Apparently. He says nothing further.
I don’t have the energy for this.
“We can do this two ways,” I tell him. “You can keep ignoring my questions, and I can keep pestering you with them until you finally come clean and tell me what’s wrong. Or you can tell me now and save us a ton of time and frustration. I leave it up to you.”
He lets out a long, slow sigh, slumps off the bed, and walks to the window, keeping his back to me. “Fine. I had a hard time sleeping after my mom called me out about the shin splints. She didn’t buy our story.”
“What did you say?” I keep my voice casual, despite the fact that my mind is racing in a million directions.
He wouldn’t tell his family the truth—would he?
What will I do if he did? What will I tell the Gales?
Vane shrugs—so help me, if he shrugs one more time I’m going to shake him so hard his teeth will rattle—and turns to face me, not quite meeting my eyes. I hold my breath, bracing for the worst possible answer.
“I told her the truth. That I couldn’t tell her what was going on, and that I needed her to trust me.”
“Did she agree?”
“For now. But I know she’s worrying—and I hate it. I can’t keep this up forever, Audra.”
I know I should sympathize with his struggle—but it’s hard to feel sorry for him. Poor Vane has a mother who cares. I barely remember what that’s like.
“You only have to keep it up for a few more days,” I tell him, trying to keep the resentment out of my tone.
“Right—’cause after that I’ll either be Raiden’s prisoner or the Gale Force’s new slave.”
The venom in his voice slices into my brain. Instant headache.
I can’t have this argument again. “Are you feeling well enough to train? We should probably get started.”
“Do I even have a choice?”
“Not if you want me to live through this.”
I don’t realize I said that out loud until I see Vane’s face. He looks like the scared little boy watching his broken mother float away.
“Vane, I . . .” I’m not sure I have the words to fix what I just did.
He shakes his head and turns his back on me.
Neither of us speaks as we sneak through his window and run to the darkest corner of the lawn. When we’re safely in the shadows, I call the nearby Easterlies and wrap them around us.
“We’re not training in the grove?” Vane asks as the winds coil tighter.
“It’s time for you to practice the power of three. You’ll need more space.”
I move toward him and he steps back, meeting my eyes. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally says, “You know I’m trying, right? I mean—I—”
“Vane.” I force myself to hold his gaze. “I don’t expect you—”
“But I’m going to,” he insists.
I don’t deserve that promise—especially from him. I take it anyway.
The winds brush my face, reminding me why we’re standing there. I clear my throat. “You remember how windwalking works?”
He nods, shifting his weight as I drape my arms around his shoulders. His hands wrap around my waist, and heat melts through me. He exhales right as I inhale and his breath is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. I want to lean closer and drink it in. Instead, I let the winds launch us into the dark sky.
Maybe it’s the chilly air up high, or the long, lonely day I’ve spent worrying, but his touch doesn’t scald me with guilt this time. It feels safe. He feels safe. Strong. Warm.
“When do I get to fly alone?” Vane asks, his face flushed. Eyes bright with energy.
“Not for a long time. Windwalking is one of our most complicated skills. It requires an extremely fluent communication between you and the wind, and you barely know a few words.”
“That sucks.”
Something inside me sinks. “You don’t like flying with me?”
I want to yank the words back in the second they leave my mouth. Especially when Vane’s grin returns, carrying a decent helping of his trademark cockiness.
“Oh, I do.” His hands trail to my hips, and I hope I haven’t inspired him to make another move with my ridiculous behavior. But they freeze when they reach the windslicer belted to my side in its etched, silver scabbard.
“Seriously? You brought the sword?”
“Why?”
“Well, I mean, it’s a cool weapon and all—but you guys have seen the gun, right? Don’t you think it’s time to upgrade to something a little more effective?”
“Please. Even a breeze can redirect a bullet. I’d like to see a gun stop a cyclone with a single slash.”
His smile fades.
Good. He needs to understand the kind of danger we’ll face in a wind battle.
Hundreds of glowing red dots appear on the horizon, and I angle the winds toward them, dropping us low when the narrow, spiked windmills come into focus. I can’t help being impressed by the way Vane automatically pulls away from me. He remembers how to land.
We hit the ground running, screeching to a stop at the edge of one of the lower foothills.