I teach him how to meld wind spikes, and I make him practice his aim. He looks queasy with every toss, but I remind him that an accurate aim will be safer. Less chance of hitting an innocent bystander.
After that, his throws rarely miss their mark.
It gives me hope.
The world isn’t black and white, like his parents treated it. Violence sometimes has its place—its purpose. Maybe if they’d accepted that, they could have survived the Stormer’s attack. Lived to see their son grow up. Helped stop Raiden from destroying the world as we know it.
Instead, the responsibility rests on Vane. If I can get him to see the shades of gray, maybe he’ll be the first Westerly to stand up to Raiden. The first Westerly to survive.
His shirt turns a midnight blue from the sweat, and I make him rest in what little shade the walls of my shelter provide. The last thing I need is him taking it off again—even if a small part of me wouldn’t mind another glimpse of his sculpted muscles.
I sit next to him. Our legs touch, but I don’t pull away. “How are you holding up?”
He gives a shaky shrug.
I place my hand on his arm. “Try to remember, if you don’t stop the Stormers, they’ll launch tornadoes into this valley. Hundreds—or thousands—of innocent people will die. People you know. People you love. You’re doing this to save those innocent lives.”
The silence seems to stretch.
“So you have no problem with . . . killing?” he asks.
“No. But I’m an Easterly.”
“The swift, tricky winds,” he recites. “What does that even mean?”
“Easterlies are survivors. They do whatever needs to be done.”
“So you would kill?”
His stare is intense—but not judging.
“If I have to.”
I focus on my fingers, surprised to realize they’re tracing slow circles on his skin. The contact is soothing and thrilling at the same time. It makes me feel daring. Maybe too daring, because I can’t stop myself from asking, “Do you think you could?”
“Kill?”
I lock eyes with him again. “If it saved a life? If it saved your life? If it saved . . .”
I stop myself. I can’t ask him to save me. I’m supposed to save him.
Vane turns away as he considers my question, staring at what remains of the tree he destroyed. “I don’t know.”
He takes my hand, cradling it gently between his palms. Warmth travels up my arms, heading straight to my heart and making it flutter as he looks at me again, knocking my breath away with the tenderness in his haunting blue eyes. “I hope so.”
Me too.
It’s a miracle I don’t say the thought aloud.
I have no right to hope. But if he’s offering it freely, I can’t help but take it.
So I don’t pull away, even though I should. And I let myself believe he might be strong enough to save us all.
To save me.
He’s the only one who can.
CHAPTER 31
VANE
It isn’t until Audra’s bird returns from his second hunt of the day that I notice how late it is. I trained through breakfast and lunch—but it’s probably better. If I’d had anything in my stomach when I realized Audra was training me to kill, I would have heaved it all over myself.
It reminds me of the way my body reacted when the doctors gave me pills. Sweat, hives, spasms, puke, like my system will do anything—everything—to purge the medicine from my bloodstream. The idea of killing feels just as toxic.
Great—I’m allergic to violence. I’m sure Audra’s thrilled with that news.
Maybe I can fight it. I mean, sure, I don’t like violent movies or video games—but they don’t make me wig out like that. Maybe the fight will be the same way.
But those are fake, I tell myself. And this is horrifyingly real.
My head spins and I suck in air to try to clear it.
I have to get over this. Lives are at stake.
The innocent people in this valley.
Me.
Audra.
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her alive. If that means taking out a Stormer or two, well . . . I’ll have to deal with that. Even if just thinking about it makes me nauseous.
“How did my parents handle the training?” I ask, hoping they knew some trick to be able to fight without throwing up.
Audra bites her lip and looks away.
I guess that means they didn’t do very well. I decide not to ask for the gory details. Especially since I’ve thought of a better question. “What were they like?”
“Your parents?”
“Yeah.” She’s been stubbornly secretive about my past, but she could at least tell me that. Maybe it would help trigger more memories tonight.
She sighs. “I wasn’t around them much. When my parents weren’t trying to train them, they kept all three of you inside, away from Raiden’s searchwinds, which were always so close on our trail.”
I have no idea what that means, but I guess it doesn’t matter.
“Your mom was always sneaking outside with you, though,” she adds, turning toward me. Her lips twist into a sad smile. “I used to watch you guys play together in the fields. She seemed like a great mom.”
“I wish I remembered her.” I’m surprised at how thick my voice sounds.
“I know,” she whispers.