Let the Sky Fall (Sky Fall #1)(86)

A warm, gentle draft tangles with my bonds, and the icy winds turn warm and unravel.

The celebration lasts about a second. Then I hurtle toward the ground.

The Westerlies calm my panic, whispering a song of peace and security as I call them to me and wrap them around my exhausted body. I beg them to stay—and they obey, sealing me in a warm circle of air.

A wind bubble. Just like my parents used to make.

Tears well in my eyes as I float toward the ground.

My family has never felt closer. Never felt farther away.

I try to absorb as much strength and energy from the winds as I can.

Then my feet touch the ground and the bubble bursts.

I’m back in the thick of the storm.





CHAPTER 52


AUDRA


The Stormers tossed me like a grain of sand.

I couldn’t defend myself.

Their broken, useless winds wouldn’t answer my call. I slashed as many drafts as I could. But they snared me.

Have they trapped my mother the same way? Or is she with Vane?

It’s cold inside the vortex. I can’t see. Can’t move. Can’t hear anything beyond the raging winds. The drafts move in unison, not woven or bound in any way, but still synchronized. Like they’re all of one mind.

The funnel swallows every gust that crosses its path, leaving no winds to call for aid. No escape except death. And I feel death approaching. The winds are icy splinters, tearing me apart. Swallowing tiny pieces of me with every sweep across my skin.

Minutes pass. I lose count of how many.

My head turns fuzzy. I try to focus on the songs of the wind, but their melodies are flat. Lifeless. It breaks my heart to hear them. Their very essence has been stripped, leaving nothing but shells of the glorious drafts they once were.

Just like me.

My life never held much joy or warmth or richness—not without my father. But Vane filled my empty world with the thrill of his touch. The soothing peace of his forgiveness.

I should’ve kissed him when I had the chance.

I should’ve taken one moment of pure, unadulterated happiness for myself. Pressed my lips against his and let the intoxicating heat erupt between us. Tasted his sweetness. Then pulled him closer till there was nothing separating us but fire and skin.

Audra.

The fantasy feels so real I can almost hear his voice. Almost see the cool blue of his eyes. The warm brown of his hair. Sky and earth blended into one perfect face.

Audra.

His voice sounds louder. Closer. Real.

Have I sunk so deep into the dream I’ve lost track of reality?

Audra.

I want to open my eyes, but I don’t have the strength. I’ve slipped too far away.

Audra, hold on.

I want to do what he says. But I don’t know how. I’m lost to these wicked winds.

A hint of gray rims the edge of the darkness and creeps toward the center, till all the black turns dull. My windsong rings in my ears, ready to be unleashed.

The winds clench and tighten.

White light explodes around me as I feel myself slip too far away.

To the end.





CHAPTER 53


VANE


I’m new to the whole wind control thing, but I’ve never seen anything like the funnel Audra’s trapped in.

The gray, chalky winds spin horizontally between the blades of the two tallest windmills, like some possessed hammock/cocoon. Audra hovers in the center. Pale. Still.

I scream her name. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

“Hold on. I’m here.”

There’s no sign of the other Stormer, but that doesn’t mean he’s not nearby. I have to hurry.

Ruined winds fill the air, rubbing my face like sandpaper. But their gibberish songs are mixed with some healthy drafts that have broken through the storm. I call a Westerly to me and tangle it around my legs.

For one second I stare at the sharp, spinning blades of the windmill and wonder if I’m losing my mind. Then I shout, “Rise,” and the wind launches me off the ground.

It jerks and flips and knocks me so hard into the pillar of a windmill that I lose my hold and crash to the ground. I dust myself off and call another.

Same thing.

Audra wasn’t kidding when she said windwalking takes practice.

I try again and get higher this time. High enough to almost get sliced and diced by the giant blades. I barely release the draft in time and land with a thud, bruising every part of my body.

Okay—new plan!

I grab every healthy wind I can feel and hurtle them at the vortex. They rebound without so much as a dent.

Come on, Westerlies, tell me what to do here.

I let a minute of silence pass before I give up that idea too.

Looks like I’m on my own.

I weave a wind spike and line up my aim. But I know it won’t be enough. The winds binding her are . . . mutated somehow. I need the power of four. It’s supposed to be unstoppable, right?

If only I had any idea how to channel it.

I call a Westerly to my side and coil the draft around the spike. The universe doesn’t implode, so that seems like a good sign. But I still have to combine the draft with the others, and I don’t know what command to use.

Merge? Combine? Blend?

I have a feeling the difference between success and catastrophe rides on my ability to guess the right one.