“Shouldn’t that be his decision?” Solana snaps back.
“He made his choice. And it had nothing to do with you.”
It’s obvious what Arella’s implying—and she’s technically right.
But she doesn’t get to be the one to say it.
“You certainly are an interesting group,” Aston says, as I pull away from both of them, nearly wrenching my elbow in the process. “I’d almost love to keep you here to watch how this all plays out. But I don’t think I could stomach Loverboy’s sniveling.”
“I’m not sniveling,” I say in . . . a pretty snively voice.
I dry my nose on my sleeve and clasp Audra’s pendant around my neck, trying to keep focused on what’s really at stake here.
“Ah, there’s the look,” Aston says. “The I’m going to throw my life away look. Your little girlfriend had it too, when she decided to leave my protection. And it’s worked out so well for her, hasn’t it?”
I really want to punch him.
But since we still need him, I mumble, “If you help us, we can get her out of there. I’m betting you know that fortress better than anyone.”
“I do. And I hate to crush the dream, but no one can break into Brezengarde.”
“My father escaped,” Solana argues.
“As did I,” Aston reminds her. “But breaking in and breaking out are two very different things. There’s a chance she might make it out on her own—if she uses that brain of hers. But even then . . .”
“I can find a way in,” Solana insists.
I wish I could feel her confidence. But it doesn’t matter. “I have to try something.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s what Raiden’s counting on,” Aston says. “Not that he needs your power. But he does so love to collect things. And what are you going to do when he catches you?”
“If he catches me,” I correct. “And . . . I’ll find a way to kill him.”
The words would be a whole lot more convincing if my voice wasn’t shaking.
Aston sighs. “Sadly, that’s not what I meant—though we’ll need to circle back to the Worthless Westerly Conundrum later. You have a much more fundamental problem than that. There’s a reason Raiden rarely bothers with bodyguards. Anything you throw at him. Any deathblow you try to deliver. It all ricochets right back onto you. He calls it his backlash. I never could find a way around it.”
My mind flashes to our escape from Death Valley, when Audra, Gus, and I were hiding under our Westerly shield and Raiden practically dared me to attack him.
I’d been very tempted. But . . . it felt like a trap.
“So you’re saying Raiden can’t die?” I ask.
“I’m saying you can’t kill him. At least not by any conventional means.”
Well . . . that definitely falls into the category of Crappy News I Didn’t Need to Hear. But killing Raiden isn’t my goal right now.
My plan is much more simple.
“Look,” I tell Aston. “I’m the first to admit I have no idea what I’m doing. That’s why I’m here. You think I wanted to waste all this time finding you? I need help—and I thought maybe you had a little decency left. If not, I thought you’d at least jump at the chance to piss off Raiden. I mean, what better way is there to drive him insane than stealing two of his prisoners while working with the one Westerly he’s never been able to capture?”
Aston circles me, and the wind whips back his hood, revealing his pale, scarred face and blue-tinged lips.
He’s honestly not as scary as I’d imagined. Just a few scars—nothing like his arm.
Then again, we haven’t seen the rest of what’s under that cloak. . . .
“Please,” I beg. “I have to get her back. It’s my fault she was captured.”
“Is it? I thought it was mostly hers.” He points to Arella and she looks away, mumbling her same excuse about having no choice.
Aston doesn’t buy it either.
He widens his circle to make a slow path around all three of us. “What would you give me if I agreed to help?”
I open my mouth to tell him “anything”—but “I won’t teach you Westerly, if that’s what you’re asking,” comes out instead.
“Not even to save your precious love?” he asks.
“My instincts won’t let me.”
“The infamous Westerly instincts strike again. Surely they’ll be the death of us all. And yet . . . your winds can be very comforting. They used to visit me during my years in Brezengarde. Somehow they’d slip through the cracks in the fortress walls. I couldn’t understand them of course. But their songs were so beautiful.” His eyes look glassy as he stares at the stars. “Your girl sang one for me when she stayed here. I’ll never forget it.”
“She has her father’s talent for song,” Arella whispers.
“Careful,” Aston tells her. “You almost sound like a loving mother.”
“I am a loving mother,” Arella snaps.