Score another point for all the kissing!
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe we should make sure the bond is really in place, just to be safe.”
Audra makes a sound that could probably be described as a giggle, and I’m on my way to steal one more kiss when Aston clears his throat again.
“You really do need to pay attention—unless you don’t care about what happens to mommy dearest. Turns out Os here is planning on bringing her back to the Maelstrom, and I thought you might not be happy about that.”
“She’s a murderer,” Os argues. “And a traitor. And a danger to everyone. And she has to be contained.”
He’s not wrong.
But the Maelstrom is a death sentence.
I take Audra’s hand, hating to see the color draining from her face—especially since she’d had such a sexy flush a few seconds ago.
“Is the Maelstrom really the only option?” I ask.
“It’s not,” Aston says. “That’s where we come in. I’ve managed to convince the Gales to let the four of us try our hand at deciding. Consider it a test for how this process might work should they decide to make us rulers. So let’s not mess this up. I’m starting to think I’d rather like to live in a castle—though I’ll want my own. No way am I living with the kissing couple.”
“Me either,” Solana agrees.
Yeah, right there with them—and while we’re at it, I’m never setting foot in Brezengarde again, so if Solana wants it, she can have it.
Though wait—does this mean Audra and I are moving in together?!
How will I explain that to my parents?
“Focus,” Aston says, snapping his holey fingers in my face. “This is the part where we’re supposed to come up with brilliant alternatives.”
“I make no guarantee that we’ll hold to your decision,” Os jumps in. “But it will be interesting to know your thoughts. The Maelstrom was my last resort after I exhausted every other avenue, so I can’t imagine you’ll come up with much.”
“What about banishment?” Solana asks.
“Do you really think she’ll stay away?” Os counters. “And what even constitutes proper banishment? Our people are scattered throughout the planet.”
“Then what about full-time guards?” I ask.
“I tried that already,” Os says. “She slipped away within hours.”
“I came back,” Arella reminds him.
“No—we hunted you down.”
“I let you find me,” she corrects. “Believe me, if I wanted to disappear, I could. I know I’ve made mistakes, but I’m trying to be better. All I’m asking is for you to trust me.”
Audra snorts, and I tangle our fingers tighter as I lean in to ask her, “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I don’t think I can choose.”
“Wonderful,” Os says. “So our four potential leaders can’t even render a single decision.”
“I’ll give you a decision,” Aston says. “Make Arella my responsibility. I know how to control her. And this is an arrangement she already agreed to.”
She did—I was there.
But now . . . I don’t know.
“Allowing you to torture her three times a day doesn’t sound much better than sending her back to the Maelstrom,” I have to admit.
“She wouldn’t be dead,” Aston argues, “so that’s a pretty big improvement. She’d also have my charming company. But for the record, I have no intention of feasting on her pain. I’ve actually decided to go on a bit of a diet as far as that’s concerned. Solana’s new methods seem to be slowing my cravings.”
“Are you okay with this?” I whisper to Audra. “It’s better than the Maelstrom, right?”
She has her face turned to the wind, blinking back tears as she listens to their songs.
Os sighs. “We don’t have time for this.”
“You don’t have time to consult the wind?” Solana asks.
“Is that what she’s doing?” Os snaps back. “Or is she stalling?”
“It started as stalling,” Audra admits. “But the wind does have an alternative suggestion.”
I concentrate on the winds’ song and notice its singing about a lost bird. It doesn’t mean anything to me, but it has a different effect on Audra.
She sounds equal parts weary and nervous as she whispers, “The wind wants her to be my responsibility.”
CHAPTER 48
AUDRA
I should’ve known the wind would side with my mother—though I suppose I should be grateful it didn’t tell me to forgive her.
Only to help.
And to attempt to understand her.
I hear the words of the Easterly’s song in my father’s voice—deep and rich and resonant. And I can imagine him standing in front of me, his eyes glinting with too much love and joy to ever match the wind’s melancholy tone: A lost bird with tired wings
Never rests and never sings
Begs the sky for a place to land
Never finds a friendly hand
Passing time fades hope into a darker shade of gray Wayward winds drag calm and reason much too far away Hearts go cold
Paths get crossed