“Thinking of others doesn’t tie your hands,” Solana insists. “And it definitely doesn’t limit your power. It made us stronger than even Raiden claimed to be.”
“And you can organize yourselves however you want,” I add. “You’re the experts on battle strategy. All I need is for you guys to keep the Stormers busy, so I can find Raiden and end this.”
“You’re going to end this?” Os asks. “You realize what that means?”
“Yeah, I’m going to kill Raiden,” I tell him.
Hopefully slowly and painfully.
It’s kind of amazing how little the idea shakes me. All I have to do is keep my mind focused on Gus.
“I’ll be helping,” Solana jumps in.
“As will I,” Audra adds.
“Only if I need it,” I correct.
“Oh, you’ll need it,” Os says. “Or is selflessness supposed to be the magical cure for your aversion to violence?”
“No, the magical cure is rage,” I tell him. “Raiden murdered Gus right in front of me. He tortured the girl I love. So yeah, I have absolutely zero doubt that the first chance I get, I’ll be ready to end him.”
I’m pretty proud of how confident I sound in my little speech. Until I realize I slipped the L word in there too.
The coward in me wants to put my head down—look anywhere but Audra’s face.
But the needy, desperate boy has to know what she thinks.
I steal a glance, and . . . she’s not looking at me.
But she’s blinking a lot.
Are those tears?
If they are—are they good tears?
Something hits my side, and I realize Solana elbowed me.
“Os asked you a question,” she says under her breath.
Right. I’m supposed to be focusing on battles and things.
“One more time?” I ask, losing what little credibility I might’ve gained.
Os sighs. “I asked if you have a preference on how we organize the ranks.”
“I do,” Aston jumps in, and once again I want to hug him. He knows everything about Raiden’s battle tactics and gets to work bossing everyone around, sending the guardians to different positions, and telling them how to prep for battle.
Arella wanders off to “get a better reading on the air.” And Solana takes off her jacket to absorb as many winds as she can. Even Audra’s keeping busy, testing her strength and range of motion with her windslicer.
And I’m . . . standing here uselessly—which is pretty much par for the course, but it feels like I could do better.
I still have the pain pills I grabbed from my house, so I divide them up among the Gales, telling them to crush them and throw the powder in the Stormers’ faces if they lose their weapons during the battle.
I’m debating whether I should make them wind spikes, too, since I know Os will probably shatter the drafts in them. I decide to put it off when I remember a question I meant to ask.
“Do either of you guys know anything about this?” I ask Aston and Os, showing them the whistlepipe.
Their jaws fall open.
“I’m guessing that’s a yes?”
“That belonged to Raiden’s sister,” Aston whispers.
“Raiden has a sister?”
“Had,” Os corrects. “She returned to the sky when he was nine. He never told me the whole story. Something to do with groundlings. Add it to the list of reasons he despises them.”
Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.
Dead sister. Humans responsible. And Raiden probably felt super powerless when it happened.
I’m not a shrink or anything, but that sounds like a pretty good reason why someone might head down the I-want-to-kill-everyone-and-have-absolute-power path.
I’m trying to figure out if my hands are strong enough to crush the pipe right in front of him, or if I’ll have to drop it and stomp it with my boot when I hear Aston worrying about our number of guardians.
“You don’t think fifty will be enough?” I ask.
“Sixty-three,” Aston corrects. “And no, I don’t. Raiden will bring at least a hundred.”
“How many Stormers does he actually have?” I ask.
“Not as many as you’d think. He has trust issues, if you can’t tell by the suicide drafts. He usually keeps his force between one hundred twenty and one hundred fifty, recruiting and replacing as needed.”
Wow—that’s definitely not as many as I’d been imagining.
“I’m sure he’ll also bring Living Storms,” Os adds, squishing the tiny bit of hope I’d been building. “Depending on how many innocents he can find and transform.”
My mind flashes to the people in the hotel, and I really really really hope he needs sylphs in order to make his creepy warriors. But I can’t help imagining hundreds of Living Storms tearing toward us.
“And this is really everyone?” I ask Os. “There aren’t any other Gales we can call for aid?”
Os shakes his head. “Raiden has decimated our forces over the last few years. And we were always a small uprising. All we have are those you see, those too badly injured to fight, and a handful of reserves I left behind to cover things should the worst happen.”