“Yeah it is. And you know what? You’re going home—now. I’m sure Os will be thrilled to have you help with his training.”
I turn and stalk toward the windmill, because we’re in the middle of freaking nowhere and it’s the only place to stalk to.
She catches up with me and grabs my arm.
My bad arm.
“Sorry,” she mumbles when I screech.
I jerk my arm away and succeed in wrenching it even worse.
My parents’ Language Rules go out the window.
“Will you stop for five seconds?” she asks, getting a death grip on my wrist.
I want to keep fighting, but she’s way stronger than she looks.
Plus my elbow has started shooting sonic blasts of pain that hit right in the pit of my stomach.
“Just let me check the bandage,” she says. “And then can we at least talk about this? If you still want me to go afterward . . . I will.”
“I’ll still want you to go,” I promise.
She drops her eyes, but I don’t let myself feel guilty.
She uses the power of pain.
She tries to roll up my sleeve, but the salty ocean and the sand have made the fabric too stiff and crunchy. And since unbuttoning my jacket is a two-hand job, she has to help me.
Our fingers bump eleventy billion times. It gets extra weird when she has to peel off the whole thing—especially since the black tank underneath is so tight that even I want to make fun of it.
Aston whistles. “Well now, someone’s been doing their sit-ups.”
“Don’t make me kick you again,” I warn him.
“I’d love to see you try.”
Solana ignores us, retying my bandage extra tight.
“Uh, are you trying to cut off the feeling in my fingers?” I ask.
“I need to limit your range of motion,” she explains, helping me back into my coat. “If you tear the wound again, we’re going to have to put your arm in a splint.”
“Hey, this was your fault—not mine.”
“I know.” Her eyes move to her hands. “And I know what you must think of me—”
“That you’re even creepier than her?” I interrupt, pointing to where Arella sits. She’s free of Aston’s bonds, but still lost in her own pain, and she keeps scratching at her arms and staring at nothing, like a monkey that’s been in the zoo way too long.
“Even she won’t touch that power, Solana. Think about that.”
“I have,” she says. “I try not to use it. I never wanted to in the first place. But I didn’t have a choice.”
“God—why is that everyone’s excuse all the time?” I ask. “At least when I screw up, I can admit I was an idiot.”
“You’re always an idiot,” Aston says, sidling up to join our conversation. “But this kind of thing doesn’t happen by accident. Our girl here had to choose.”
Solana’s hand moves to her wrist, her fingers tracing the V in the design on her link, which definitely doesn’t help my mood.
“Os was the one who taught me,” she mumbles. “During the last battle, right before you found us in that cave.”
I remember that moment. A Westerly had led me there, screaming about stopping a traitor. Guess there were two traitors I should’ve been worrying about.
“?We were trapped,” Solana says, like that makes it better. “The Living Storms were hunting us down—and there was no wind and no hope of reinforcements. The only things that worked were Os’s altered wind spikes. So he made me memorize the command he was using to make them, in case anything happened to him. He taught me another word too, but I had no idea what it was for. I wasn’t planning to use any of it—even when the Storm grabbed me, I held back. But then . . . you saved me. And we rushed to the Maelstrom. And when Gus and Audra weren’t there, you started freaking out. You were pounding on Arella’s cell—and I knew I was the reason you hadn’t gotten there sooner, so . . . I tried using the command like a password. And it worked.”
I vaguely remember her saying something I couldn’t understand—but if I’d known it was the power of pain, I’d . . .
Actually, I don’t know what I would’ve done.
Arella was my only chance of finding out what happened to Audra and Gus.
“So that’s it?” I ask. “You only know those two words?”
“That’s not how the power works,” Aston jumps in. “You don’t have a breakthrough. It’s deeper than that. Once you use it, it becomes a need. That’s why she was able to absorb that broken draft I coiled around her.” He smiles at Solana. “Felt good, didn’t it?”
“I never told it to do that,” Solana argues.
“You don’t have to. The need works on instinct.”
He snarls a word, ruining a nearby Northerly before he swirls it around her.
The draft disappears under Solana’s skin.
“There it is,” Aston whispers. “The hunger in your eyes, craving that delicious rush as it takes over you.”
“There’s no rush,” Solana insists.