Or cute, tiny hands.
I know how stupid that sounds—obviously he wasn’t born an evil dictator. But it’s bizarre to see proof of the before.
Once upon a time, he was just a kid with chubby fingers, flying kites and hugging his stuffed birdies and living with his family.
“What happened to his parents?” I ask. “And does he have any brothers or sisters?”
“No idea.”
“Shouldn’t we know?”
We’ve all been so focused on stopping him that we haven’t bothered getting to know him.
I wonder if that’s a mistake.
Isn’t that why “know your enemy” is a saying?
It makes me wish we had time to crack open every trunk and try to piece together his life story. Since we don’t, I shove the clay handprint thing in my coat pocket—and while I’m at it, I grab an old mallard-shaped windsock from the other trunk. I hope Socky the Duck was his favorite.
Solana doesn’t notice my thieving as she seals the hatch we came through and crawls toward the wall, where threads of light outline a heavy door.
“Any idea where that leads?” I ask.
She presses her ear against it. “Not really. But it sounds quiet out there. And it should be one of the old hallways. I doubt it’ll take us to the turbine—but hopefully it’ll have an air vent. If I’m not back in five minutes, come after me.”
She draws her windslicer and tugs lightly on the door.
“Is it locked?” I ask when it doesn’t budge.
She motions for me to duck into the shadows, then whispers the password that worked twice before.
Nothing happens.
“Let’s hope Aston’s commands work,” she says.
The sound of her snarl makes me queasy, and even across the room I can see her eyes glinting with the rush of the need.
A soft click rewards her efforts, and the door slides open. She doesn’t hesitate before slipping out, sending me back to waiting-and-counting mode.
I’m only at forty-seven seconds when I hear a grunt and a thud.
I scramble toward the door and crash into Solana, who’s dragging something into the room. It takes my brain a couple of breaths to realize it’s a body.
A Stormer with a yellow draft tangled around his face.
I can’t tell if he’s awake, but he’s not putting up a fight.
“He was the only one,” Solana whispers as she closes the door again so no one can hear us talking. “I couldn’t tell if he was a guard or just passing by. Either way, this is good news.”
“How?”
“Because we can take his uniform. He even looks like he’s your size. I wish he’d been carrying an anemometer, but they must only carry those when they’re out in battle. At least he has a windslicer.”
She gets to work stripping him down, but I can’t stop staring at his face.
He looks about my age—maybe a little older.
“Help me lift his legs,” Solana whispers.
I obey—and then regret it when she pulls down his pants and the dude’s going commando.
Solana laughs as I cringe. “What were you expecting?”
“Uh—how about some boxers? Even tighty-whities would’ve been better than nothing.”
Solana looks at me like I’m speaking alien, which raises a super-weird question.
“Sylphs wear underwear, right?”
“Why would we? The less we have between our skin and the air, the better.”
I have absolutely no idea how to respond to that—and I have to work very hard not to think about what’s clearly not under Solana’s tiny dress.
Then again, it does also cast a new, rather interesting light on all of my memories of Audra . . .
Solana kills the fantasies by tossing the pants at my head. “Get changed.”
“Dude, his junk was floating around in these.”
“Well, apparently yours won’t be.” She raises one eyebrow and my face gets hot. Especially when she adds, “You should consider it. Might make a difference. But either way, you’re currently dressed like a Gale. And they know we’re here.”
I really really really really really hate her for being right.
I also hate how badly my cheeks are burning.
And I’m definitely not going freebird in these things.
“What about you?” I ask as I duck behind some trunks and struggle out of my coat.
“I’ll change if we find another Stormer—or pass a supply closet. But now that you’re in uniform we’ll be okay. If we see anyone, we’ll pretend I’m your prisoner.”
“That’s asking a lot of my acting skills.”
“Hopefully it won’t come up. How’s it going back there? Need help?”
“Don’t even think about it. You just worry about naked boy—and maybe cover his bits with Raiden’s blankies.” I emerge a minute later, fidgeting in the itchy fabric and wishing my new pants weren’t so much tighter than my others The stuff from my pockets barely fits. “Should we tie him up so he can’t walk out of here once he wakes up?”
“That won’t be a problem.”