Let the Storm Break (Sky Fall #2)(31)

THE DEVIL’S GOLF COURSE.

This must be what the draft meant about devils and games— not the lead I’d been hoping for.

The winds are much more unhelpful here, whispering their songs so softly I have to strain to hear them. They scoot away from me before I can call them to my side. One gust mentions a place where the wind ends, but when I ask it to take me there, it zips into the cloudless sky before the command fully leaves my lips. So I backtrack through the basin, crossing ground that’s crackled like a honeycomb as I try to find steadier drafts.

The sweltering heat leaves me soaked in sweat and crusted in salt and sand. I’m starting to worry I’m wasting my time when I catch the tail end of a Westerly breeze singing about stones that creep and crawl on their own. I call the draft to my side, relieved when it obeys. And when I listen to the uneven melody, I know I’ve found what I need.

The song starts as a ballad about boulders that etch their own trails in the earth. But it ends as a lament, mourning an indescribable loss in a valley of stillness and sadness. The Westerly feels especially reluctant to take me there, but when I add a plea to the end of my command it tightens its grip and lifts me into the sky.

The air turns heavier as we fly, like it’s trying to force me back to the ground. And as I enter a flat basin, the sky turns achingly empty.

The draft carrying me panics.

I keep control long enough to land on the pale, crackled ground, but as soon as the wind releases me, it streaks away in terror. My Westerly shield is just as uneasy, but I beg it not to leave me alone, and it chooses to stay, wrapping even tighter around me.

I don’t blame the winds for their fears. The unnatural stillness is eerie.

It’s not a calm. Those are always paired with silence—and the basin rings with a grating, nerve-shattering screeching. Like everything rough and horrible is being scraped together and ripped apart. I try to find the source of the chaos, but all I see are large boulders scattered randomly along the parched ground. Crooked lines are etched into the earth all around them, marking their wandering journey through the basin.

They have to be the sailing stones.

But where are the Stormers?

Large cracks cut deep into the mountain along the badlands, and I assume Raiden’s soldiers must be lurking somewhere in those shadows. But I can’t tell where, and until I’m sure, I have to stay hidden. I will not make any mistakes this time.

I find a narrow crevice in the nearest foothill and crawl inside, tucking myself out of sight. If the Stormers are here they’ll reveal themselves eventually. I just have to be patient.

It’s not easy. The searing afternoon sun makes the jagged stones I’m pressed against feel like burning coals. Even the shade provides no relief.

I distract myself by rebraiding my hair, surprised at how good it feels to wear the guardian style again. For years the braid had become almost painful. Pulling too tight and putting too much pressure on me. But now it feels natural.

It feels right.

I only wish I’d had a chance to retrieve my guardian pendant from where Aston tossed it along the beach. Hopefully the Gales will give me another.

Assuming they let me continue my service . . .

Honestly, it’s possible they’ll assign a guardian to protect me— which is too bizarre of a thought for me to process.

My life has never been worth keeping safe. I lived simply to serve others.

But I’m a Westerly now—sort of. And I’m bonded to the king.

Everything is going to change.

My mind runs through a list of Gales I’ve met, trying to decide who I’d prefer—but a crack of thunder rips me back to reality.

I glance up, stunned to find heavy gray clouds blanketing the sky. A few minutes ago it was a clear stretch of blue.

Lightning flashes and I lean forward to get a better look at the valley, sucking in a breath when I see two Stormers suddenly stationed outside the widest crack in the badlands. Their gray uniforms have an even darker patch on their arms, marking them with Raiden’s storm cloud.

Thunder claps again, and a blinding flash of lightning streaks down from the sky—right next to a man who seems to have appeared out of nowhere.

Dressed in a head-to-toe white cloak with his long blond hair swirling around his face, he looks like the gods in the groundlings’ myths and legends.

I know who he is even before the Stormers drop to one knee.

Bowing to their leader.





CHAPTER 19


VANE





I

wake up in my bed, not sure how I got there. My head is a blur and my memories are even blurrier. But I’m very aware that there’s an arm wrapped around me.

I pull myself up and all I see is blond wavy hair.

“What the crap?” I shout, jumping to my feet.

I’m relieved when I see that I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes, but: How the hell did Solana end up in my bed?

And what happened while she was here???

“It’s okay,” she says, sitting up and brushing her hair out of her eyes, like it’s totally normal that we just spent the night together. At least she’s wearing clothes too—though I don’t know if her itty-bitty dress really counts. I’m sure my mom would— “Oh, God—you have to get out of here. My mom’s going to freak.”

I’ll be grounded for the rest of eternity and she’ll make me sit through every after-school special on teenage pregnancy and STDs and . . .