“How? I wasn’t allowed to talk to him until his mind broke through, and I tried not to let him see me.”
My mother sighs. “And that was your mistake. You’re a beautiful girl, Audra. You should be able to turn boys to mush with a simple smile, and use that to your advantage.”
Easy for her to say. My mother can melt the heart of any man—sylph or groundling—with one toss of her shiny hair or a single wink of her sapphire-blue eyes.
“I don’t know how to make Vane feel that way,” I admit, shaking my hand as my fingers tingle again. Remembering Vane’s warmth. “I’m not like you. I can’t have any guy I want.”
“Neither can I.” Her right hand darts to her chest, clutching the silver feather hanging from a black cord at the nape of her neck.
My father’s guardian pendant.
I have a similar necklace tucked under my jacket, though my cord is blue. My life force still flows through mine.
I nearly gag on the emotions as I swallow them.
I study my mother. Shadows under her eyes. Thin frown lines at the corners of her mouth. They appeared the day we lost my father—instant aging. And they’ve only deepened with time. My mother’s bond should’ve broken with my father’s death. But somehow it seems stronger. Like she’s clinging to it, fierce and white-knuckled, refusing to let go. Much like her refusal to remove their link.
The wide gold cuff has covered her left wrist since my father clamped it there when they made their official vows. But the jeweled rings in the center have lost their shine. And the intricate blackbird mounted across them looks worn and tarnished. Like it’s been rubbed dull by nervous fingers.
I clear the thickness from my throat. “It’s better if Vane doesn’t care for me. That would only complicate things when he learns about Solana.”
My mother nods, conceding my point. The Gales have big plans for Vane. Nothing can or should get in the way.
“Still—calling a Northerly? You couldn’t think of any safer way to prevent the bond?”
I stare at the floor, tracing trails in the wood grain with the toe of my polished boot. She’s right again. I panicked. I saw Vane lean toward that girl and I just . . . reacted.
But what was I supposed to do? A Northerly was the only wind strong enough to shove him away, and there hadn’t been any nearby.
Though . . . I suppose I could have had Gavin swoop between them. The thought didn’t occur to me. Some guardian I’m turning out to be.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” my mother says quietly. “You’re good at calling the wind when you’re not supposed to.”
If she punched me in the stomach it would hurt less.
“What’s done is done, and I can’t undo it,” I whisper, reminding myself as much as her. “I’ve hidden the trail as much as I can and I’ll train Vane to fight. But we need help. Will you call the Gales?”
Her slender fingers stroke my father’s pendant, and she stares at the still, silent wind chimes when she answers. “No.”
“What?” Surely she won’t deny a request this important just to spite me.
My mother shakes her head, like she knows what I’m thinking. “Raiden’s launched an all-out attack against the Gale Force, determined to extinguish our resistance. They can’t afford to spare anyone—especially for such an easily resolved problem.”
It takes me a second to find my voice, and another after that to choke back my anger. “I know you’ll never forgive me for what happened to Dad—but this isn’t about me.”
“Of course it isn’t. You have no idea what we’ve been up against these last few years. You live, breathe, and sleep Vane Weston. You don’t hear how many bases Raiden found. How many Gales have been slaughtered. Raiden learned all of our secret workings from those guardians he tortured. Our depleted force is under constant attack. Calls for aid have to be restricted to absolute emergencies.”
“But this is an emergency. Vane’s too important to put at risk. Plus, the groundlings in the valley could be killed.”
“Then it’s up to you to train him and defend them.”
“How? What can I teach him in three days?”
“Three days,” my mother murmurs. She raises her arm, letting her fingers dance like they’re playing an invisible instrument. Feeling the mood of the air. “I can buy you more time.”
“I already stalled them every—”
“I do not share your limitations.” She turns toward me, her arm a blur as she sweeps it upward, twisting her wrist and gripping the air in one fluid motion. I jump as a loud crack shatters the silent night, followed by a thunderous crash outside.
I don’t need to look through the window to know she’s used the wind to tear a branch from the oak and then hammered it against the ground. Controlling the wind without words, manipulating it entirely through touch. Another artful trick I’ve seen my mother perform dozens of times. Another skill only she understands.