“Flood the tunnel with flurries. She’s useless in the cold.”

The metal slats tilt farther, and the wind picks up speed, tearing at my face and hair.

I unravel the wind spike and blanket us each in a shield before I pull Gus close and try to find something to grab on to.

The walls are perfectly smooth—the tunnel too wide to use my feet for leverage. And the wind keeps rushing rushing rushing.

I hold firm as long as I can, but the gusts are relentless. Eventually, the river of air drags us away.





CHAPTER 25


VANE


I’m rocking this leader thing.

Okay, fine, maybe I’ve had a ton of help from the wind.

But the point is, I’m totally kicking butt!

We’re moving fast. We’ve avoided dozens of Stormers—a couple were close calls, but we still got out of there without being seen. And my Westerly isn’t having any problems finding the hidden doors we need.

So take that, power of pain and all your dark, evil, creepiness.

You just got stomped by a Westerly!

I’m planning the endless ways I’ll be bragging about this to Os when we pass through the next door and my mind blanks out.

“Is this . . . Raiden’s bedroom?” I whisper.

“I think it must be.” Solana traces her hand across the wall, which is painted with a perfect sky in a hundred shades of blue. Birds of every color soar from one side of the room to the other, and windswept trees disappear into the floor.

“He kept my grandmother’s murals,” she whispers. “I’ve always wanted to see them.”

I don’t blame her.

I’m not even into art, and I can tell they’re amazing.

The whole room is crazy beautiful. Everything is clean and white and pristine. The marble floor is polished, and the wall of windows gives us a view of the whole range of snow-capped mountains. Even in the dark—with the fires and smoke—it takes my breath away.

“I’m guessing this is all your family’s stuff?” I ask, pointing to the huge canopied bed covered in more pillows than one of my mom’s decorating magazines. The posts are carved to look like trees, and hundreds of wind chimes dangle from the ornate branches. The center chimes hang lower than the others, and they’re strung with a few clumps of colorful feathers and something that kinda looks like a miniature silver flute.

“No, this is all new,” Solana whispers. “Only the paintings are familiar.”

I study the room again, noting silver mirrors and vases full of reeds cut to different heights.

Who knew Raiden was so . . . decorate-y?

The better question is: Why are we here?

I told my Westerly to take us to the turbine, since sabotaging the crap out of this place is even more crucial now that they know we’re here. Maybe that’ll keep everyone distracted while we head for the dungeon, and if not, it’ll hopefully cripple them when they attack us.

I search the air for my shield and feel it calling me from what I’m guessing is Raiden’s closet. I’m on my way there when I turn back and snatch the chimes hanging from the center of the bed.

I’m not sure why I want them—and I kinda regret the decision when the rest of the chimes start tinkling like crazy. But it’s too late now. Plus, it makes me realize something.

We’re standing in the bedroom of the guy who’s basically declared himself King of the Wind, and . . . the air is perfectly still.