Let the Wind Rise Page 7

  It’s a fitting description.

  But it only adds to my confusion. “Why are you showing me this?”

  “In the hopes that past mistakes might not be repeated. Your mother and I used these birds long ago—before you. Before your father. Years and years before our more recent interactions.”

  “You mean the times you tried to kill her?”

  Not that I care.

  My mother was trading lives—she should’ve expected to pay the same price.

  But it dawns on me then that my mother might already be dead.

  The last time I saw her, Raiden had sped up the winds of her Maelstrom, leaving her trapped in their draining pull.

  No one was around to help—the Gales were all busy with the battle.

  I’m . . . not sure what to do with that thought.

  “I’ve spared you this far,” Raiden says, snapping me back to attention, “because you’re intriguing. An Easterly who speaks Westerly—”

  “I don’t speak Westerly,” I interrupt.

  “So you keep saying. But we both know there’s more you’re not telling me. End this ridiculous charade, or I will be forced to change my tactics—and trust me when I say you can’t imagine the pain I will rain down upon you.”

  I believe him.

  “Why do you want it so badly?” I ask. “Everyone claims the power of pain is greater than the power of four.”

  “What about the power of four pains?” Raiden counters. “Oh, don’t look so disgusted. I seek power to rule our people. Our race has always been weak—no less pathetic than these caged birds. I’m trying to set them free. Trying to make them strong.”

  “No, you’re trying make yourself strong.”

  “It’s the same thing. No group can ever be strong without a strong leader. Look at the groundlings. Those powerless, talentless wastes have taken over this earth through the strength of a few great men. And yet you fault me for trying to do the same?”

  “You and I have very different definitions of the word ‘great.’ ”

  “Indeed we do. You bonded yourself with that pitiful boy—do you honestly believe he’ll become the leader the Gales desire?”

  “No,” I admit after several seconds of silence.

  But Vane has other greatness to offer.

  He saved me from myself.

  Showed me the value in living—the value in who I am.

  Even without our connection, I can still feel the strength of that gift.

  “He will give our people peace,” I whisper.

  “Peace,” Raiden scoffs. “Peace is taken—not given. All I’m asking for is the power to ensure that it happens. Let me rebuild our world the way it was meant to be. Let me give our people true security—a ruler who conquers everything. Even the wind.”

  “The wind will never be conquered. And our people don’t want your power. Strong winds have their place, but we all crave the calm.”

  “That sounds like a final answer,” Raiden says, turning back to his ravens. “Are you sure that’s what you wish?”

  I have to swallow, to make sure my voice is steady as I say, “Yes.”

  Raiden sighs as he reaches through the bars to stroke the birds. “I’d hoped you’d turned out smarter than your mother.”

  “I did.”

  “Perhaps,” Raiden agrees. “I did make her a much better offer. She had a chance to blend her power with mine—and let mine blend with hers.”

  His meaning kicks in—but my brain refuses to accept it.

  Even when Raiden adds, “She had a chance to be my queen.”

  CHAPTER 11

  VANE

  Solana knows the power of pain.

  I guess that’s what I get for trusting my ex.

  She was supposed to be the non-psychotic, non-creepy person helping me with this rescue.

  “How long have you been using it?” I ask. “Was it before or after Os told us about his new lessons?”

  She doesn’t answer, but her eyes tell me all I need to know.

  “Unbelievable! So you stood there tied to a tree, pretending to resist the evil new power—and you were already using it?”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” she says.

  “Yeah it is. And you know what? You’re going home—now. I’m sure Os will be thrilled to have you help with his training.”

  I turn and stalk toward the windmill, because we’re in the middle of freaking nowhere and it’s the only place to stalk to.

  She catches up with me and grabs my arm.

  My bad arm.

  “Sorry,” she mumbles when I screech.

  I jerk my arm away and succeed in wrenching it even worse.

  My parents’ Language Rules go out the window.

  “Will you stop for five seconds?” she asks, getting a death grip on my wrist.

  I want to keep fighting, but she’s way stronger than she looks.

  Plus my elbow has started shooting sonic blasts of pain that hit right in the pit of my stomach.

  “Just let me check the bandage,” she says. “And then can we at least talk about this? If you still want me to go afterward . . . I will.”

  “I’ll still want you to go,” I promise.

  She drops her eyes, but I don’t let myself feel guilty.

  She uses the power of pain.

  She tries to roll up my sleeve, but the salty ocean and the sand have made the fabric too stiff and crunchy. And since unbuttoning my jacket is a two-hand job, she has to help me.

  Our fingers bump eleventy billion times. It gets extra weird when she has to peel off the whole thing—especially since the black tank underneath is so tight that even I want to make fun of it.

  Aston whistles. “Well now, someone’s been doing their sit-ups.”

  “Don’t make me kick you again,” I warn him.

  “I’d love to see you try.”

  Solana ignores us, retying my bandage extra tight.

  “Uh, are you trying to cut off the feeling in my fingers?” I ask.

  “I need to limit your range of motion,” she explains, helping me back into my coat. “If you tear the wound again, we’re going to have to put your arm in a splint.”

  “Hey, this was your fault—not mine.”

  “I know.” Her eyes move to her hands. “And I know what you must think of me—”

  “That you’re even creepier than her?” I interrupt, pointing to where Arella sits. She’s free of Aston’s bonds, but still lost in her own pain, and she keeps scratching at her arms and staring at nothing, like a monkey that’s been in the zoo way too long.

  “Even she won’t touch that power, Solana. Think about that.”

  “I have,” she says. “I try not to use it. I never wanted to in the first place. But I didn’t have a choice.”

  “God—why is that everyone’s excuse all the time?” I ask. “At least when I screw up, I can admit I was an idiot.”

  “You’re always an idiot,” Aston says, sidling up to join our conversation. “But this kind of thing doesn’t happen by accident. Our girl here had to choose.”

  Solana’s hand moves to her wrist, her fingers tracing the V in the design on her link, which definitely doesn’t help my mood.

  “Os was the one who taught me,” she mumbles. “During the last battle, right before you found us in that cave.”

  I remember that moment. A Westerly had led me there, screaming about stopping a traitor. Guess there were two traitors I should’ve been worrying about.

  “ We were trapped,” Solana says, like that makes it better. “The Living Storms were hunting us down—and there was no wind and no hope of reinforcements. The only things that worked were Os’s altered wind spikes. So he made me memorize the command he was using to make them, in case anything happened to him. He taught me another word too, but I had no idea what it was for. I wasn’t planning to use any of it—even when the Storm grabbed me, I held back. But then . . . you saved me. And we rushed to the Maelstrom. And when Gus and Audra
weren’t there, you started freaking out. You were pounding on Arella’s cell—and I knew I was the reason you hadn’t gotten there sooner, so . . . I tried using the command like a password. And it worked.”

  I vaguely remember her saying something I couldn’t understand—but if I’d known it was the power of pain, I’d . . .

  Actually, I don’t know what I would’ve done.

  Arella was my only chance of finding out what happened to Audra and Gus.

  “So that’s it?” I ask. “You only know those two words?”

  “That’s not how the power works,” Aston jumps in. “You don’t have a breakthrough. It’s deeper than that. Once you use it, it becomes a need. That’s why she was able to absorb that broken draft I coiled around her.” He smiles at Solana. “Felt good, didn’t it?”

  “I never told it to do that,” Solana argues.

  “You don’t have to. The need works on instinct.”

  He snarls a word, ruining a nearby Northerly before he swirls it around her.

  The draft disappears under Solana’s skin.

  “There it is,” Aston whispers. “The hunger in your eyes, craving that delicious rush as it takes over you.”

  “There’s no rush,” Solana insists.

  Aston sounds almost dreamy as he whispers, “Yes there is. It’s the sweet bliss of power mixed with the thrill of doing something so wrong it can’t help but feel right. And it must be even better for you, getting to keep the wind swirling under your skin.”

  Solana tries to blink it away, but I can see what Aston means. She looks like a junkie who just took a hit of the really good stuff, and can’t wait to get another.

  “I have it totally under control,” she promises me.

  “Not possible.” Aston tangles two more grayish drafts around her, and she soaks them up with a slight shiver.

  “Like a true addict,” he whispers.

  “That’s not fair! I can’t send them off without using the power of pain. So either way I’m affected.”

  “Oh, there’s another way,” Aston says. “But the need blinds you. Believe me, darling. I know better than anyone. It’ll be more gradual for you, because you aren’t using it all the time—yet. But eventually you won’t even think of the other languages. Pain will be the only words you speak—the only words you want.”

  “Which is why you need to go,” I tell her. “There’s already too many crazies on this mission. I don’t have room for any more.”

  “But you need me,” she says, still fiddling with her stupid link. “I’m the only one who can get us into Brezengarde—you heard Aston. He said it’s impossible.”

  “It is impossible,” Aston corrects. “But I’m sure I’ll cook up something—”

  “It won’t be better than my way,” Solana argues. “I know how to find the Royal Passage. It’s the path my father escaped through—only those in my family know it exists.”

  “But how do you know about it?” I have to ask.

  I’m not all that up on my Windwalker history, but I’m pretty sure I remember Gus telling me her parents died when she was still a baby.

  “My parents sent me their memories as they were killed—kind of like passing on a gift. I didn’t get everything. And some of them I still don’t understand. But the details of my father’s escape are incredibly clear. The fortress is mostly underground, in a web of tunnels. It’s a defense mechanism—if anyone invades, they’d have to navigate the labyrinth. But the builder also had to ensure the royal family wouldn’t get caught in the same trap. So he built the Royal Passage, a secret path in and out of Brezengarde. It’s not on any of the maps or blueprints. The only people who can find it are those in the royal line who know the trick.”

  “Convenient how this is coming up now,” Aston says.

  “You think I wanted to share my family’s oldest secret with her?” She points to Arella, then focuses back on Aston. “Or you? I figured I’d make sure you at least stayed loyal long enough to reach the base of Raiden’s fortress. But Vane needs proof now, so . . .”

  She finishes with a shrug.

  Aston circles around her. “I can’t tell if she’s bluffing. I don’t think she’s that good. But I’ve been through every inch of that fortress and I never saw anything like what you’re describing.”

  “That’s the point,” Solana says.

  She turns to me, the craving for her new power gone from her eyes and replaced with something that feels a whole lot more innocent. “I can get us inside the fortress. We can save them, Vane. You just have to trust me.”

  “That’s the problem,” I mumble. “I don’t.”

  “I do,” Arella says from behind us.

  She stands on shaky legs and stumbles to our side, looking pale and sweaty and haggard. “Can’t you hear it?”

  I’m pretty sure she’s proving my point about too many psychos on this mission. But I strain to listen and . . .

  Yep. Nothing.

  “The Southerlies’ songs have shifted,” she says, drawing the winds closer.

  The drafts drift around us, and even Aston closes his eyes to listen.

  “Southerlies usually mourn change,” Arella says. “And sing of things lost or slipping away. But now . . .”

  The whispers are so soft I barely hear them. But all the drafts sing together, united in a single verse.

  Rise beyond doubt and storm forward.

  Solana blinks back tears. “They know I won’t use the power of pain against them.”

  I’m pretty sure that’s not the kind of promise she can actually keep. But if the wind is going to trust her, I guess that means I have to do the same.

  “Fine,” I say. “Let’s go find that secret tunnel.”

  CHAPTER 12

  AUDRA

  Raiden proposed to my mother.

  The words flit around my mind, refusing to settle.

  I know my mother’s beauty and power earned her attention from many men. And I know Raiden began his career as a high-ranking Gale.

  But still.

  The thought of them together makes me want to laugh—and throw up in my mouth.

  “It was more about mutual advantage than desire,” Raiden says, though I notice he’s still stroking one of her ravens. “But when I see her fire in you, I can’t help mourning what we could’ve created.”

  Now I really might throw up—and I silently thank my mother for marrying my father.

  “You have too much of him in you,” Raiden says, as though he knows what I’m thinking. “But you still have her drive and ambition. Don’t squander it like your mother did. Give me one Westerly command, and you have my word that I will spare you through these final battles.”

  His tone is surprisingly sincere.

  But I know better than to be tempted.

  Raiden’s a cyclone, snatching things up and hurling them back out when he’s finished.

  Nothing survives his path.

  “You think you’re so wise,” I say, too disgusted to hold back my anger. “You think you’re some brave leader destined to rule the world. But you’re just a fool shouting at the wind, trying to pretend he’s stronger.”

  Gusts crackle around me, turning the song of the wind chimes deep and ominous.

  “Well,” he says, turning slowly away from me. “Clearly I have my answer.”

  He strokes the raven one final time.

  Then he snaps its feathered neck.

  The other raven shrieks and flies to the top of her cage. I can feel her fury and heartache wafting through the air.

  Ravens mate for life.

  She will mourn this loss until her final breath.

  “Sentiment,” Raiden says as I bite back my tears. “Such a dangerous waste. Your mother proved that to me. And now I’ll prove it to you.”

  He spins around, knocking me to the ground with his whip of winds—but once again my Westerly spares me most of the pain.

  “The wind won’t shield you from blades. Did you think I’d forgotten?�
�� His whip cracks against my side, right where his windslicer left its jagged gash. “You think it’s fear you’re feeling—but it’s doubt. Your essence knows this isn’t your fight. You’re an Easterly. Your winds are survivors. But it’s too late to change your mind.”

  He drags me to my feet and presses his knife against my right shoulder. The needled blade slices through my coat as though the thick fabric were made of air.

  “One word,” he tells me. “One word of Westerly.”

  I focus on the lonely raven, crying for the loss of her companion. “There’s nothing you can do to me that will ever make me help you.”

  Pain stings me then.

  And again.

  And once more.

  “No tears,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s livid or impressed. “Don’t worry—they’ll come.” His breath is humid in my ear as he whispers, “My winds tell me your precious Westerly is on his way. He’ll be here tonight. Then the real fun begins.”

  I feel another sting, on my left shoulder this time. Longer than the other, but I’m too dazed to react.

  Vane came after me.

  The thought cuts deeper than Raiden’s blade as he slices me again, across the lower part of my back.

  “That’s enough for now,” he says, sheathing the knife. “Can’t have you losing too much blood. I want you awake when I tear your love apart piece by piece.”

  “I thought you wanted his power.”

  “That’s how I’ll get it. You share another thing with your mother. You both crumble to protect your men.”

  He drags me back to the dungeon, nearly dislocating my shoulder in the process.

  A new Stormer is waiting for us there, a woman with black, angled hair. I assume she’s Nalani.

  “The prisoner needs new clothes,” Raiden tells her, shoving me into her arms. “But do not treat her wounds. I want them to scar.”

  Nalani nods.

  “What about that one?” She points to Gus’s cell. “He doesn’t have long left. And he’s starting to smell.”

  Raiden’s nose crinkles as he sniffs the air. “Put her in there with him. Let her watch his life drain away. And when he’s gone, bring me his body.”