I’ve never heard of a bond allowing people to share languages. But for us, it did.
So I weave the nearest Westerly into my next vortex and hurtle it at my mother with all the force I can manage. Then another. And another.
One for the Westons.
One for my father.
One for Vane.
She collapses, covering her head, screaming from the pain as the whipping winds tear her clothes, her hair, her skin. Red rivers of blood streak from her face and congeal in the sand. Still I hammer her, unleashing ten years of pent-up rage. I rip my father’s pendant from her neck. She doesn’t deserve to mourn for him.
This. Ends. Now.
I stare at my mother’s dirty, bloody, unconscious face as I weave the four winds into a spike, just like the one Vane made before. It feels cold in my hand.
Deadly.
I raise it over my mother’s heart.
CHAPTER 57
VANE
For a second I’m too stunned to move.
Audra speaks Westerly?
Then reality sets in, and I scramble to my feet.
She’s hurt and angry and has every right to rage out on her mother. But I throw myself on her, knocking the wind spike free.
I pin her arms as she thrashes for freedom.
“Hey,” I breathe. “It’s me, okay? It’s me.”
She slows, just enough to really look at me, and her fury fades.
“There’s my girl.”
“Let me go, Vane—I have to—”
“Murder your mother? I know she deserves it, but do you really think you could live with yourself? You speak Westerly, Audra. You think you could deal with that?”
“I’m an Easterly.”
“But you’re part of me now too. So you better think it through very carefully, because you’re seconds away from seriously screwing up your life. Which I’d rather you didn’t do. I’m kinda looking forward to us being together. Making out all day. Taking a break for dinner. Then making out again all night. But if you want to waste all of that on her—if she’s worth that . . . I won’t stop you.”
I let go of her shoulders.
She looks away. Tears pool in her eyes.
“I know. Believe me—I know. She killed my family too.” I punch the ground as I say it, then try to swallow the rage. “It’s not worth it. It’s not.”
I stare at the bracelet on my wrist—all I have left of my parents after Arella stole them from me—and wonder if that’s really true. But the arrow on the compass still points west, reminding me of my heritage.
Violence isn’t the answer.
Audra rolls to her side and curls her legs into her chest. I pull her against me as she sobs. I stroke her face, her arms. Wipe away the tears, the dust, the dried blood. Try to make her better.
After who knows how long, she finally looks up at me. Her eyes are puffy and red—but she’s still gorgeous. “Now what?” she whispers.
I have a feeling that question is going to keep haunting us.
“The Gales are coming here, right?”
She nods.
“Then I think you should leave.” I point to her mother’s crumpled body. “Do you really want to be the one to tell them what your mother did?”
She glances at Arella—then immediately away, covering her mouth with her hand, like she’s feeling sick. “They’ll need to question me anyway.”
“Why? I can explain everything. Please let me take care of this for you. It won’t be easy to testify against your mom. Especially since I’m guessing your army has a pretty serious punishment for murderers.”
She cringes at the word, and her voice trembles as she says, “They’ll trap her deep in the earth, starve her from the drafts, until her wind form withers and crumbles. I hear it’s a pain far worse than death.”
I squeeze her hands. “She deserves it.”
She doesn’t say anything.
I give her a minute to collect herself, but I can’t take my eyes off the sky. The Gales could be here any second. “You’ve been through enough, Audra. Let me handle this.”
“But I’m your guardian. If they think I abandoned you—”
“I’ll tell them you’re looking for the other Stormer. Making sure he’s . . .”
I can’t say it.
I focus on the winds, letting the Westerlies’ peaceful song calm me.
“Are you going to tell them about us?” Audra whispers.
“No.”
She sighs with relief, like I’ve given the right answer. But then she tenses. “My mother knows.”
“How? She didn’t see anything. Besides, would they really believe a criminal over us?”
“No,” she admits after a second. She still looks nervous, though.
“We’ll figure it out,” I promise. “I just need to think through a few things.”
I’m still trying to wrap my head around the whole bonding thing, but . . . I have a feeling Audra and I were already connected somehow.
When Audra and I were kids and clung to each other after the storm, something passed between us. A rush of heat. Kind of like what happened today when we kissed—but totally different, too. More like we were drawing strength and support from each other.
Could that be another kind of bond?