I’m this close to raiding his mom’s closet—she’s only a few sizes bigger than me, surely there’s something I can make work—when I step under the vent in the ceiling. The air sinks effortlessly through the thin material, cooling my skin and giving me a boost of strength.
Sylph fabrics breathe better than groundling ones—and I’m going to need all the energy I can get. Embarrassing as it is, this dress is my best option.
I start to braid my hair, but that leaves far too much skin on display, so I smooth the strands as best as I can and force myself to walk away from the mirror.
Solana’s waiting for me outside the bathroom, and her frustrated sigh makes my lips curl into a smile.
I must look better than I think.
It’s an incredibly foolish thought to have when preparing for a fight, but Solana seems to bring out the foolishness in me. Maybe because she’s changed into the even tinier flesh-toned dress, which almost makes her look naked.
“You have an interesting battle wardrobe,” I tell her, pulling at the hem of my skirt.
“Not that I need to explain myself, considering I just bailed you out, but it’s because of my gift.”
“Your gift?”
“Yeah. I’m a windcatcher. So I need to keep my skin exposed to the air so I can absorb as many drafts as possible.”
That explains what Os meant earlier—and why she looked so frustrated at the way he belittled her. Those who can windcatch are especially rare, and the gift requires continual sacrifice in order to maintain.
We both know that’s not the only reason for her dresses, though. But since we seem to have reached a truce, I bite my tongue as I follow her back to Vane’s bedroom.
I can hear some sort of argument going on, but my heart is pounding too loud for me to pick out the words. I keep my eyes glued to the floor as I slink through the doorway, cringing when the room falls silent.
Someone finally coughs and I brave a quick glance at Vane.
I’m sure my face is turning as red as my dress, but I can’t help smiling at the intensity of his stare.
“Okay, so, new plan,” Gus says after a second. “Let’s just let the girls fly out there dressed like that and give them all heart attacks.”
Os sighs. “We’re facing an army of Living Storms. Pretty girls are hardly going to be an effective distraction.”
Gus rolls his eyes. “I was joking.”
“Now is not the time for jokes.” Os holds his hands toward the window. “The winds are starting to flee, and there’s only one reason they would leave. And there’s only one thing we can do to give ourselves a fighting chance.” He turns back to Vane. “Are you finally ready to teach us Westerly?”
“How do you know it’s going to help?” I ask, feeling extra exposed as Os’s eyes narrow at me.
“Are you saying that you don’t think the power of four is useful?”
“No, but”—my mind flashes back to my disastrous escape attempt from Aston’s cave—“how do you know the Westerlies’ aversion to violence won’t be triggered with the breakthrough?”
“The same way I didn’t become steady and sluggish when I learned Southerly,” Os snaps back. “That’s exactly why it’s so crucial that Vane share his language. We’ll harness his power in ways he’ll never be able to.”
I open my mouth to argue but stop myself just in time. He doesn’t know I’m part Westerly now.
And maybe he’s right. I learned the language through a bond. Maybe breakthroughs are different.
But the thought of Westerly words being whispered by the same man who shattered enough drafts to build a Maelstrom makes me physically ill.
I can see the uncertainty in Vane’s eyes, and I want to grab him and run far away before he can say another word—or at least beg him not to share his secrets.
I stop myself from doing either.
Westerly is his heritage—and even though he shared it with me, this should still be his decision. It’s his kinsmen who gave up their lives in Raiden’s interrogations, his parents who were stolen because of Raiden’s greed. And if anything happens to the sanctity of his language, no one will suffer greater than he will.
He runs his hands through his hair as he turns to Gus. “What do you think?”
“The only reason we escaped that valley alive is because you could control the Westerlies,” Gus says quietly, “but you were also able to handle it without me.”
I notice he doesn’t mention anything about me, and when he glances my way I realize he did that on purpose.
Maybe I’m not the only one who doesn’t trust Os.
Vane starts to pace.
Every time he crosses the room, Os’s scowl deepens. “We don’t have time for indecision, Vane. Only action.”
“Fine.”Vane turns back to me, and I can see his answer in his eyes.
It breaks my heart, but I press my lips together and keep silent as he says, “I’ll teach you Westerly.”
CHAPTER 33
VANE
E
ven as the words are leaving my lips, I can’t believe I’m saying them—and the queasy feeling that follows doesn’t seem like a good sign.