Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)(94)

“No, you’re not. You risked my life—and cost Gus his—all to protect whatever remains of Dad’s songs. And yet you lock his chimes away and refuse to let them sing?”

“I’m protecting them!”

“No, you’re ruining them. I know how it feels to be a prisoner. I know how it drains the heart slowly out of you. I won’t let you dull Dad’s legacy the same way.”

The words knock her back a step, and I watch the emotions flicker in her eyes. Flashes of guilt and sorrow and remorse—but there are too many darker notes for me to care.

“Fine,” she says, her focus on the stars. “We’ll try it your way—for now.”

“If it helps you to tell yourself that, go ahead. But this is permanent. You have to follow my rules.”

“My, we’re taking our role as potential queen quite seriously, aren’t we?” she asks.

“You think I care about a title? I care about my vow. I swore to keep you under control. I swore to protect our people from your influence. And I will. You don’t leave this house without me—ever. I don’t care if it’s a raging inferno. Suck the air away to squelch the fire and stand in the ashes. And no sending messages to anyone except me.”

“So is that what you’re going to do with your life now?” my mother asks. “Constant vigil monitoring me? I don’t think Vane would be too happy with that arrangement.”

He wouldn’t—though if I asked him to, he’d do it.

But I’m not alone in this. I have the sky—and my gifts.

“The wind will tell me if you disobey,” I warn her. “As will my birds.”

I turn toward our feathered onlookers, glad to see I already have their focus.

“You answer to me now,” I tell them. “And your task is to watch her.”

I stretch out my hand, and a brave sparrow flits to my finger.

He nuzzles his beak against my thumb as I stroke the bold stripes along his head and tell him to report to me twice a day. I can feel his loyalty swell with my touch, and I know he’ll keep a steady eye.

I order the rest of the birds to be his backup.

The wind will tell me if they fail.

“If you prove you can’t be trusted, I’ll let Aston find another solution,” I warn my mother. “And if he can’t find one, I’ll send you to Os, and we both know his answer.”

“Well,” my mother says, smoothing the fabric of her silky blue gown as I send my new sparrow friend back to his oak branch. “I see you have it all figured out.”

She’s trying so hard to be the elegant creature she’s always been. But she’s too frail and scarred to pull it off.

Too weak and wounded to ever intimidate me again.

My mother sighs. “Why does it always have to be like this? Can’t we . . .” She shakes her head, scattering whatever else she’d been planning to say. “Why don’t you come inside? I can help you clean your wounds.”

“I should get going.”

I promised Vane I’d be waiting for him—and after all the waiting he’s done for me, that’s one promise I intend to keep.

His bond tightens its hold on my heart, the crushing pain proof that he’s still breathing.

Still fighting.

Please let him win.

My eyes will be glued to the sky. Listening. Hoping.

“We can’t leave things like this, Audra,” my mother says. “Just come inside for a few minutes.”

“Why are you so insistent on that?”

She stares at the singing chimes, and her hand darts to her wrist. “Maybe . . . I’m not ready to be alone,” she whispers.

I watch her fingers twitching across her bare skin, itching to polish the gold cuff that should be there. And I have to ask. “What happened to your link?”

“Os took it. Before he sent me to the Maelstrom. He said I dishonored my bond with my choices.”

“You did.”

“I know.” The wind seems to shift, and she turns her face to the breeze, her expression peaceful even as her fingers gouge red trails across her skin. “I’ve lived with my mistakes every day for ten years. Sometimes I’m not sure how I’ll bear it any longer.”

“That’s your fault.”

“It is. But you could fix it.”

“If you’re asking me to forgive you—”

“I’m not asking anything. I’m simply telling you what your father told me. When Vane pulled me out of the Maelstrom, I was mostly gone—and I had no plans to fight my way back. But your father’s songs found me and called me toward him. He filled my heart with new lyrics. Reminded me that while he gave you his gift, he gave me you. And he said I could live without him—but never without you.”

I close my eyes, hating that I have to hear the message in her voice instead of his.

“Is that why . . . ?” I whisper.

“Yes. It’s why I helped Vane rescue you. I had to see if your father was right.”

The next logical question burns on my tongue, begging me to ask it.

But I can’t.

I don’t want to care about her answer.

So I turn to the wind, searching once again for my father’s Easterly.

“You won’t find him,” my mother tells me.