“You won’t though, Vane. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
I ignore her, flopping back on my pillows.
They’re my memories. If anyone can sort them back into place it’s me.
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. For a little while longer at least.”
I hate myself for letting her suck me back in. But I have to ask. “Why only for a little longer?”
“You really can’t guess?” She runs her hands over the walls, letting the grains of sand shower her feet. “There’s a reason this place is so secret, Vane. Os crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed. But I guess he figures one crime deserves another. I did do . . . terrible things.”
“You did,” I agree, trying to snuff out the sympathy I’m starting to feel for her.
It’s not easy.
Especially when she wraps her arms around herself, looking like a small, frightened bird as she whispers, “But this place, this Maelstrom, as he calls it. It doesn’t just contain me. It consumes me.”
CHAPTER 12
AUDRA
T
his is why the Gales will never win,” Aston murmurs as he steps closer, giving me a clearer view of his scars.
There’s something sickeningly beautiful about the way the moon’s glow seeps through the holes speckling his skin. Almost like Raiden created tattoos of light, carved out piece by piece.
“What did he do to you?” I whisper, not sure if I really want to know. I can see other changes too. A blue tinge to his lips. Wavy lines running along the sides of his torso. He’s probably only ten years older than me, but his eyes look a hundred years old.
“Oh, this?” He waves his hands, making a disturbing whistle as the air squeals through the gaps. “This was simply the product. The power comes from the process.”
The power in pain.
I can’t help shivering as I ask, “How does it work?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I don’t,” I agree. “But maybe if we knew more about what we’re facing we could—”
“You could what? Do this to others?” He steps so close that I can
see straight through his wounds to the rocky cave behind. “Watch
them writhe and scream as you make their bodies crumble? Is that
the future of the Gales?”
“No. But what about the tricks you used to capture me? If the Gales
had those in their arsenal maybe they could stand a better chance.” “You don’t understand what you’re requesting.”
“Then explain it to me.”
He laughs.
A sad laugh.
A broken laugh.
Then he throws his cloak back on, scoops me up, and carries me
through the cave. His strength is remarkable given his hollowed-out
form. I can’t even twist in his grasp.
“Now, I’m going to need you to be a very good girl and not get
any ideas about escaping,” he tells me as we step through whatever
barrier he’s built to keep out the winds. “I’d really rather not have to
hurt you again, but we both know that I will.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him.
He’s crazy and erratic and his mind is just as ruined as his body. But he’s a Gale.
Then again, so was Raiden . . .
Cold Northerlies blast my skin, and I close my eyes, fighting
back tears when I realize I can’t feel the pull of my bond. I don’t know if it’s some trick of Aston’s or a sign or something
more, but I need to find a way back to Vane.
“A throne for Her Majesty,” Aston says, setting me down on a
flat-faced rock just outside the cave’s entrance. “Or do you prefer Her
Highness?”
“I prefer Audra.”
He shakes his head. “You’re going to make an interesting queen.” It’s hard not to cringe at the word.
I may be bonded to the king, but I doubt the Gales will ever do
more than tolerate our connection. There’s still a chance I could be
charged with treason.
The thought makes me want to squirm, but the rope around
my waist is too restricting, cutting into my skin with every breath. I resist the urge to call a Northerly to sever it.
“I knew you were a clever girl,” Aston says, hissing a word that
makes a draft slice through my restraints. “And yet you still foolishly
believe your worthless army can stand against Raiden.”
“The Gales aren’t worthless.”
“Oh, but they are. Let me show you the many ways.” He calls an Easterly, using the command I’ve said thousands of
times over the years.
“You’ve been taught to give the wind a choice,” he says as a swift
wind streaks between us and coils into a small funnel. “You tell it to
come to you swiftly and you expect that it will. And most of the time it
does. But the draft still has a say. Which is why you will never truly be
in control.”
“I don’t need to be.”
“Really? It looked to me like you nearly died several times this
afternoon when the winds abandoned you.”
“But I’m still alive. And they only did that because you made
them.”