“Which is why the Gales will never win. You can’t beat someone who doesn’t play fair, and they aren’t willing to cross the line
between request and demand—most of them, at least. And if they
did, it would only destroy them.”
He points to the Easterly in front of me and I have a horrible
feeling I know what he’s going to do. I want to send the wind away—
save it before it’s too late. But I have to know Raiden’s secret. Aston snarls a harsh word I can’t understand, and the draft
howls. A deep, primal wail that shreds every part of me as I watch
the wind of heritage—my kin—stripped bare.
Everything good and pure crumbles away.
Its energy.
Its drive.
All that’s left is a pale, sickly gust that hovers lifelessly
between us.
Still.
Silent.
I feel a tear streak down my cheek.
Aston crouches in front of me and wipes it away.
“I wanted to strangle Raiden the first time I saw him do that,” he
whispers. “Wanted to beat him bloody until he understood the kind
of pain he just caused. And when he ordered me to learn the skill, I refused, not caring that he would punish me. I wasn’t going to turn
into a monster.”
“What changed?” I ask, unable to hide the anger in my voice. He laughs and slips his cloak off his left shoulder, running his
hand along a line of holes that trace his collarbone. They’re different from the small, jagged holes covering the rest of him. Perfectly
round—and twice as big. And they go through skin and bone. “He gave me one for each day I resisted. Twenty-nine in all. I
almost made it to thirty, but then he found a better way to break me.” He doesn’t explain further, and I decide not to push him. I
already know where the story ends.
“So why keep ruining the winds?” I ask, watching the sickly draft
groan and hover. “Why not—”
“Because breaking the winds breaks you. The power becomes a
craving, like . . . part of you dies and the only way to fill the emptiness
is to spoil everything around you. And you can’t fight it because you
don’t want to fight it, because then you’d never be able to experience
the rush again. It’s why the Gales can’t win, Audra. They can’t compete with this kind of ultimate control. And if they tried to embrace
it, they’d just be consumed by it.”
I stare at the sallow wind swirling between us, hating that he’s
right.
It would explain how Raiden commands such loyalty from his
Stormers. I’d always assumed they were fueled by fear or greed. But
maybe they’re also slaves to their bad choices.
“That’s why you never came back, isn’t it?” I whisper. “Why you
hid in a cave, let us all think you died?”
“Aston did die. This thing I’ve become”—he stares at his ruined
hands—“I’m not going to let anyone know it exists.”
There’s a darkness in his final words.
A warning.
I know what he’s going to tell me, but I still have to ask the question anyway.
“What about me?”
His lips curl into a smile, but it’s the coldest smile I’ve ever seen.
“We both know I enjoy your company. And if you ever try to leave,
I’ll kill you.”
CHAPTER 13
VANE
A rella’s lying.
She has to be. There’s no way Os would . . .
The thought stops cold as I remember what Os told me about hungry winds. And as I watch Arella rub her pale, sickly arms, I realize there’s a thin dust sweeping off her skin that I hadn’t noticed. It floats toward the walls like a sheer mist and disappears into the swirling sand.
“Relax,” Arella tells me as I run for the metal curtain blocking my exit and try to pry it open.
Stupid thing won’t budge. And when I pound on it, it swallows the sound.
I can’t breathe.
“Calm down!” Arella shouts as I wobble on my feet. “The Maelstrom only affects me. I’m the one it was built for. Do you really think Os would bring his king here otherwise?”
I guess that wouldn’t make sense.
I may be driving the Gales crazy, but they definitely need me alive.
But still, if it’s affecting Arella, then she’s . . .
I drop to the ground and put my head between my knees, trying to keep myself together.
“So you’re . . .”
“Dying?” Arella asks when I can’t finish.
I force myself to nod.
She holds out her hands, staring at her fingers. They’re practically skin and bone, so it shouldn’t surprise me when she says, “Yes.” But I still have to fight off another dizzy fit.
Arella is dying.
Audra’s mom is dying.
“How long do you have?” I whisper.
“It’s hard to say. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. But if I had to guess, I’d say probably a few more weeks.”
“Weeks?”That’s a lot less time than I was expecting. I don’t know what to say except, “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
No . . . I guess she’s right.
I have to remember—Arella’s not just a murderer. She’s a serial killer. Even humans have the death penalty for crimes like that. Why should sylphs be any different?