Let the Storm Break Read online

  I sulk at the ground.

  “Just talk to her. You might be surprised at how much she can help you.”

  “But . . .”

  I realize I’m out of excuses.

  All I have left is that I don’t want to—and I’m not even sure if that’s true anymore.

  “Fine,” I mumble, refusing to look up and see Gus’s smug grin. “Tell the Gales I’ll try training with her. But not until tomorrow. Tonight, I need a break.”

  “Sounds fair,” Gus agrees.

  I have a feeling I’m going to regret this. But at least I’ll get a chance to apologize to Solana for the way I acted.

  Gus waits for me to head back toward my house, but I can’t make my legs cooperate. My mom will be there, waiting to finish our fight—and I’m just not up for it today.

  I lean against the crumbling wall, feeling the sharp stucco poke my skin. “I know it’s your job to protect me, Gus, and I really appreciate what you do. But I’m going insane here. Is there any way you could give me a few hours alone?”

  “I don’t know, man, if you doze off and something happens—”

  “I won’t. I’ll do jumping jacks the whole time if you need me to.” I start jumping and waving my arms and manage to do about twenty before I get winded. “Okay, maybe I’ll just pace or something.”

  Gus laughs as I bend to catch my breath. “It’s always so inspiring to see our ultimate warrior in action.”

  “Hey, I’d like to see you—actually, never mind.”

  Gus could probably do jumping jacks all day—and then run thirty miles to cool down.

  “My point was, I’ll find a way to stay awake,” I tell him. “Just, please. I need some space or I’m going to lose it.”

  Gus closes his eyes and stretches out his hands. “The winds do feel pretty calm right now, so I guess I can leave you here and keep Feng away. But you owe me.”

  I can’t help smiling. “Sounds fair.”

  He waits for me to start pacing before he leaves, and every few steps he turns back to make sure I’m still moving. I keep it up until he’s gone. Then I call a draft and float myself to the top of the nearest palm tree.

  I know I’m not high enough to feel Audra’s trace—but I have to try anyway. I have to find some way to reach her.

  “Come on, Audra,” I whisper, struggling to concentrate and keep my balance on the wobbly palm branches. “Give me something—I’m dying here.”

  I push my senses as far as they can go, and, almost like she hears me—or the universe decides to finally cut me a freaking break—I actually feel something. A hint of warmth carried on a breeze that’s barely within my reach.

  A Westerly.

  It’s not her trace. I don’t actually know what it is.

  But it’s there.

  My voice shakes as I call the draft to my side, ordering it to fly slow and steady so the Gales won’t notice the movement. The warm tingling increases as the draft draws near—and when it finally sweeps to my side, I can feel it’s a weary wind, singing of a long journey and the burden it carries.

  A whispered message from Audra.

  Tears prick my eyes.

  She finally reached out to me.

  Maybe she’ll tell me where she is.

  Maybe she’s actually coming home.

  I hold my breath as the breeze unravels, releasing the words Audra wove inside.

  Only two of them—and not the ones I’d been hoping for.

  Not ones I even know how to understand.

  I listen to the message over and over but it still won’t make any sense.

  She could’ve told me anything in the world. And she chose to tell me: I’m sorry.

  CHAPTER 16

  AUDRA

  You’ve been staring into space for a troubling amount of time now,” Aston says, snapping his fingers in front of my eyes. The drafts in the cave disappear, leaving us in still silence.

  Aston sighs when I don’t say anything.

  “I don’t see why you’re so upset. Just because a bond can be broken doesn’t mean it will be—and given that your little boyfriend didn’t hold any part of himself back, I don’t think you have to worry about him choosing freedom. Unless this is the chance you’ve been hoping for.”

  “No!”

  The word echoes off the cave walls, and I focus on the pull in my chest, hating to feel it fading now that Aston’s cut me off from the wind again.

  My bond is the one thing that I thought no one could take away.

  The Gales may not like it.

  Vane may decide I don’t deserve it anymore.

  But it’s supposed to be permanent.

  If it can be broken, then . . .

  I don’t even know how to finish that sentence.

  “How?” I finally manage to ask. “How do you break a bond?”

  “It depends. If you’re doing it yourself, it’s a bit like shifting. Your instincts guide you, and all you do is listen—and suffer through the pain. If someone else is doing it for you, well, I’ve never had the particular pleasure, but I’ve seen Raiden do it enough times to know that it’s . . . unpleasant.”

  He gets up, barely leaving footprints in the sand as he moves to the cave’s entrance and stares out at the sky. The afternoon sun seeps through his wounds and I can’t help feeling sorry for him.

  He’s the victim, not the villain.

  “Let me go,” I whisper. “You know how it feels to be held against your will. Are you really going to do that to me?”

  He stays quiet so long, the sun sinks beneath the ocean. It’s a dull blue-gray sunset that paints the whole world in shadow.

  “Nice try,” Aston says when he finally turns back to me. “Appealing to my common decency is a clever play—I wasn’t expecting it. But you’re forgetting something.”

  He snarls a word and the winds binding me tighten, digging into my skin.

  “I have no decency.”

  My bonds clamp even tighter, and I’m barely able to bite back my cry of pain. But I still don’t believe him.

  He’s spared my life. Treated my wound.

  There has to be a way to get through to him.

  So I don’t struggle, suffering in silence as he wanders around the cave, gathering the tiny green crabs skittering across the rocks. He bundles them up in his cloak and carries them toward the entrance, where he barks a sharp word and a small pile of dried seaweed erupts into flames.

  He tosses a handful of crabs into the fire and they thrash and flail for a few seconds before lying down to die.

  “I’m sorry for losing my temper,” he says, reaching straight into the fire to snatch out the seared bodies. “Let’s not let it spoil our lovely dinner, shall we?”

  He hisses a command that relaxes the winds binding me.

  I try to move to a more comfortable position, but all I really manage is to shift my weight onto the rocks in my pocket, making them cut into my leg.

  He approaches with a handful of roasted crabs, dangling one under my nose. “They taste better than they look.”

  Somehow I doubt that. The tiny, scorched body looks like one of the spiders I used to find hiding in my bed of palm leaves.

  But even if they taste like the cheeseburger Vane bought me on that crazy, indulgent day, I’d find a way to resist. I can’t have more ties to the earth. Not when any second Aston could call for my essence and crumble me to dust.

  “I don’t eat,” I tell him.

  “Ah yes, the guardian’s life of deprivation. How I do not miss those days.” He shoves the crab in his mouth, crunching on the spindly, blackened legs. “Another advantage to Raiden’s methods. No sacrifice required.”

  “Unless you count destroying the wind and taking the lives of innocent people and losing your sanity.”

  “Perhaps,” he agrees, crunching on another crab. He sits down across from me. “But I wonder if you’d be able to hold to your principles when they cost you something you love. Not your own life—I’ve seen enough to
know that you care nothing for that. But what about loverboy? If Raiden gave you a choice: Ruin the wind or the king dies, which would you choose?”

  “There’s always another option.”

  “Believe me, Raiden is a master at controlling all the variables.” He points to the twenty-nine holes on his shoulder. “Pick!”

  “But it’s not a logical comparison. Of course I’d save Vane—he’s the last Westerly. Keeping him alive saves everyone.”

  “Interesting.”

  He hisses something that snuffs out the fire, leaving us in the dark. My eyes slowly adjust to the dim light and I can see him watching me as he finishes his dinner. But he says nothing else.

  Eventually I give in and ask, “Why is it interesting?”

  “Many reasons. But mainly because you seem blindly ignorant to the fact that you know Westerly. So you’re just as capable of saving everyone as he is.”

  “I . . .”

  I can’t believe he’s right.

  And I want to argue that Vane is still more powerful because Westerly is his biological heritage. But . . . he’s also known about his heritage for only a few weeks. Meanwhile I have a lifetime of knowledge—plus a decade of training in the other winds.

  “I can tell I just blew your mind,” Aston says, laughing as he swallows the last crab whole. “Though what I find even more intriguing is that here you are—one of the only two people in the entire world who’s capable of harnessing the power of four. And you’re tied to a rock, completely at my mercy.”

  Shame makes my face burn.

  “It’s not your fault,” he adds quietly. “No one could’ve beaten me. That’s what I keep trying to tell you. The Gales can’t win—even with the power of four. You’re all forgetting that for six years Raiden believed Vane was dead and that the fourth language was lost. Do you think he just sat back on his laurels, pouting because he’d missed his chance? Or do you think he found a better way?”

  He holds out his hand, letting the moonlight shine through his skin.

  The power of pain.

  “But . . . then why does Raiden want Vane so badly?”

  He searched for him tirelessly for four years—sent two of his best Stormers to come get him.

  “Because he always wants more, Audra. And if breaking down the three winds makes him this powerful, why not break down the fourth and have ultimate control? It’s about greed, not fear.”

  I sigh.

  Maybe he’s right.

  Maybe the fight is already lost.

  But . . .

  I stare outside the cave, at the stars slowly peeking out of the velvety black.

  I’m not sure why I always turn to them. All they give are tiny pricks of twinkling light—barely enough to make a dent in the darkness.

  But they’re always there.

  Holding their own.

  Guiding everyone until sunrise.

  And the sun always rises.

  “You’re better off here,” Aston insists, like he knows what I’m thinking. “Better off not wasting your life for a hopeless cause. In a few months—years, however long it takes—the world will crumble to Raiden. And you’ll be glad you’re safe over here. Carrying on in the shadows.”

  “If that’s true, then I would rather die with the rest of the good than live on in the emptiness without it.”

  I turn to study him. His face is a portrait of frustration and pity. But I swear there’s a hint of respect, too.

  It lasts only a second. Then he smirks and says, “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not giving you a choice.”

  I don’t bother replying.

  He’s never going to let me go.

  Not when he’s so convinced that he’s right and I’m wrong and the whole rebellion is a wasted endeavor.

  The only way I’ll get my freedom is to fight for it—steal it back. And I might have a way—though it would be a huge risk. But if I—

  “So how about another song?” Aston asks. “You know, to fill the awkward silence? I so enjoyed your fragile voice earlier.”

  “And what will I get in return?”

  “Hm. Well, I could point out that as your captor I don’t really have to give you anything. But I suppose if you want to turn this into a game, I’ll bite. What would you accept as a fair trade for a song?”

  I choose my answer carefully, though there’s really only one thing I need. “Unbind me.”

  He clicks his tongue. “Sorry, darling, I’m not that easy. Well, not when it comes to that at least.”

  I roll my eyes. “If you’re as powerful as you claim to be, you shouldn’t need bonds to keep me here.”

  “And if you aren’t planning to escape, you shouldn’t have a problem with it.”

  “You’re right, it couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’m losing feeling in my legs.”

  I shift my weight and wince to sell my point.

  “Nope. Pick something else.”

  “There’s nothing else I want.”

  “Then I guess we don’t have a deal.”

  “Then I hope you enjoy the silence.”

  I lean back and close my eyes.

  Several minutes pass. So many I start to worry I pushed too hard.

  Finally he sighs. “All right, fine—new offer. I will untie you—after you sing me a song. But I want a Westerly song.”

  My mouth goes dry.

  “Oh, relax. If Raiden knew a way to absorb a language just by hearing it, he’d already know Westerly by now.”

  “Then why . . . ?”

  “I just . . . want to hear it again.”

  I don’t miss the word “again” in there. But I can tell by the warning in his eyes that it wouldn’t be a good idea to ask about it.

  I can barely find my voice to be able to whisper, “Deal.”

  “Excellent. And you’d better pick a good one.”

  I know exactly which song I’m going to sing. A song that’s hung in the air for most of my journey these last few weeks, giving me hope and spurring me on. Filling me with the warm peace only Westerlies carry.

  But I’m feeling suddenly shy. The only people I’ve ever sung in front of are my parents. Mostly my father, who was the real talent in the family. We always sang duets.

  I close my eyes, picturing my father standing next to me, humming along as I sing the words in the Westerly tongue:

  Whisking through the clouds as the birds pass by

  Ignoring all the storms that try to ruin the sky

  Chasing down the setting sun

  Forever

  And ever

  Never let the day be done

  No never

  Never

  Diving through the stars toward the earth far below

  Rushing through the places no one else dares to go

  Don’t sink into the violent sea

  No never

  Never

  Find the path that sets you free

  Forever

  And ever

  The last note is still heavy in the air when I open my eyes and find Aston wiping away tears.

  “I know you won’t translate it for me,” he says, clearing the thickness from his throat, “but can you tell me what the song’s about?”

  It’s a difficult question.

  The winds’ songs are vague and relative. Everyone interprets them their own way.

  “It’s about finding peace. And not being afraid.”

  “Thank you,” he whispers.

  It takes him a few minutes to compose himself. Then he stands, dusting off his pants. “I guess I need to hold up my end of the deal, then.”

  He crouches in front of me, holding my gaze as he points to the greenish winds binding me. “You’re going to be a good girl, right?”

  I nod.

  But I make sure my hands are as close to my pockets as I can. I’m only going to have one chance for this.

  He orders the draft away.

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling to put him at
ease as I start to stand—and in the same motion I grab a jagged rock from my pocket and knock him to the ground, pinning him with my legs as I press the sharp edge against his neck.

  Do it! my head screams, knowing I have only a few seconds left. Sever his vocal cords and run.

  But when I see the stream of blood trickling from where the rock digs in and imagine spilling more, stabbing and slicing and stealing his voice—and probably his life—my head spins and my body shakes and I want to throw up and pass out and scream and run and curl into a tiny ball and never get up again.

  I start to sway and he shoves me backward, knocking away my only weapon. I should get up—keep fighting. But I’m too sick to move. I close my eyes, feeling sweat drip down my face as I wait for him to end me.

  “I’m guessing that didn’t go according to plan, now, did it?” he says as he picks me up and carries me across the cave.

  I’m shivering too hard to speak—not that I have anything to say.

  Vane’s Westerly influence sinks far deeper than I realized. I hope that means it will give me the strength I’ll need to protect the language. But how can I fight as a guardian if I can’t do anything violent?

  Aston hisses a word and the fire springs back to life near the entrance. I half expect him to burn me alive, but he sets me down next to it, draping his cloak over my shoulders before he goes to stand on the other side of the flames. Blocking the exit.

  “I’ve got to admit—that was actually a fairly brilliant plan. It probably would have worked if you hadn’t forgotten that you’re bonded to a Westerly!” He holds up the jagged rock I used and I feel dizzy just seeing the bloody point. He shakes his head and flings it into the fire. “You almost killed me.”

  I force myself to meet his eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you. But I can’t stay here. Vane needs me. The Gales—”

  “The Gales are never going to win!”

  “Then I’d rather die with them.”

  He mutters something I can’t understand, and I tense, waiting for some ruined wind to attack. Instead, normal drafts rush in. He sends a swarm of Easterlies to me and they brush my skin, drying my sweat and sharing their energy.