“Do it,” Gus begs him.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
There’s no way Raiden would take such a risk—even if he thinks Vane is too peaceful. He must have a defense we can’t see, and if Vane attacks, it’ll backfire against us.
Vane looks at Gus. Then at me.
His grip loosens on the spike.
Gus shakes his head as Raiden laughs again. “That’s what I thought.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Vane says, his voice darker than I’ve ever heard it. “Because death would be too easy.”
“Really? Is that what it was for your parents?” Raiden asks. “Easy?”
“No. They had something to live for. But you?” He whispers the command to uncoil the wind spike and smiles when Raiden’s jaw falls. “All you have is power. And I’m going to take it away. Make you live out the rest of your days knowing you came so close and still managed to fail. And then you can die, alone and useless.”
“If I don’t kill him first,” Gus growls.
Raiden leans down to Vane’s eye level. “I know what you have to live for too”—he glances at me—“and I’m looking forward to making you watch as I break her apart piece by piece.”
Vane’s shaking as he reaches for my other hand. I start to twine our fingers together, but he resists, coiling the Westerly he unraveled from the wind spike around my wrist.
Our eyes meet and I feel a shiver in my core when I realize what he’s telling me.
It’s time.
I soak up one last rush of warmth from Vane’s touch to steel my courage as I concentrate on the four Westerlies we now have. I’m tempted to keep our shield and use only the three from the wind spikes—but the drafts are so timid and weary, I know they won’t be enough.
Even with the shield working with them, they still might not be enough.
But we have to risk it.
One deep breath calms my racing heart. Then I shout the Westerly command and the shield unravels, tangling with the other winds as they streak into the sky.
The Stormers raise their windslicers and jump back, bracing for the winds to attack. But when the drafts crash to the ground, they don’t even kick up enough dust to make a cloud.
Raiden laughs so hard it echoes around the canyon. “And thus ends the final stand of the last living Westerlies.”
The Stormers drag us to our feet as the winds return. But when they crash again they barely stir up more dust than the first time.
Raiden laughs harder, shouting a word that makes his draining gray winds tangle around Vane and Gus as he grabs my wrist with one hand and unsheathes his windslicer with his other. The blade is a dull black color, and when he presses the needled edge into my side, the hundreds of razor-sharp points burn and sting with an energy I’ve never felt before. I’m sure being struck by lightning is less painful.
Vane thrashes to get to me—but the Stormer holds him too tightly. And when the Westerlies touch down again, their crash is almost weaker this time, only scattering a few pebbles.
“Now who’s the powerful one?” Raiden asks as he presses the blade deeper into my side.
This time I bite back my scream, but I feel blood running down my skin and I can see Vane watching it. He wrenches himself free from the Stormer, but with his arms and legs still bound by the draining winds, he crumples to the dry, cracked ground in a heap.
Raiden kicks him in the shoulder so hard it leaves a welt immediately. “I could split her in half right now and there’s nothing you could do to stop me. Though it does seem like such a waste.”
He runs his fingers over my wounded hip, making my skin burn with the salt of his sweaty touch.
Tears stream down Vane’s face as he struggles forward, but Raiden kicks him again, this time in his side. I hear the crunch of bone as Vane collapses and doesn’t move. The sickly winds binding him have turned him pale—and when I turn back to Gus I see he’s already passed out.
“Please,” I beg the Westerlies when I feel them crash down again. “Please fight harder. Please help us.”
Three of the winds don’t respond. But my loyal shield sweeps to my side, coiling around me, easing the pain of my wound with its cool breeze. I close my eyes, and as I sink into the calm, I feel two words burn my tongue.
Get help.
I shout them and the draft races away, gathering with the others before they whip into the sky.
“Looks like your winds have abandoned you,” Raiden whispers in my ear. “Such is the folly of giving them a choice.”