“Oh, I know,” she says. “I play that game more than anyone.”
She’s staring at her family’s crest carved into the wall, and I have a feeling I can guess what some of her what-ifs are.
“What about Aston’s theory?” she asks, reminding me we still have a whole lot more awkwardness to get through before this is over.
I can’t look at her as I ask, “He told you?”
“I figured it out. And for the record, I’m not convinced he’s right. But even if he is, it doesn’t change anything. I don’t want to be bonded to someone who’s only trying to fix me.”
“But what if it’s the only way to stop the power from ruining you?”
“Then I’ll deal with it. It’s not your problem.”
We both know it kinda is.
“What about the last thing?” she whispers. “And don’t make me say it again. It was embarrassing enough the first time.”
Seriously—where is a sinkhole when I need one?
“I don’t think you’re seducing me,” I tell my feet.
“But?” she prompts.
I can hear my brain screaming, DON’T SAY IT.
We’ve already come this far, though, so I blurt out, “You’re really not still hoping I’ll change my mind?”
“Please, Vane. How many times do I have to tell you—”
“Yeah, I know. You’re not pining for me. But . . . if you’re really over it, why are you still wearing your link?”
She stops spinning the cuff, almost like she didn’t notice she’s been doing it. “I’ll get rid of it someday. I’m just not ready yet—and not because of you. Because of me. It just feels like, once I take it off—that’s it. There goes my whole family’s heritage.”
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
Because I’m stealing the throne.
“I don’t want to be king,” I tell her.
“You know that makes it worse, right? You’re being handed my future and you don’t even want it. All you want to do is run away.”
“Yeah, because it’s a huge freaking responsibility! And I have no idea how the hell I’m supposed to rule people.”
“So you learn. And you try your best.”
“It won’t be good enough.”
“I don’t believe that. You could be a great king, if you decided you wanted to be. Your Westerly perspective is incredibly valuable.”
“Tell that to Os—and the Gales—and anyone else who expects me to be this, like, ultimate warrior. That’s the thing, Solana. Even if I do find a way to kill Raiden—that’s it. Then I’m done with violence forever. And what happens the next time there’s a threat to our world?”
“Then your Westerly instincts will teach you how to keep the peace.”
I sigh.
That’s asking an awful lot of the wind.
And not even the whole wind. Westerly is one language out of four—and let’s not forget that it’s a language that almost got totally wiped out.
Why is everyone so convinced it’s the answer to everything?
Just because it’s important doesn’t mean it’s the only thing we need. Otherwise, why are there three other languages?
I straighten up. “It should be four.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” Solana asks.
I shake my head, taking a second to think it all through again before I tell her, “One ruler isn’t enough. There are four winds.”
“So . . . you’re saying there should be four kings?”
“Or queens,” I correct. “All that matters is that each language have a representative.”
I’d still be stuck being King Westerly—but it wouldn’t be as bad if it wasn’t all on me.
And Solana could be the Southerly.
Then she wouldn’t have to lose her family’s heritage.
And it might be a way to calm Os down about Audra, too. She could represent the Easterlies—assuming she still wants to be with me, and we manage to survive today, and we kill Raiden, and and and . . .
“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Solana says, and I wonder if she’s been thinking about the same things. “Let’s get Gus and Audra back and then we can decide if we want to convince the Gales to reorganize our entire world.”
When she puts it like that, the idea sounds impossible.
But . . . I still think I’m onto something.
For the first time since Audra told me about all of the Gales’ crazy plans, I can actually think about my future without feeling like I’m hyperventilating.
It’s made things less awkward with Solana, too. She has no problem leaning on me—though her leg does seem to be getting stronger.
We’re moving at a pretty good pace when we turn a corner and find a dead end with an old metal ladder leading to another hatch in the ceiling.
The entrance into Raiden’s fortress.
CHAPTER 22
AUDRA
I try to focus on moving forward and solving the riddle of this labyrinth.
But every time I hear the Living Storm wail, I can’t help thinking: It could be Vane.
It could also be my mother—which is more terrifying than heartbreaking.
Who could stand against a tempest of my mother’s greed and rage?
“You okay?” Gus asks. “Are your wounds making you woozy?”