He moves into the darkness, and Solana and I debate a second before we follow, keeping a safe distance from the tree he stops to lean against.
“Rena was fascinated by the groundling’s flying machines,” he whispers. “I never understood the appeal. But I was a good brother, so I’d sneak her away and we’d stand right here, where we could see them circle over this field, puttering and humming and spewing smoke. I brought her at least once a week, and it was always the same. But she didn’t tell me she’d had her breakthrough. If I’d known, I would’ve held her hand. I would’ve made sure she stayed beside me. I never would’ve let her fly so close.”
Solana covers her mouth, and I kinda feel like doing the same.
Everything I’m imagining involves some wicked sharp propellers.
“She might’ve lived,” Raiden whispers. “She’d only lost a leg. But the shock made her fall. And when I ordered the wind to catch her, the draft disobeyed.”
Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.
It even makes me feel a little sorry for Raiden—not enough to excuse anything he’s done. But still.
Watching your little sister die like that . . . ?
I trace my fingers over the chubby handprint in the clay, feeling like a jerk for what I’m about to do. But the winds still haven’t given us a plan, and I can feel our time running out.
“Surrender yourself,” I tell him. “End this peacefully. Or I’ll smash this into powder.”
Solana grabs my arm as the storm shakes the ground again.
“You know,” Raiden says, “I’m almost tempted to agree. I’d love to watch you live with what you’ve let happen tonight.”
“What does that mean?” I demand.
He laughs.
“There goes her thumb!” I shout, snapping off another piece of the plaster. “Tell me what you mean or I’ll destroy the rest.”
The winds roar with Raiden’s rage, and Solana clings to me, mumbling something about the sky being too charged for us to fly.
“You honestly can’t guess?” Raiden asks. “You haven’t wondered why I brought you here? Who I might be trying to keep you away from? Who else I might have wanted to reach with my message?”
“Oh God,” I say, and Solana has to hold me steady. “What have you done to Audra?”
The rest of the handprint crumbles to grit when he only smiles. I fling it at his head and grab the whistlepipe, squeezing it in my fist. “If you touch her again—”
“I’m not doing anything,” Raiden interrupts. “That’s on my associate. She and I made another deal.”
“Your associate?”
No.
It’s not possible.
How could Arella . . .
The metal squeals as I crunch it, echoing the sounds in my brain.
“You’re going to regret that,” Raiden tells me.
“We’ll get her back,” Solana promises. “Whatever happened, it’s not too late.”
But it is.
That’s why Raiden wasted so much time taunting us and telling stories. The monologuing was a stall for us. To stop me from saving her.
The only way to help Audra now is to end this for real.
I reach for her guardian pendant to calm my panic.
The cord is still blue—and my chest still aches with the pull of our bond.
There’s still time.
And there’s still wind.
Four drafts within my reach—one from each direction.
I weave them into a wind spike and beg for the full weight of their power.
“Well, then,” Raiden says, weaving three winds into a sickly gray spike of his own. “Shall we begin?”
CHAPTER 50
AUDRA
The sky is quiet in the desert.
Almost too still.
Just a slice of moon surrounded by dust and stars.
It makes me uneasy, though I’m sure that’s mostly the pull of my bond. The constant reminder that Vane is much too far away.
“Aren’t you coming inside?” my mother asks for what must be the fifth time.
“I told you, I will.”
I lasted five minutes after we arrived.
Five minutes of staring at the still, silent chimes my father gave her, once again locked away from the wind.
Then I needed air.
I move to the shadow of her lonely oak tree, the only place in this sad stretch of land that feels welcoming.
I made my guardian oath here.
Sacrifice before compromise.
I thought I was done with that life.
And yet, here I am—voluntarily my mother’s keeper.
I don’t regret the decision. But I dread it all the same.
Her birds have already begun to gather—fierce crows and twitching sparrows and leering vultures. They line the roof, the branches, the rocks and weeds. Their eyes follow my every move, their stares both wary and unwelcoming.
They always choose my mother over me.
I’ve assumed it was some testimony to her superiority.
But I wonder if it’s a simple matter of authority.
I march back inside, pluck my father’s chimes from above her empty table, and carry them out to the porch, stringing them from the same hook I used the last time I freed them.
My mother shouts for me to stop, but already their soft tinkling has made the air less lonely.