CHAPTER 8
AUDRA
I
can handle this.
I have to.
It’s not just about staying alive. It’s about protecting the fourth
language. Keeping it from falling into Raiden’s hands.
I run and squat by the largest piece of driftwood, keeping my back to it as I try to pick up my attacker’s trace. But the air is empty. Stripped of any winds. Severing the pull of my bond and leaving me clueless.
Defenseless.
But not completely without hope.
Whoever my attacker is, they couldn’t take away the Westerly I’d
coiled around my wrist, and I concentrate on the cool draft, wishing there were some secret code word I could say to twist it into the ultimate weapon. Though, at this point I’d almost prefer a shield.
“Shield.”
The word slips off my lips without my meaning to, like my inherited Westerly instincts have taken over. And the wind obeys, stretching thin and wide before blanketing me like a second skin of breezes. I have no idea how much protection it will really provide, but I’ll take any help I can get.
Without the crisp ocean winds, the beach has turned sweltering. I suspect my attacker is trying to sweat me out. Hide in the shadows of their cave while I bake out here in the sun. But I’ve braved ten years in the desert.
I can handle a little heat.
I duck into what little shade the driftwood log provides and scour the beach for sharp rocks. The sea has smoothed most of the stones, but I find one with a deep crack, and when I slam it against the side of the driftwood, it splits, leaving me two halves with rough, jagged edges. I shove them in my pockets.
A draft springs to life behind me, whipping my hair with such a frenzy it unravels my braid. I shake the dark waves out of my face as another wind rips away my guardian pendant and sends it rolling across the beach, burying the blue cord in the sand. I move to chase it and a new wind whips me backward, sending me somersaulting so many times I lose track of where I am. But when I pull myself up I have no cuts or scrapes.
My shield is living up to its name—though I wonder how much abuse it can really take.
I stand again, facing the caves.
“Your tricks do not impress me,” I shout, earning myself another faceful of sand. I spit out the grit and clear my throat. “They’re not going to frighten me either.”
The winds swell again, shoving my feet out from under me and sending me sprawling into the rocks.
I pull myself back up, tired of getting tossed around and humiliated. Plus, those tricks have given me an idea.
“Is that really all you can do?” I call, letting my voice crack this time, like I’m starting to break.
Two drafts surge in response, but before they can attack, I command the winds to obey
me
, and mercifully they listen. I coil them into a wind spike, wishing I had a third wind to make it stronger. But the two winds still form a cold spear of air, and I hold it in front of me like a sword as I scan the beach, pointing the sharpest end at every shadowed area.
A strange hiss slices through the air and a new gust appears, weaving itself into my wind spike and spinning so fast the weapon turns hot. I try to bear the pain, but when my skin starts to blister I’m forced to drop it, and it explodes in an enormous blast of scorching air. My shield spares me the cuts and bruises as I tumble across the beach like a fallen leaf. But when I try to run forward, another draft knocks me back.
Then another.
And another.
They shove me into the ocean, and I scream as a giant wave washes me away.
Salt seeps into my blisters as I fight to keep my head above the freezing water, but more waves wash over me, dragging me away from the air. My lungs burn and my head spins as I crash on the sand, gasping for breath.
I crawl toward the beach, but another wave sucks me back, spinning me around before slamming me onto the shore.
Then again.
And again.
It’s a never-ending cycle of pain, and my poor Westerly shield starts to unravel. I could command it to re-form, but I know it’s not going to save me.
My attacker is too strong—too full of tricks and traps and schemes. I’ll never get out of this free, and I won’t let them take me. I’ve seen the horrors Raiden’s subjected the other Westerlies to, and I can’t let that happen to me. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to resist, and I
won’t
be the one to let the fourth language fall into Raiden’s hands.
Ending things now is the only way to protect the Westerly language, and what better chance will I have than in the cold, churning ocean?
Lost to the sea.
It’s one of the worst deaths a sylph can face.
Away from the sky.
Away from the air.
But the Westerly tongue will stay safe.
And at least I have a chance to say goodbye.
I rally my strength, and when the next wave slams me into the shore, I use the last of my energy to crawl forward a few extra feet. It won’t spare me for long, but it gives me the seconds I need to send one final message to Vane.
I uncoil my Westerly shield, wishing the draft felt faster and stronger. The sluggish wind won’t reach him for days, and in its weakened state it will only be able to hold two short words.
The last two words I’ll ever say.
“Love you” is on the tip of my tongue, but at the last second I change my mind.
Vane knows that.
I think he knew it before I did.
Besides, there’s only one thing I really want him to know.
One thing that might help him to hold it together when my echo—the part of me that will float on the breeze, telling him the story of what happened—reaching him.
Telling him I’m gone forever.
I add my words to the wind’s song and send the gust to the sky.
Then I close my eyes and wait for the water to wash me away.
CHAPTER 9
VANE
I
should be angry.
The woman who murdered my family and ruined Audra’s life is standing ten feet away, separated by only a thin wall of chains.
But when I look closer at her, all I feel is pity.
Arella used to be this gifted, powerful beauty.
Now she looks pale and greasy, her pants and tank top filthy and
ripped, like the crazy homeless lady who hangs outside the grocery store muttering about people stealing her socks.
Still, I don’t like the way she’s pressed up against the chains, like she’s trying to get as close to me as she can. Whatever she thinks, she’s not going to be able to manipulate me. I won’t even give her the chance to try.
“I changed my mind,” I say, spinning around to find Os blocking the exit. “I can’t stay here.”
Os shakes his head. “You need to rest.”
“Then move Arella—”
“I can’t, Vane. I built the Maelstrom for her. It was the only way I could keep her contained.”
“They’re afraid of me,” Arella chimes in, laughing when I turn to glare at her. “But don’t worry, down here I’m completely useless.” She rattles the chains, her skinny arms flexing and straining. The metal barely wiggles. “See?”
Os marches toward her, stepping right in her face. “If you do
anything
to bother Vane, I will have the guard silence you. I’m sure you remember how unpleasant that was.”
“I do.” She says it with a slight smile, but her voice cracks and what little color she had seems to drain from her skin.
“Good.” Os gives me what I’m assuming is meant to be a reassuring smile as he says, “Rest well, Your Highness.”
Oh yeah, because nothing says “rest” like being locked up with a psychopath in a place too creepy to let normal people know about.
I try to look confident as he leaves, but everything inside me shudders when the weird mesh curtain latches closed, leaving me trapped underground with the devil woman.
I turn my back on her and study my tiny cell.
Stubby candles are set into the spinning walls to provide faint light, though their glow seems strange. It takes me a second to realize it’s because they don’t flicker. Their flames are solid and steady, and even when I blow on them nothing happens, like the air is swallowed as soon as it leaves my lips.
“Feels wrong, doesn’t it?” Arella whispers.
I ignore her, making my way to the pile of fluffy things and collapsing on my back.
I close my eyes, and they burn behind my eyelids, like they’re screaming at me for keeping them open too long.
I let out a slow breath, trying to relax.
“So it’s Your Highness now,” Arella says, refusing to be ignored. “Does that mean I should congratulate my daughter on being queen?”
Faster that I thought possible, I’m on my feet and across the room, slamming my fist against the chains. “There is nothing between me and Au—”
“Relax, Vane,” she whispers, leaning closer instead of backing away. Her breath smells like a rat crawled into her mouth and died as she tells me, “I haven’t told them about you two and I don’t intend to.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Of course there isn’t.”
She smiles.
I back away. “Whatever you think you know—you’re wrong. And if you don’t shut up right now, I’ll call the guard and have him silence you.”
“Oh, fine, have it your way. But if there
were
something to tell, your secret would be safe with me.”
“Right. Like I’d ever trust you.”
“Look at me, Vane.”
She waits for me to meet her eyes and I’m struck by how much they remind me of Audra’s. The same dark blue that almost looks black. The same intense stare.
“In a strange way, I should be thanking you,” she whispers. “I never realized how much the winds affected me—how much the pain fueled my life. Not until you had them suck all the winds away. It was like I could finally
think
again, after living in a fog for so long.”
She steps back, rubbing the skin on her arms.
Audra never told me much about her mother, but I know she feels things on the wind that no one else can. A rare gift that gives her crucial insights. And causes her incredible pain.
“I won’t waste my time apologizing for what I’ve done,” she says after a moment. “But I do want you to know that it wasn’t
me.
Not really. My gift is very . . . confusing.”
“Hey—you know what else is confusing? Growing up an orphan with no memories of my past. And I’m betting Audra thought it was pretty confusing growing up without a father—especially since you let her believe she killed him.”
I’m done with this conversation.
I stalk back to my pillows, lying on my side with my back to her.
“How is she?”
There’s an ache in Arella’s voice that I’m not used to hearing. It
almost
sounds like she cares
.
And even though I’m sure it’s all part of her game, I decide to answer her question.
“She’s free.”
“Good.”
I glance over my shoulder, stunned by the peaceful smile spread across her lips.
This woman is a murderer,
I remind myself.
“You’re wasting your time with this
I’m a changed woman
act. I don’t buy it—and Audra won’t either. You’re lucky I stopped her from killing you that day in the desert.”
“You mean when she was attacking me with Westerlies?”
She drags out the last word as she raises one eyebrow.
I sit up, trying to stay calm. “I taught her a few commands.”
“I’m sure you did. But you haven’t taught anyone else, have you? I wonder why that is.” Arella presses her face against the chains, smashing her pale skin through the gaps. “There’s no point denying it, Vane. I can see it in your eyes. But I’m not going to tell the Gales, if you’re wondering. I see no point in being on the bad side of the only person who can release me. Or his future wife.”
The word “wife” throws me. I guess Audra
will
be my wife someday, given that we’re already bonded
.
But that’s still a weird thought.
I try to picture Audra and me living in a house somewhere like normal people—though
is
that how normal sylphs live? All I’ve ever seen are the Gales, and my only childhood memories are from when we were on the run. I have no idea how it works for regular Windwalkers.
Of course, if I’m king, wouldn’t we be living in some sort of crazy wind palace?
Focus, Vane.
Psycho woman threatening you right now
.
“If you think you can convince me to let you out of here, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought. So why don’t you skip the whole blackmailing thing and let me get some sleep?”
“You do look exhausted, Vane. When was the last time you slept?” “I don’t remember,” I admit, lying back down and rolling away.
She’s quiet for so long I start to drift off—or I must have because when she finally speaks it makes me jump.
“Is it nightmares or fantasies?”
The question is so spot-on I can’t help turning back to face her. “How did you know?”
“The winds told me many things about Raiden’s tricks. I’ve just never seen their effect.” She squints at me, and it’s like she’s staring into my brain. “It’s been nightmares mostly, hasn’t it? Though I’m sure the fantasies linger? And I bet I know what they were about.”
Okay, that’s just creepy.
“Stop acting like you know me.”
“But I do know you, Vane. We’re not as different as you’d like to believe. We both know how to break the rules and take risks when it comes to something we really want.”
“You realize you’re talking about
murdering my parents
, right?”
Does she really not get that I could order her execution if I wanted to?
Well, I think I could.
I could certainly try.
“I’m just trying to show you that I can help you. Whatever games Raiden’s playing. Whatever brought you down here, pale and weak and willing to be locked underground in this miserable place just so you can finally sleep. I can stop it. It’s my gift.”
I watch her rub the skin on her arms and hate myself for being a tiny bit curious.
If anyone could figure out how to block Raiden’s winds, it’s Arella. But she’s forgetting one key detail.
“So let’s say I actually believe that you’ve changed and are no longer the heartless, murdering psychopath we all know and hate. If I ship you back up to fresh air and put you to work protecting me, how long before the madness takes over again? How long before you’re back to scheming and betraying and not caring who gets hurt—or killed—in the process?”
“It wouldn’t be—”
“Yes, it would.”
I turn my back again—for real this time.
Still, I can’t quite tune her out as she tells me, “I can help you, Vane. I might be the only one who can.”