Let the Sky Fall (Sky Fall #1)(32)

After that, I’m done. I have no interest in being a soldier or a ruler for a world I don’t even know. My life’s here. I won’t let anyone tear it apart, and there’s nothing Audra—or any of her little army friends—can do to stop me.

Shoot, if I’m as strong as she says I am—or will be with training—then there’s definitely no way they can tell me what to do. I’ll fight them all if I have to, and win.

But maybe it won’t come to that.

Audra said there’s hope. I’ll try to believe her. Even if it felt like a lie.

She’s holding something back—I can see it in the careful way she chooses her words before she speaks. In the way she sometimes won’t meet my eyes. I have no idea what it is, but there has to be a way to wear her down, find out what she’s hiding.

While I’m at it, maybe I can get another glimpse of what she’s hiding under that crazy-thick jacket, too.

My mind wanders back to her skimpy dress, remembering the way it clung in all the right places. It should be a crime to cover a body like hers with that thick, bulky uniform she had on today.

In fact, if I ever become king Windwalker, my first act as ruler will be to institute a new wardrobe for the guardians and make Audra’s dress even tinier. That might be worth the life-changing responsibility.

Honestly, being with Audra makes the whole living-in-sylph-land-forever idea sound not so bad. I might be able to deal with it if I finally get to taste those full lips of hers. Undo that tight braid and run my hand through her silky hair as I move closer. Pressing every inch of her body against mine as she tangles her arms around me and slides her hands down my back, pulling me even closer . . .

I shove the handle of the faucet all the way to cold.

But even with the icy streams trickling down my skin, I can’t block the fantasy that never goes away—no matter how many times I’ve tried to resist it: That Audra’s out there right now. Wanting me as much as I want her.





CHAPTER 16


AUDRA


Air. I need air.

If I can’t satiate my hunger or quench my thirst, I need to give my skin the wind it begs for. Draw extra strength where I can.

The water sits too heavily in my weary, sleep-deprived body for me to fly to the mountains. So I weave my way to the unruly, overgrown center of the grove, where the trees are taller, with thicker leaves to provide better camouflage.

The air is still. I ignore Gavin’s taunting gaze as I choose the tallest tree and climb its slender trunk, careful not to cling too tightly to the crumbling bark. It’s a precarious job, and watching Gavin swoop to my intended location with a quick flutter of wings only makes it more arduous. But I eventually make my way to the top and nestle myself among the prickly leaves.

I close my eyes and feel for the winds. They’re whisking across the foothills, but still within my reach.

Soft whispers bring them closer and I swirl them around me. It’s tempting to strip off my jacket and let my hair down, but I refuse to remove any part of my uniform. It doesn’t matter how much the desert sun weighs on the dark, rough fabric or how much the braid pulls. It’s part of being a guardian. Part of who I am.

Bits of wind slip through the coarse fibers of my clothes, sweeping away the dirt and sweat and leaving me refreshed and clean. Nothing rivals the intoxicating relief of a gentle breeze. Not groundling foods or ice-cold water. Not even the thrill of skin meeting skin. The wind is part of who I am, and when I expose my heart to it, I feel it calling me home.

The wind is all I need.

Over the years, those words have become my mantra, making everything I’ve endured more bearable.

But they’re not the only thing lightening my heart.

Vane shows more promise than I expected—when he commits to his training, at least. And if he has the fourth breakthrough before the Stormers arrive, we can beat them despite being bound to the earth.

I wouldn’t have to sacrifice myself.

Which means there might be life for me after this assignment.

Maybe.

I squint through the blinding light, searching for any sign of the coming storm. All I find is the oppressive desert sun blazing down. For once I’m grateful to see it.

I’m trying to believe my mother’s out there, somehow buying us five extra days, like she can pluck the time from the sky.

What if she isn’t?

She’s cared so little for my safety the last ten years, treating me like a splinter in her skin. A stone in her shoe. What if she’s taking her chance to flick me away? Be rid of me for good?

I fling the doubts to the scattering breezes, let them wash far away.

It’s Vane’s safety she’s concerned with—and she would never hesitate to protect him.

Resentment rises in my chest and I choke it down.

Vane’s safety is my only concern as well. I can’t let myself forget that.

I settle deeper into the palm leaves, leaning my head against a nearby branch and focusing my mind on the solitary Easterly in the air. Its song is one I seek out whenever I can find it, telling of the shifting waves of change that affect us all, and the fortitude to keep going despite them. Mostly it’s a promise. A promise that things won’t always be so turbulent.

A promise of calm.

Sometimes I let myself believe it’s my father’s windsong, and that it seeks me out. Like a tiny part of him still watches over me, just like he did when he was alive.