It makes me glance at Vane, wondering if he’s wishing she’d volunteered. It’s a crazy doubt, I know—but I can’t help feeling it.
Redness colors Vane’s cheeks, and he shrugs his free arm. But it’s the intensity of his eyes that makes my heart leap into my throat.
He’s focused only on me—his stare like a rope, pulling me closer.
“Getting dressed with a bum elbow is harder than it should be,” he says as I try to ease the tight fabric over his bandage. “Plus, I’m not sure if this shirt is really my size.”
It’s probably not.
Were his shoulders always this broad?
I have to lean closer to untangle a twist in his sleeve, and end up brushing my hand against his stomach.
Again. Wow.
I’m positive I’m blushing. And the air has turned tingly, making my head fuzzy.
I give his shirt a final tug to cover him, and the fabric suctions against his muscles like a second skin.
“Thanks,” Vane whispers, leaning so close his breath skips across my cheek.
His hair is damp and his face scrubbed clean, bringing back a hint of the boyishness I remember. But his features still look more angled and shadowed than they were.
These last few days have aged him.
My eyes wander back to his tight shirt without my telling them to, and I notice a necklace that must’ve been hidden by the bunched up fabric.
“You have a guardian pendant now?” I ask, sliding my finger across the blue cord.
“Actually, it’s yours,” he whispers. “Do you want it back?”
I shake my head.
I like knowing he has it. Somehow it makes the space between us feel smaller.
“Aston gave it to me,” he explains, “so I’d have a way to see you were still alive. I don’t know what I would’ve done . . .”
His voice catches then, and he clears his throat, his eyes glistening with tears.
My hand slides to where he’s clutching the silver feather pendant, and I wrap my fingers around his.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” I tell him.
“Are you seriously apologizing for Raiden capturing you? If anything, I . . .” He shakes his head and steps back, putting a gap between us. “Are you really okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I scratch at my sleeves, needing to keep my hands busy.
“Is your shirt itchy?” he asks.
I run my hands over the smooth purple fabric. “Actually, it’s too soft.”
My guardian uniform was coarse and heavy. Comfort makes me uncomfortable.
“Well, I feel like Captain America in this thing,” he says, pulling his shirt, trying to stretch it out. “Though I guess I wouldn’t mind if it turned me into a supersoldier.”
“You’re doing fine on your own,” Solana promises. “Plus, you have awesome backup.”
She smiles, but Vane’s lips stay straight and serious, and his eyes shift to the floor. “Actually I’ve been thinking about that—”
“Uh-uh,” Solana interrupts. “I’m seeing this through to the end.”
“So am I,” I tell him.
“Just hear me out,” Vane argues. “Aston can fly you to his cave and keep you safe—”
“I don’t want to be safe,” Solana tells him. “And I don’t need to be taken care of. You’ve seen me fight. You know I can handle myself. And whether you like it or not, you’re going to need my power.”
“What power?” I ask, realizing there’s an even better question. “How did you get us out of the oubliette?”
Vane and Solana share a look.
“Maybe we shouldn’t think about that right now,” Vane says.
“No, she might as well know.” Solana leans against the wall, trying to look confident. But her hands are twitching. “Just promise me you’ll hear me out before you judge me, okay?”
She waits for me to agree, then adds, “I . . . know how to use the power of pain.”
I fall back a step.
I can’t decide what bothers me more: That I never noticed? Or that they didn’t tell me.
“You knew?” I ask Vane. “How could you let her—”
“He hasn’t let me do anything,” Solana says. “It was my choice—and it saved all of our lives.”
“At what cost?” I demand.
“I haven’t ruined any winds, if that’s what you’re asking. All I’ve done is store drafts that have already been damaged, and draw them out when I need them.”
“That won’t stop the power from taking over,” I tell her.
“Yeah, I’ve been warned—a lot.” She shares another look with Vane, and I feel my stomach turn.
“You’re okay with this?” I ask him.
“Of course not.”
I’m calming a little. Until he says, “But . . .”
He sighs when he sees the look on my face. “Sometimes there isn’t a perfect solution—and I know what you’re thinking—”
“I don’t think you do.”
Westerlies are supposed to value peace above everything else.