“Well, if it isn’t the jilted princess, the questionable mother—who reeks of Maelstrom, by the way—and the heartbroken loverboy,” Aston’s voice calls from his cave. “I figured I’d be hearing from at least some of you after all the turbulence I’ve picked up—though I can’t say I expected this particular combination.”
He hisses a word I can’t understand and a sickly Easterly crawls under my skin, its icy needles prickling all the way to my core.
“Still clinging to your side of the bond, I see,” he says. “Too bad it won’t matter. Shattered bonds rarely linger. Especially when faced with so much temptation.”
He hisses another word and the sand explodes again, sending me tumbling across the beach. When the world stops spinning, I notice I’m tangled up in something warm.
“Sorry,” Solana mumbles, sliding out from underneath me.
I try really really really hard not to notice whether the water turned her dress see-through.
Aston laughs from the shadows, and I call a Westerly to my side, ready to get started on my attack-the-crap-out-of-this-beach plan.
But then I remember the reason I dragged us here in the first place.
“We need your help,” I call toward his cave.
“Yes, I can see that. This is the rescue party, right? Funny, I thought it would be bigger. Having a little trouble controlling your army, are we, Your Highness?”
“Yeah. The Gales are too busy learning to destroy the wind,” I snap back, finally getting his attention.
A cloaked figure steps out of the shadows, like he’s following the Shady-Dude-Dress-Code. “You’re teaching them the power of pain?”
“I’m not teaching them anything.” I wrap my Westerly around me as a shield and struggle to stand. “Os is the one behind it, and when I tried to stop him, he tied me to a tree. He thinks the only way to beat Raiden is to fight like him.”
Aston’s laugh is slow and bitter. “Os is right. But he’s going to ruin himself.”
“He knows,” I agree. “He doesn’t seem to care.”
“And what about you?” Aston asks as he crosses the beach to join us. His feet barely leave marks in the sand. “If you see so little value in the power, why beg me for assistance?”
“It’s not that I don’t see value,” I say. “It’s that I don’t think it’s worth destroying myself for it. But if you’re already under its influence . . .”
“Ahhhh, I see. So I’m a lost cause and get to do your dirty work for you. Is that why you brought the murdering mother as well?”
“Actually, he brought me to see through the tricks of silly fools,” Arella says, slithering out of her sandy prison.
“Don’t get too cozy,” Aston warns. “Just because I haven’t killed you yet, doesn’t mean I won’t.”
“I don’t believe you,” Solana says, taking a small step toward him. “You were one of the Gales who came to help after I lost my first guardian. I’ll never forget how kind you were. How safe you made me feel.”
“Yes, well, things have changed a bit.” Aston raises his arm, and I reach for another Westerly. But instead of attacking, he peels back the sleeve of his cloak and waves his hand back and forth.
A strange whistling prickles the air, and glints of moonlight leak through his skin.
It takes my brain a second to realize it’s because his arm is covered in pin-size holes.
I squeeze my eyes tight, but I can’t wring out the horrifying image. And I can’t stop myself from imagining Audra looking just as Swiss-cheesy.
“How long after you were captured did Raiden start to . . .” I don’t finish the question.
Aston turns away, wrapping his arms around his chest. “The torture began immediately.”
I sink to my knees and punch the sand so hard it sends the grit flying into my eyes—but I’m already tearing up.
“I’m sorry,” Aston tells me. It almost sounds like he means it. “If it’s any consolation, she’s definitely still alive—for the moment, at least.” He tosses something on the beach. “She left this here during her last visit.”
My blurry eyes only see a smudge of blue, but Arella whispers something about guardian pendants, and I scramble to grab it before she can.
The cord is blue.
The sobs hit me then—huge heaving wails that could rival any toddler.
But I don’t care.
She’s alive.
I squeeze the proof as tight as I can as the sobs keep coming.
Pretty soon I’m choking on my own snot, winning the prize for the Most Pathetic Dude in the History of Pathetic Dudes. Until gentle arms wrap around me, followed by a soft breeze.
I lean into the warmth, my mind drifting with a rush of sunny memories.
Chasing magpies in a field, stretching out my arms and wishing I could fly away with them.
“Someday,” my mom tells me. “Someday you’ll rule the whole sky.”
Then somehow I’m sneaking through an orchard with my dad, grabbing peaches off the branches.
Juice dribbles down our chins, and he tells me, “We’ll have to jump in the lake before your mother finds out.”
Their voices feel so familiar, and so foreign at the same time.
I try to remember more, but cold fingers squeeze my arms, dragging me away from the warmth.
“He doesn’t need your comfort,” Arella snaps.