We’re on our own.
Vane yelps. I open my eyes to find him flailing as another dove swoops around his head.
I can’t help grinning as I rescue the poor creature.
A Windwalker afraid of birds. It has to be a first.
“What’s with that stupid thing?” Vane grumbles.
“My mother sent her.”
I stroke the dove’s neck, calming her so she’ll let me pull out her wings to check for the message. It’s strange to have the dove respond to my touch—stranger still for my mother to send a dove instead of her bitter crow.
I’d figured the first message was carried on whichever bird was closest, since it was so urgent. But this time she could’ve used any of her birds, and still she sent a dove. Her favorite of all the birds because of their almost worshipful loyalty.
There has to be a reason for the change. And I’m not sure I have the energy to cope with whatever it is.
“See the notches in the plumage?” I explain to Vane, pointing to the dove’s wings. “It’s a code my mother developed so she could send messages no one would be able to decipher. She uses the birds she’s connected with, ordering them not to rest until they deliver the message. Saves the Gales from having to send important secrets on the wind, where Raiden could hear them.”
Vane snorts. “You guys have seen the cell phone, right?”
“Yes, carrying a chemical-filled radiation machine around in my pocket all day. I can see why you’re so attached to that thing.”
He shakes his head.
I count the notches on the feathers, triple-checking each one to make sure I’m getting the message right.
“What now?” Vane asks.
“She wants to know if we’re ready.”
He rolls his eyes. “Tell her some backup would be nice.”
I ignore him as I renotch the feathers with my response, finally giving my mother an honest assessment of our predicament. She might as well know what to expect.
Vane hasn’t had the fourth breakthrough. When I make the sacrifice, you’ll need to come collect him.
Tears blur my eyes as I release the dove and watch her vanish into the dusk.
That’s the last time I’ll speak to my mother.
I didn’t say I loved her. I didn’t say goodbye.
I started to notch the words, but I couldn’t bring myself to say them. Not when I don’t know if they’re true anymore. Or if she’d even want to hear them.
I don’t know what makes me sadder—not knowing if I love my own mother, or knowing she won’t care if I don’t.
But it’s too late to change my mind. Too late to change anything.
I scrub my tears away and sink to the ground, curling my knees to my chest. Vane sits next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I should pull away—but I don’t have the energy. And there’s not much point. In a few hours it’ll all be over.
“We’re going to get through this,” he whispers.
I can’t look at him—I’m too close to breaking down to let him see my face. So I feel rather than see him turn his head and press his lips against my temple. Soft as a feather. Gentle as a breeze. Heat explodes under my skin, whipping through me like a flurry.
I hold my breath. Wondering if he’ll do more. Wondering what I’ll do if he tries.
But he sighs and turns his head away. He’s finally learned to respect my boundaries.
Too bad. I’m not sure they’re there anymore.
The Gales would banish me for such a treasonous thought—but it’s hard to care. I won’t be around long enough for them to question my loyalty.
Why not enjoy what little time I have left?
I breathe deeply, soaking up the scent of Vane’s skin. Clean and gentle, just like the Westerlies.
“How did it start?” he whispers. “The storm that killed my family. I only remember bits and pieces. I should have some idea what we’re in for,” he adds when he sees my confusion.
I pull away from him, needing space if I’m going to relive this memory. “It started with a calm. Like all the life and energy were sucked out of the world. I remember standing on our porch, staring at the sky, wondering where the winds went. Then my father grabbed my shoulders and told me to run—as far and fast as possible. Before I could, there was this . . . roar.”
Vane squeezes my hand.
“I’d never heard the wind’s rage before. It was a beast, come to devour us. I started to cry, but my dad promised everything would be okay. Then he coiled an Easterly around me and launched me out of the storm.”
“But you ran back in?” Vane asks.
I fight back a sob. “I still wonder if things would’ve been different if I’d stayed where he’d sent me. If he hadn’t had to help me out of the storm a second time. Maybe he . . .”
I can’t say it.
Vane’s gentle fingers turn my face toward him. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what you’re punishing yourself for. You think it was your fault?”
“It was my fault.”
Everything inside me uncoils as the words leave my lips.
Finally. Finally they’re out there.