Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(92)

“And we’re back to the pointless ramblings and insults. It’s really your only move, isn’t it?” Raiden asks. “I guess that’s what happens when your winds won’t stand up and fight for you.”

“Uh, my winds have taken you down plenty of times, thanks.”

AND NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO DO IT AGAIN—ARE YOU LISTENING, WESTERLIES???

“What about you?” he says to Solana. “You’re awfully quiet over there. I’ll admit, I was surprised he chose to bring you. But I suppose he was afraid I might carve more scars into his beloved.”

My hands curl into fists, and I start to weave a wind spike.

Even if I can’t stab his kill spots—I can make him bleed.

Solana absorbs my drafts, her eyes pleading with me to not escalate things before the wind is ready.

Raiden smiles like a Cheshire cat and takes a step closer to her. “Ah yes, you’re a windcatcher. A family trait, I believe—not that it did them any good. Your father had been so smug about his escape, I had to make sure I took my time with him. And the rest of your relatives—tell me, how did it feel to walk the halls of Brezengarde? Did you know I slaughtered your grandparents in the very room you stood in? I bet if you’d looked hard enough you could’ve seen the stains on the floor.”

I reach for Solana’s hand, hating to feel her shaking.

“It was almost pathetic how desperately they pleaded for their lives,” Raiden continues. “I expected so much more dignity from the royal family. They even told me about their precious secret passage. They kept the password protected, but I learned enough to set a trap.”

“A trap we got out of super easily,” I remind him.

“Yes,” Raiden agrees. “As I said. You showed me the folly of relying on an army. But that mistake has been corrected. And now you get to face me. We’ll see how your foolish tricks stand up against my power.”

Lightning crackles all around us.

I glance at Solana, hoping she’s got a plan, but her eyes are closed and she’s focused on the wind.

“It must be lonely,” she says quietly. “Your winds so clearly despise you. Their shattered songs are filled with loathing. Is that why you keep your bedroom still? Does their hatred haunt you?”

“Careful,” Raiden warns, as thunder rolls across the plain. “I could end you with one word.”

“I don’t believe you,” she says.

FYI: It’s a bad idea to call Raiden’s bluff.

He growls a command, and Solana claws at her stomach, screaming and thrashing until I’m pretty sure he’s shattering the winds inside her.

“Stop it!” I shout, pulling the whistlepipe out of my pocket. “Or do you want me to smash this into tinsel?”

Raiden stops, and I’m relieved for about half a second.

Then he laughs. “So you do have it with you. That makes this much easier.”

Well . . . crap.

Come on, Westerlies—think!

And maybe start gathering some other winds, since I’m sure Raiden’s next attack is coming—and it’s gonna be a big one.

“You know this wasn’t the only thing I stole from you, right?” I say, fighting to buy time as I check on Solana, glad to see her breathing is steadying.

“I haven’t missed anything else,” Raiden says. “So it can’t be too important.”

“You’re sure?” I fumble in my pocket.

Socky the Duck is long gone, but I still have the handprint thing—and it’s a good thing I do.

Raiden stumbles back a step when I hold it out to show him.

“Does that mean this is special?” I ask. “So, like . . . you wouldn’t want me to do this?”

I pinch the edge and tear off a crumble of the plaster.

“STOP!” Raiden yells, as lightning flashes and thunder blares and the winds switch to hurricane mode.

“I take it that means you want your chubby handprint back.”

“That’s not my hand,” Raiden snaps.

It’s not?

“It’s your sister’s, isn’t it?” Solana asks, proving she’s smarter than I am.

She leans on me, and I’m assuming she needs the support. But the strength in her grip makes me wonder if she’s planning something.

Man, I hope so.

My Westerly is giving me nothing but a constant chant of Stall! Stall! Stall!

“Rena,” Raiden whispers, glancing at the sky.

“How did she die?” Solana asks.

Thunder shakes the ground.

“Why is that always the first question?” Raiden asks. “She lived for five years—but no one ever wants to hear about that. All they want to know about is the end.”

“I want to know about her life,” Solana promises. “Tell me about her—isn’t that why you brought us here?”

Raiden’s laugh is darker than the next crack of thunder. “I came here for me. You were just my excuse—and a reason to send a message. Do you know, I haven’t been to this field in forty-seven years?”

“The day she died, right?” Solana asks.

“The day she was abandoned by the sky, and ruined by a disgusting groundling.”

He moves into the darkness, and Solana and I debate a second before we follow, keeping a safe distance from the tree he stops to lean against.