“In a way. Each of the four winds has a language. Only sylphs can understand and speak the languages because we’re part of the wind ourselves. But there’s no magic or spells. Just a simple dialogue between wind and Windwalker.”
I should’ve realized he was confused. It explains why he isn’t taking this as seriously as he needs to. “I can’t believe how little you know about your heritage. I know your mind was wiped, but I thought some things were just . . . instinctive.”
I realize my slip a second too late.
“What do you mean my mind was wiped?”
“Nothing.”
“Like hell it’s nothing.” He scoots closer, the windslicer no longer intimidating him. “Tell me what happened to me. Now.”
I want to be angry with him for once again interrupting this very important lesson—and as his trainer I should demand he pay attention, and whip him around with some winds if he refuses.
But I can’t.
I feel sorry for him.
Sorry for what I know.
Sorry for what I’ve done.
“You have to understand,” I tell him, trying to sound calmer than I feel. “When the Stormer attacked it was like the world ended. Everything gone, destroyed, sucked up, or broken and left in splinters. My mother found us huddled on the ground, sobbing. She didn’t have any choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“No one can hide from Raiden—not for long. We had to make him think we were dead. My mother and I could disappear easily enough, but you were too important. The only place we knew Raiden would never look for you was with the groundlings, and the only way to hide you there was if you didn’t know who or what you are. Humans don’t know we exist—and we couldn’t risk that you would tell them.”
“So she wiped my mind?” His hands tear through his hair, like he’s trying to feel for a wound or injury. “What the hell did she do to my brain?”
“She called a Southerly and sent it deep into your subconscious. The wind did the rest.”
I can still remember the way his skinny, bruised body collapsed to the ground as she wrapped the draft around him and sent it into his mind. My mother didn’t explain what was happening. So he turned his wide, terrified eyes to me, silently begging me to help him.
Vane watches me now, looking so much like the little boy that day it nearly takes my breath away. I owe him the truth. As much as I’m willing to tell, at least.
“You said it felt like a million butterflies were flapping around in your brain,” I whisper. “I held your hand and told you to close your eyes. When you woke a few hours later, you didn’t remember much of anything. The wind wiped all your memories away.”
Vane doesn’t speak—doesn’t move. I take his hand, stunned at the overwhelming urge I feel to reach him. Comfort him. Try to make it right.
He jerks away. “How do I get them back?”
I can’t blame him for asking. But I need him to forget. One memory at least.
“You can’t, Vane. They’re gone. Forever.”
He closes his eyes, looking fragile. Crushed.
Hopeless.
I close my eyes too.
Wishing on every star out there that the words I just said were true.
Hoping even harder I’ll never have to tell Vane they aren’t.
CHAPTER 13
VANE
I’m speechless—probably for the first time in my life.
My memories were stolen.
Not repressed.
Stolen.
I’ve lived the last ten years with a black hole for a past—not the easiest way to grow up. And apparently that’s all I’ll ever have.
I want to throw something. Or maybe pick up that crazy needle-sword thing and see what kind of damage I can do to the walls with it.
But another piece of me—a tiny, much quieter piece—is relieved that I didn’t forget my parents.
I’m not the horrible, selfish jerk who erased his family because it hurt to remember them. It wasn’t my fault. Audra’s mother stole my memories while Audra held my hand and promised I would be okay.
Which at least explains the only memory I have. Audra leaning over me, staring at me with those dark, haunted eyes, until a breeze whisks her away. That was real. I just don’t remember the rest because the memory was swept out of my mind by the wind.
How does it even work? How does a gust of wind steal my memories?
“I know this is hard to understand,” she says quietly. “But we had to keep the fact that you survived top secret so Raiden wouldn’t come searching for you. That’s why we let the human authorities run you through their adoption system. We kept watch, to make sure you were okay, but we needed you to disappear, stay off the grid—as you call it. And that wouldn’t happen if you were running around talking about sylphs and Stormers and the four languages of the wind. I’m not sure which would’ve been worse: what the humans would’ve done to you or what would’ve happened when Raiden found you. And he would have found you.”
“He found me anyway, didn’t he?” I’m surprised at the growl in my voice. “And how is that, by the way? I’m guessing he didn’t just wake up and think, ‘Hey, I bet Vane’s in the crappy Coachella Valley.’ ”
Her shoulders sag. “No. I . . . made a mistake.”