It would explain the sparks we feel when we touch, and the way I’ve been able to see her in my dreams.
And it would mean Audra did nothing wrong today by kissing me. We were already connected, long before the Gales made their little betrothal.
I’m just not sure if that’s true. Or possible.
“You should go,” I tell her, helping her sit up.
“You’re sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine. In fact, I’m looking forward to finally meeting these Gales of yours. I have a few bones to pick with them.”
She gives a sad smile. “Don’t get yourself exiled.”
“Please—I’m the last Westerly. I’m gold.”
Her smile fades.
“I’ll be fine.” I cup her cheek, pulling her face toward me. Ready to kiss her goodbye.
At the last second I shift and kiss her forehead. It’s not time to say goodbye. I’ll never say goodbye again.
“I’ll see you soon,” I whisper.
“How will you get home? You won’t be able to fly that far.”
“I’ll have one of the Gales give me a lift. They owe me. Just go. Clean yourself up. No offense—but you kinda need it.”
She smiles for real this time, and shoves me. “You’re pretty filthy yourself.”
“You love that about me.”
Her face turns serious. “I do.”
My heart swells, and I’m ready to change my mind and kiss her goodbye like she’s never been kissed goodbye before. But she calls a group of Easterlies to her side. Our eyes hold as she wraps the drafts around her and floats slowly away.
Audra’s mom doesn’t stir, but I coil a couple of Westerlies around her hands and feet just to be safe. Then I squat in the shade of a windmill and watch the sky. The winds whip around me, filling the air with songs asking the same question in my head.
What now?
I don’t know.
But . . . maybe I don’t need to know. I love Audra. She loves me. We survived the storm. We finally know the truth about our pasts.
Isn’t that enough?
“Who are you?” a man’s voice asks, and I nearly pee my pants.
I turn to face a tall man wearing the same black uniform as Audra.
A Gale.
His dark, shoulder-length hair has an intricate braid running down one side of his narrow, wide-eyed face—but half of his hair remains loose. Maybe that means he’s special. Which would be awesome because I have some demands for him.
“Vane Weston,” I say, standing and offering a hand to shake. “Maybe you’ve heard of me?”
His eyes widen, and he turns to Arella’s unconscious form. “What happened?”
“Better have a seat. You and I have a lot to talk about.”
CHAPTER 58
AUDRA
I didn’t plan to return to my mother’s house. I never wanted to see it again. But the winds seemed to steer me here. Like there’s something they want me to find.
I stand in the shade of the oak where I swore my oath to the Gales. The oath I’ve now broken.
What will I do without its rigid structure guiding my life?
What do I have left?
Vane.
I feel like I should add a question mark to the end of his name. Every thought around him is a question.
How can we be together?
How do I let him in?
How do I have anything normal, when my life’s been shredded to bits, turned inside out, painted different colors and reassembled in an order I don’t recognize?
How?
The heat starts to suffocate me, so I make my way to the dark, creaky house. My mother’s trace hangs so heavily in the air it’s like she’s here.
A ghost. A shadow. Following my every step.
My hands graze the cold walls as I move down the empty hall. Guiding me to the one thing I have to see.
The wind chimes hang over the table, still and silent. Suffocated.
I reach up and slide them off the hook, my eyes burning as the chimes tinkle from the motion. I run my fingers over the intricate etchings my father made on the graceful blackbird.
This was how he saw my mother.
Beautiful.
Wild.
Perfect.
Sobs choke me as I remove his pendant from my pocket, and my tears drip on the black cord. But it doesn’t hurt to let them out. For the first time, I’m glad he’s gone. He doesn’t have to see her for who she really is.
Or maybe he knew.
Maybe he saw something during the storm. Maybe that’s why he sent his gift to me instead of her. He knew I would use it for good.
I’ll never know for sure.
But I hope not.
I drape the pendant around the blackbird’s neck and knot the cord tight. Let him rest with the version of her he loved.
Now it’s time to set him free.
I kick the dust off my feet as I retreat down the hall and cross the threshold. Then I close the door on that chapter of my life and step into the winds.
The air is full of Easterlies, and when I concentrate, I hear one singing the song I always listen for. The song I sometimes believe is my father’s windsong.
I raise the chimes to the winds and hook them from the porch’s eaves, letting the tinkling melody join in the chorus. The soft, familiar sound fills the air, and I realize I’m asking myself the wrong question.
Not How?