Let the Storm Break (Sky Fall #2)(76)

repeat the command with a plea, he nips my finger gently and takes

off, sweeping toward the south like I’d asked.

“It’s hard to believe we’re really going to get through this, isn’t

it?” Gus asks as he picks up a wind spike, testing its weight in his

hands.

He steps back, squatting into a sparring position before he

launches into one of the Gale’s advance practice routines. The way

he moves is flawless. No wasted energy. Every swipe precise and perfect. I’ve seen Gales with decades more training fight with less ease. And Vane trusts him.

And he kept our secret—without my even asking.

“Come,” I say in Westerly, and the wind spike shoots out of

Gus’s hand, midslice.

He glares at me as I catch it. “No need to rub it in.” I hold his gaze and repeat the word again, slower this time.

Making the syllables easier to understand.

His eyes widen. “Are you . . . trying to teach me?”

I nod, relieved when a wave of nausea doesn’t hit.

“Will that even work if I haven’t had the breakthrough?” “It did for Vane as a kid. He used a command he’d heard his

parents say, even though he didn’t know what it meant. It’s how he

saved my life.”

“Wow, you guys have a ton of history, don’t you?”

“We do.”

I repeat the word again, breaking down the intonations. Gus

repeats it, fumbling over the sleepy hisses in the second part. But

after four tries the spike launches into his hands.

“That is so freaking awesome.”

He flings the spike toward a palm and hisses the command,

snapping it back toward him like a boomerang.

“So I don’t get to know what I’m saying?” he asks as he catches

it one-handed.

“It’s safer for you if you don’t.”

Breakthroughs are complicated things. Most of the time they

require extreme measures to trigger. But it always comes down to

learning one word and having all the pieces snap together. Sometimes just hearing it is enough.

Gus goes back to practicing slashes with his spike. He moves so

fast his arms turn to a blur as he whips the sharp edge at a strange

angle that ripples the air.

“I guess it would be a pretty big responsibility,” he mumbles.

“You just jumped to the top of Raiden’s Most Wanted list.” “Second to the top,” I correct, trying to copy his motion and not

coming close. “Vane’s still the only actual Westerly.”

“All the more reason why you’ll be at the top. Who’s Raiden

going to want more—the guy whose kinsmen have been resisting his interrogation methods for decades, or the first non-Westerly to have

the fourth breakthrough?”

I slash again, still failing to copy Gus’s skill. “Both.” “Maybe.” He comes up behind me, grabbing my arm and guiding me through the motion. Halfway through the thrust, he slides

his fingers to my wrist, showing me how I need to twist it at the tail

end of my swipe. It’s the same way all my trainers worked with me

when I was learning blade technique, but it feels strangely uncomfortable this time. Probably because Gus still has no shirt on and I’m

stuck in this ridiculous dress.

Gus must feel the same way because he clears his throat and

steps back, raising his spike to challenge me to a spar instead. “All I’m

saying is, be ready. If I were Raiden—and I knew there was a chance

I might only be able to grab one of you—I know which one I’d make

my priority.”

I raise my spike to accept his challenge. “If that’s the case, it’s a

good thing. Of the two of us, I’m far more ready to face down Raiden

than Vane is.”

“Well, that is definitely true.”

Still, Gus manages to knock my spike out of my grip in only

three thrusts—and when I challenge him to a rematch I barely last

five minutes before he knocks me to the ground and sends my spike

skidding out of my reach.

“My gift lets me pull strength from the wind,” Gus explains, and

I’m sure that’s part of my problem.

But the bigger issue is that every time I go for a deadly swipe, a

rush of dizziness weakens my arm.

Gus helps me to my feet, and I can feel him studying me as I

dust the sand off my shaky legs.

“That question you asked earlier,” he says after a second, “about

picking up the Westerlies’ aversion to violence. Did you . . . ?” I can’t look at him as I nod. “I’m not as bad as Vane, but . . .” Gus sighs, and I want to crawl into a hole and disappear. He squeezes my shoulder, waiting for me to meet his eyes. “I’ll

have your back the entire time.”

I force a smile, trying to be grateful.

But as I stare at the sky, all I can hear are Os’s words from earlier. Someone’s going to die today.

For the first time, I believe him.





CHAPTER 35