Shame makes my face burn.
“It’s not your fault,” he adds quietly. “No one could’ve beaten me. That’s what I keep trying to tell you. The Gales can’t win—even with the power of four. You’re all forgetting that for six years Raiden believed Vane was dead and that the fourth language was lost. Do you think he just sat back on his laurels, pouting because he’d missed his chance? Or do you think he found a better way?”
He holds out his hand, letting the moonlight shine through his skin.
The power of pain.
“But . . . then why does Raiden want Vane so badly?”
He searched for him tirelessly for four years—sent two of his best Stormers to come get him.
“Because he always wants more, Audra. And if breaking down the three winds makes him this powerful, why not break down the fourth and have ultimate control? It’s about greed, not fear.”
I sigh.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe the fight is already lost.
But . . .
I stare outside the cave, at the stars slowly peeking out of the velvety black.
I’m not sure why I always turn to them. All they give are tiny pricks of twinkling light—barely enough to make a dent in the darkness.
But they’re always there.
Holding their own.
Guiding everyone until sunrise.
And the sun always rises.
“You’re better off here,” Aston insists, like he knows what I’m thinking. “Better off not wasting your life for a hopeless cause. In a few months—years, however long it takes—the world will crumble to Raiden. And you’ll be glad you’re safe over here. Carrying on in the shadows.”
“If that’s true, then I would rather die with the rest of the good than live on in the emptiness without it.”
I turn to study him. His face is a portrait of frustration and pity. But I swear there’s a hint of respect, too.
It lasts only a second. Then he smirks and says, “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not giving you a choice.”
I don’t bother replying.
He’s never going to let me go.
Not when he’s so convinced that he’s right and I’m wrong and the whole rebellion is a wasted endeavor.
The only way I’ll get my freedom is to fight for it—steal it back. And I might have a way—though it would be a huge risk. But if I—
“So how about another song?” Aston asks. “You know, to fill the awkward silence? I so enjoyed your fragile voice earlier.” “And what will I get in return?”
“Hm. Well, I could point out that as your captor I don’t really have to give you anything. But I suppose if you want to turn this into a game, I’ll bite. What would you accept as a fair trade for a song?”
I choose my answer carefully, though there’s really only one thing I need. “Unbind me.”
He clicks his tongue. “Sorry, darling, I’m not that easy. Well, not when it comes to that at least.”
I roll my eyes. “If you’re as powerful as you claim to be, you shouldn’t need bonds to keep me here.”
“And if you aren’t planning to escape, you shouldn’t have a problem with it.”
“You’re right, it couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’m losing feeling in my legs.”
I shift my weight and wince to sell my point.
“Nope. Pick something else.”
“There’s nothing else I want.”
“Then I guess we don’t have a deal.”
“Then I hope you enjoy the silence.”
I lean back and close my eyes.
Several minutes pass. So many I start to worry I pushed too hard.
Finally he sighs. “All right, fine—new offer. I will untie you— after you sing me a song. But I want a Westerly song.”
My mouth goes dry.
“Oh, relax. If Raiden knew a way to absorb a language just by hearing it, he’d already know Westerly by now.”
“Then why . . . ?”
“I just . . . want to hear it again.”
I don’t miss the word “again” in there. But I can tell by the warning in his eyes that it wouldn’t be a good idea to ask about it.
I can barely find my voice to be able to whisper, “Deal.”
“Excellent. And you’d better pick a good one.”
I know exactly which song I’m going to sing. A song that’s hung in the air for most of my journey these last few weeks, giving me hope and spurring me on. Filling me with the warm peace only Westerlies carry.
But I’m feeling suddenly shy. The only people I’ve ever sung in front of are my parents. Mostly my father, who was the real talent in the family. We always sang duets.
I close my eyes, picturing my father standing next to me, humming along as I sing the words in the Westerly tongue: Whisking through the clouds as the birds pass by Ignoring all the storms that try to ruin the sky Chasing down the setting sun
Forever
And ever
Never let the day be done
No never
Never
Don’t sink into the violent sea No never
Never
Find the path that sets you free Forever
And ever