Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(72)

“Wait—there are humans nearby?” I ask, craning my neck and seeing nothing but empty plains. “Why?”

“I think that rock is famous,” Solana tells me. “I know I’ve seen pictures of it before.”

Great. So we’re back to putting people’s lives in danger—and it’s too late to change location.

“Shouldn’t we claim the high ground for ourselves, then?” Os asks. “Minimize the risk of casualties?”

“Not if we want to win. Raiden’s overconfidence will be our greatest asset. The more he thinks everything’s going his way, the more likely he is to make a mistake. Let him have what he wants. Let him think he has all the advantages. By the time he realizes there are other forces at play, it will hopefully be too late.”

I hate gambling with people’s lives that way. But . . . I know Aston’s right. “So what’s the smartest way to approach?” I ask, vowing to fight ten times harder to keep people safe.

“We’ll have to see how the battle plays out,” Aston says. “And you’ll have to keep an ear to your winds, asking them for help getting around his backlash—and don’t try for the kill until they give you an answer. Assuming there is an answer.”

“There has to be one,” I mumble. “Otherwise why have any Stormers at all? Why go after the power of four if he’s invincible?”

“I used to tell myself the same thing, when I was plotting my escape. Never did get the answer. But don’t look so glum, Loverboy. Your winds haven’t failed you yet.”

Yeah, I guess not. “But what if—”

The rest of my question is swallowed by the wave of heavy, gray clouds that pours in from the north, blacking out the sun.

In the same breath the sky goes eerily still.

Lightning flashes across the sky as hundreds of Stormers emerge from the thunderheads.

With a loud, ground-shaking rumble, the battle begins.





CHAPTER 42


AUDRA


Stay close to Vane.

It’s my only plan for this battle.

No matter what happens, I won’t be separated from him again.

Not because he said he loved me—though I’d be lying if I said that didn’t help.

Because this is how it was meant to be.

I’ve been his guardian.

His girlfriend.

And now I’m not sure what I am.

But I need him.

And I’m the only other person here who speaks Westerly.

Stormers pour into the field like gray rain, gathering in the center with their backs to one another. A beast with too many heads and no heart to guide it.

I don’t understand why they hold their attack, but I decide to be grateful for the extra time.

I find Vane crouched in the long grass, his eyes trained on the strange rock formation in the distance.

“Is that where you think Raiden’s hiding?” I ask.

He jumps and clutches his chest. “Gah—are you trying to scare me to death?”

“No—but maybe now you’ll realize you should be paying closer attention! I could’ve been a Stormer. You need to—why are you smiling?”

“Sorry,” he says, trying to bend his twitching lips into a frown. “It’s just nice to have you lecture me again. I’ve missed it.”

My throat turns thick. “I’ve missed it too.”

A hundred other words bubble up, but I swallow them back. Instead, I offer him my hand to help him to his feet.

His sparks prickle my fingers, and I’m tempted to not let go—but Aston comes charging toward us. “Save the touchy-feely stuff for when we’ve survived this. Right now we need to get out of the circle of death.”

He points to the distance, where dozens of Living Storms are untangling themselves from the sky, stacking into an impenetrable barrier all around us.

So that’s Raiden’s strategy.

Crush us from without and within.

Leave nothing in the center but dust.

“This is more Stormers than I was expecting,” Aston says. “Raiden’s not holding any reserves. Apparently he’s determined to end this today too. Os is on his way to make us a path out of here so we can track Raiden down.”

He points to a figure in black charging across the eastern plain, heading for one of the smaller Living Storms. “He’s going to make it chase him,” Aston explains. “To create a gap for us to slip through. After that, we’ll be on our own.”

“I’m coming with you,” Solana says, landing beside us.

She’s rolled up her sleeves and knotted her shirt to reveal her midriff, despite the flakes of ice peppering her hair.

“Were you windwalking in this?” I ask, checking the sky.

Lightning crackles in threads of gleaming white and electric pink, painting the storm with erratic, unpredictable patterns. Ice and snow swirl among the flashes, their violent flurries building toward a roar.

Even I would never brave such a sky—and I have my father’s gift to guide me.

“I needed to absorb some of the ruined drafts,” Solana says, untying her shirt and covering herself with the wrinkled fabric. “But I only caught a couple. The Stormers are doing a good job of cutting us off from the wind.”