Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3)

We must be deep under the earth.

“Welcome to my oubliette,” Raiden calls from somewhere high above us. “Clearly I should’ve kept you here all along, but I believed in the competency of my guards. That problem has now been corrected.”

Metal rattles, and a chained body is lowered in front of us—all I can see through the dim light is black skin and thin white scars.

I gasp.

“Yes,” Raiden says. “No doubt you recognize the fool who let you get away. Rest assured, that mistake will not be occurring again.”

The scarred Stormer thrashes, his words reduced to grunts and groans.

“Let me show you why you should be grateful for those chains holding you to the stones,” Raiden says.

The scarred Stormer’s eyes lock with mine as his bonds unravel, sending him plummeting into the darkness.

His groans fade as he falls—but the crash I’m expecting doesn’t come.

Instead, Raiden snarls some sort of command, and the groans choke off with a crunch.

“His years of loyal service bought him a much quicker death than any of you will experience should you try to escape,” Raiden tells us, and I wonder if that means he triggered the Stormer’s suicide draft. “Do not fool yourself into believing that your pitiful gifts will aid you. There’s no wind here. No power for you to draw on. Even I couldn’t stop myself from plummeting, and if you fall . . .”

A stretch of silence follows, until it’s broken by the sickening thud of a body spattering against the floor.

The sound of gore doesn’t bother me as much as the fact that I never learned the scarred Stormer’s name.

He was misguided—even cruel at times.

But he had his complicated reasons.

He also came to my aid once.

And now he’s dead, because Gus and I tried to escape.

“Please,” Vane says, his voice more angry than desperate. “I’m the one you want. Let the others go.”

Raiden’s laughter is darker than his pit. “You’re the least interesting at this point. But I’ll deal with that when I’ve finished cleaning up your mess. So I’d advise you to let the reality of your situation settle in. Your deaths are inevitable, but you still have the chance to spare yourselves countless hours of agony.”

Metal clangs as my chains tangle so tight, it feels like my neck might snap.

“Fight against your bonds, and my guards have orders to drop you. And those who might consider themselves valuable should know that they’ll cost the lives of others.”

Seconds blur into minutes, then Vane whispers, “Is he gone?”

His chains clatter, and he coughs and hacks as though the guards tightened his bonds to punish him.

So we can’t talk—can’t move. And Raiden’s not lying about the air. There’s nothing here to aid us. My Westerly shield remains, but the turbine must’ve swallowed our other winds. And no drafts are brave enough to sink this deep into the earth.

That would explain why the Stormers didn’t follow us after we entered the wind tunnel. They knew we’d either lose consciousness from the flurries, or trap ourselves another way.

My shield’s song begs me to remember that the harshest storms eventually pass. But I find no comfort in the words.

How can any of us stand against such reckless cruelty?

Tears stream down my cheeks, and I surrender to the self-pity. After all the fighting and struggle and sacrifice—to end up here.

It’s such a disgusting waste.

I lose track of time. I lose feeling in my body. I’ve let myself slip so far away, I barely hear Solana whisper, “I’m getting us out of here.”

The guards rattle her chains to punish her, but it doesn’t stop the unsettling stirring.

The oubliette hums with a crackly sort of energy that rises from the darkness, filling the stagnant air with a willful purpose.

The swells grow stronger. Sharper. Tearing at my chains and clawing at my limbs.

All my instincts scream for me to resist the unnatural pull. But my Westerly’s song has changed. It sings of necessary sacrifice, and begs me to trust the danger.

So I release my hold as the air tangles into a cyclone of wicked wind. My chains bruise and batter until they eventually tear free—but instead of a deathly fall, I rise with the ruined drafts.

I crash into something nearby, not realizing it’s a person until their arms tangle around me, and I hold tight as we launch up with the strength of a hundred winds.

Jagged rays of light split the darkness, and we explode through shards of stone and bits of cold.

Whiteness swallows everything as I crash back to my feet, fighting to keep my balance in the mound of ice.

The storm fades and the cold takes over and I recognize the courtyard—and the hum of Raiden’s Shredder.

“This way,” I shout, struggling toward the sound.

The arms around my waist move with me, but someone else grabs my wrist and tries to drag me the opposite way.

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