“That’s kind of the point,” I say. “Can you make sure he knows where we’re going?”
Arella nods. “As soon as we arrive, I’ll send him a very special invitation.”
“I’m sure you will,” Audra mutters, slashing her windslicer again. “That’s what you do best.”
I want to reach for her hand, but that would probably be a bad idea—especially now that she’s armed.
“I’ll go first,” I tell everyone. “And if any of you decide you’d rather not be part of this, I won’t blame you. This is my fight—”
“It’s our fight,” Solana corrects. “Raiden killed my family.”
“And my husband,” Arella adds.
“And took about twenty pounds of my flesh,” Aston reminds me.
“And Westerly is my language too,” Audra adds—finally meeting my eyes. “The winds chose to protect me. I’ll do the same for them.”
I guess there’s nothing else to say.
Silently, though, I beg the sky to keep them safe.
Please don’t let this be another mistake.
I repeat the plea twice more.
Then I step into the pipeline and let the winds blast me away.
CHAPTER 40
AUDRA
The last time I stood among these rolling hills, my father died.
I can feel him in every rustle in the air.
In the stirring leaves in the scattered trees.
And yet he’s never felt so far away.
I turn my face to the sky and search for my favorite Easterly. Somehow it always made me feel like he was still watching over me.
I haven’t called for the draft since it convinced me to break my bond—and not because I regret the decision.
It’s just hard to crave the thing that brought me such pain.
And yet . . . I still crave Vane.
Thinking his name makes my insides wither.
Arrogant as it may sound, I never considered he might reject me.
He turned his head away, like the very idea of kissing me was disgusting.
Some small, rational part of me remembers the regret and worry I saw in his eyes as he did it, and knows there were likely factors behind the decision that I’m not considering.
But the crushed, wounded parts can’t stop watching him with Solana.
They pace across the field, her at his side, hanging on his every word. I’m sure they’re discussing strategy, but . . .
She’s still wearing their link.
And they’ve been traveling together.
And she’s so soft and beguiling.
And the only word I caught of his mumbled excuse was Solana.
And . . .
I’m being a fool. Even if my worries are founded, this is the absolute last thing I should be thinking about before a battle.
I close my eyes, trying to imagine my former walls rising up inside me, sealing off any emotions.
I need to be cold.
Still.
Numb.
“I can feel the Gales approaching,” my mother says beside me, making my insides tangle. “They should land in a few minutes.”
That’s faster than I was expecting.
I triggered the emergency call less than an hour ago.
They must be speeding their flight with the power of pain.
My mouth tastes sour at the thought.
“What about Raiden?” I ask.
“He knows how to hide from my senses. But I can feel enough turbulence to tell he’s on his way. I can’t guess his precise trajectory, but I suspect we have a bit longer. He’ll wait for us to take our places and he has the air prepared. Then he’ll reveal himself.”
“Thank you for the report.”
I assume she wanders away. But after several seconds she tells me, “You should be preparing with the others.”
“I am preparing.”
“No, you’re mooning over a boy.”
My grip tightens on my windslicer, but I keep my eyes closed, refusing to let her bait me.
She’s like a mosquito—if you can’t swat her, the only option is to let her sate her taste for blood and flit away.
“In case you’re worried,” she whispers, “I’m not angry at you for hurting me.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
I hear her sigh. “So this is how it is now? We can’t even talk to each other?”
“When have we ever talked?”
All I remember are the years she let me carry the blame for my father’s death—years I sweated under the desert sun, living in a crumbling shack because I wasn’t welcome in her home.
She lets out a second sigh. “I never realized being a mother would be this difficult.”
“Yes, it must be awful for you having to think about someone besides yourself. And now you sit there, expecting sympathy—”
“I don’t expect sympathy,” she interrupts. “All I hope for is understanding. I know I haven’t been a perfect mother—”
I have to laugh at that.
“—but that doesn’t mean some part of me doesn’t wish that I had been,” she finishes. “I did try at times, though I’m well aware of my failings. Is it so wrong to admit I wasn’t prepared?”
“Yes,” Vane says, and every nerve in my body tingles to life.
I can tell he’s standing over me, but when I force myself to look up, all I can see is a blinding halo of blond waves, standing close by his shadow.