Vane focuses on Solana before he tells Os, “We follow the same model as the wind. Four languages. Four rulers. None of this one-king-to-rule-them-all crap. Humans have been trying that for centuries and it’s never gone well—and it hasn’t exactly been awesome for you guys either. But you saw how well the power of four worked when it had each of us channeling our own language. Why would it be any different when it comes to ruling our people?”
“Because four leaders would do nothing but dispute and dissent,” Os argues.
“Or maybe they’d balance each other,” Vane snaps back. “We could keep each other in check. Make sure a power trip like Raiden’s never happens again. Come on, you have to admit the idea makes sense.”
Silence follows.
Even the sky seems to be holding its breath.
I can’t decide if I should be impressed that Vane put so much thought into this, or sad that I’m hearing his plan the same time as everyone else.
“I suppose it depends on the four,” Aston says after a moment. “Vane would obviously be the Westerly.”
“Yeah, I can’t seem to dodge that one,” Vane agrees. “And Solana should be the Southerly.”
“And I suppose you want her to be the Easterly?” Os snaps, pointing at me.
“Audra’s fought harder for our cause than almost anybody,” Solana says before I can form a reply. “I’d be honored to serve alongside her.”
“As would I,” Vane adds. “Assuming that’s what she wants to do.”
“Well, isn’t this working out conveniently,” Os mutters. “So who did you have in mind for the Northerly?”
“That one’s harder,” Vane admits. “It should’ve been Gus. But since he’s gone . . . what about Aston? He made an awesome fourth today. And he survived Raiden’s fortress longer than anyone.”
“And cracked under the pressure,” Os reminds us.
“I’d like to see you do better,” Solana snaps. “Besides, what better way to make sure the Northerlies never stray down Raiden’s path again than to have their leader be someone who’s tasted his power and found the strength to escape it?”
“Careful, you’re going to make me blush,” Aston says. “Plus, I’m betting our captain was planning to nominate himself.”
Os denies it, of course. But I can see the shift in his expression. That quick glint of power, mixed with hunger.
Which is exactly why it should never be him.
“We’re not taking nominations,” Os says. “I’m not even sure why we’re discussing this.”
“Because I’m about to pick a fight with Raiden, and I need something to tell me I’m not going to regret it,” Vane says. “I’m not asking for a final decision. I’m not saying there can’t be more discussion. I just want you to agree that you’ll at least consider it. If you’re willing to let me risk my life for you, you should be willing to let me have some choice in my future if I survive. At least give the idea a fair try.”
Os rubs the edges of his scar. “Fine. The suggestion will be presented—assuming you survive your fight.”
“We will,” Solana says, and I envy her confidence—and so many other things—as she tells Vane, “We have the sky on our side—though we should be discussing some strategies.”
“And we should be leaving,” Aston jumps in. “If Raiden finds us here when he arrives, he won’t bother stopping.”
Everyone shifts into action, gathering up the last of the wounded and preparing to carry them away.
Vane grabs my hand as I join them. “Just give me five minutes, okay?”
He leads me to a quiet spot under a leaning tree. I stare at the crooked trunk, wondering if it stood straight and tall before the battle, and if it will ever sort itself out and grow straight again.
“So,” Vane says, “are we okay?”
I try to nod. But the air between us still feels murky.
“I thought it was going to come down to us,” I whisper. “I thought we were going to take down Raiden together.”
“So did I. But I have to admit, part of me is relieved that you’ll be safe.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Go back to my mother’s house? Watch the sky? Worry each breeze will carry your echo?”
“You’re not going back to my house?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
“Oh.”
The hurt laced into that single syllable feels like salt pressing into my wounds.
“What are you thinking?” I have to ask when he shifts his face to the slowly rising stars.
“I’m thinking . . . I can’t hear Gus’s echo anymore. Can you?”
I stretch out my senses. “No. He’s gone.”
“I’m so sorry.” He smudges the tears off my cheeks. “Listen—I’m just going to ask this quick, so we can get it over with, okay?”
He takes a shaky breath.
“When you and Gus were in Brezengarde, did you . . .”
“Did we what?” I press.
He clears his throat. “Did something change between you guys?”
The words weave through my head, tying up unanswered questions.
So all this time, he thought . . . ?
“It’s okay,” Vane whispers. “Gus was a good guy. And he was there to help you when I wasn’t. He even gave you his gift. I just . . . need to know.”
It’s my turn to step closer, take his hands, wait for him to look at me.
“We had to lean on each other,” I tell him. “But it wasn’t that kind of closeness. I even gave him mouth to mouth and nothing changed between us.”