Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(88)

She sounds equal parts weary and nervous as she whispers, “The wind wants her to be my responsibility.”





CHAPTER 48


AUDRA


I should’ve known the wind would side with my mother—though I suppose I should be grateful it didn’t tell me to forgive her.

Only to help.

And to attempt to understand her.

I hear the words of the Easterly’s song in my father’s voice—deep and rich and resonant. And I can imagine him standing in front of me, his eyes glinting with too much love and joy to ever match the wind’s melancholy tone: A lost bird with tired wings

Never rests and never sings

Begs the sky for a place to land

Never finds a friendly hand

Passing time fades hope into a darker shade of gray Wayward winds drag calm and reason much too far away Hearts go cold

Paths get crossed

Strength fades to bitter doubt

Sometimes the end only begins when someone reaches out My father was the first to offer my mother shelter—the first to steady her against the turbulence of her power.

But it wasn’t enough.

How am I supposed to be more than he was?

“What do you mean she’ll be your responsibility?” Os asks, giving me a chance to take the words back.

It’s one of those rare split paths, where I can choose the easy and safe. Put myself ahead. Take what I want.

Or not.

I know which path my mother would choose.

And I never want to be her.

So I choke down my bitter anger and tell Os, “I meant that I’ll be the one to monitor her. The place she’s been hiding these last ten years is sufficiently isolated and safe. I’ll make sure she stays there, finishing her days in peace and never harming another life again.”

“Wait—what?” Vane says, as Os asks me, “How?”

“I’m still piecing it all together,” I tell them both.

I can’t stay with her in that stuffy house—my sanity will unravel.

But how else can I keep a vigilant enough watch?

Vane takes my hands, his eyes searching my face. “I’ll support whatever you decide—and I’ll help any way I can,” he promises. “But do you really want to be your mother’s babysitter?”

“Want isn’t the right word,” I whisper. “But . . . she’s my mother.”

And there it is—the truth I’ve been running from for longer than I can remember.

Unstable and cruel as my mother can be, we share the same blood.

And . . . she’s had her moments, however rare and far between.

She flew to Raiden’s fortress to aid in my rescue. She also convinced Aston to remain after he’d chosen to flee.

Also—probably most tellingly—she didn’t fight back when I attacked her after Gus died.

She’s not the same crazed woman who attacked me after I learned her role in my father’s death. I thought I saw my real mother that day. But maybe I only saw another part.

A dangerous, deadly side that must be restrained and monitored.

But not her entire essence, either.

And with that admission, I feel the truth settle—like that lost, lonely bird, finally finding a place to rest.

Sometimes the end only begins when someone reaches out.

“So this is your vote, then?” Os asks.

I focus on my mother as I nod.

Her expression is unreadable—but I’d expect nothing less.

Vane tightens his hold on my hands as he says, “Then it’s mine, too.”

“The matter can always be revisited if the arrangement doesn’t work,” Solana adds. “So for now, that’s my vote as well.”

“Well, I suppose that means I should add my vote,” Aston says. “And hey, look at that! The four of us found a way to agree. Bet you thought we wouldn’t be able to do that, didn’t you, Ossy?”

Os shakes his head, more in frustration than disagreement before he launches into further reminders that our decision-making powers haven’t actually been granted.

Those still lie up in the air, like so many other things.

Too many other things.

The most important things.

“How am I supposed to leave you here?” I whisper to Vane as everyone shifts back into motion. “How can I fly away when any moment now, Raiden could arrive. And if . . .”

“Hey, maybe this will be good,” Vane says, pulling me closer. “We’ll prove we’re not one of those like . . . needy, codependent couples.”

He tries to smile, but I notice he hasn’t let go of my hands.

It should be me fighting with him—or me fighting for him.

But the wind is telling me to go.

I focus on the feathery soft clouds—clouds that promise calm and quiet ease—and beg the sky to lend Vane its full power and protection.

I’ll do anything the wind asks, if it rises up this one last time.

I’m still finishing my plea when I notice a tangle of movement on the northern horizon.

“What is that?” Vane asks, pointing to the same blurry spot.

The dark smudge is too small to be Raiden, and yet I still hear the scrape of drawn windslicers.

My mother covers her mouth. “No! The poor thing . . .”