“You won’t find him,” my mother tells me.
I hate her for being right.
Why can’t he be there?
Why can’t he—
I suck in a breath. “I feel him.”
My mother grabs my arm, her whole body shaking.
“He’s coming from the north,” I whisper. “I’m calling him over.”
“Go inside,” she tells me, dragging me toward the door.
I lock my knees. “Why? What are you doing?”
“I’m bringing you inside. For once, can’t you simply listen to me?”
“Not until you tell me why.”
My mother laughs, clawing harder at her skin. “Stubborn right to the end.”
She reaches down her dress and pulls a golden-brown eagle feather from what’s left of her cleavage.
“Yes,” she says as my eyes widen with recognition. “Raiden sent me a special message. He told me to bring you somewhere and keep you occupied so his Stormers could collect you.”
“And you agreed,” I finish, though it goes without saying.
“I didn’t have to. He was sending them either way. And if I resist, he’ll destroy your father’s wind. So go inside, Audra. Don’t make me force you.”
I have to laugh at that. “You think I’m going to surrender that easily? You can’t beat me anymore. I have the power of four! I have Gus’s gift!”
“GO INSIDE NOW!” she screams, launching a whipping wind that drags me through her front door and slams it behind me.
I tear at the handle, but somehow the wind holds it closed.
She can’t contain me that easily.
I grab one of the chairs from the table and smash it through the nearest window, kicking away the jagged shards of glass so I can crawl through.
My feet have barely touched the ground when two Stormers land in the yard.
“Let’s make this quick,” the tallest one says—though they’re both enormous.
Raiden sent his best.
“GO INSIDE!” my mother screams as I gather any nearby winds.
The Stormers have tried to clear the sky, but they can’t chase away my Westerlies.
“They’re not taking me again!” I shout.
“Please, Audra,” my mother begs. “I don’t want you to see this.”
“See what?” the smaller Stormer asks.
It all happens too fast then.
Wood crackles as my mother whips her arms, tearing huge branches off my favorite oak and slamming the jagged ends through the Stormers’ chests.
No one has ever survived her trademark trick.
No one can match my mother’s speed.
But . . . she wasn’t fast enough.
With his final breath the largest Stormer snarls a broken command.
I scream and drop to my knees as the wind he’d been carrying writhes in pain and unravels. Slowly the draft’s essence crumbles away, until there’s nothing left but a sickly yellow whirl.
It used to be an Easterly.
It used to be everything.
“I didn’t want you to see,” my mother whispers.
I realize her arms are around me, and that we’re both shaking too hard to move.
It’s impossible to think surrounded by so much destruction.
Shattered branches.
Shattered bodies.
Shattered wind.
“I’m so sorry, Audra—there was no way to save you both, and I wasn’t going to make the wrong choice again.”
She chose me.
“Please come inside,” she whispers. “The violence . . . remember, you speak Westerly.”
Somehow I make my legs carry me into the house. Or maybe it’s my mother carrying me. My mind is too stuck on the fact that she chose me.
And my father . . .
“He’s really gone,” I whisper.
That last tiny piece.
I hadn’t realized how much it meant until . . .
“He’s not gone,” my mother tells me. “That’s what I finally see. He lives in you—everything powerful and incredible about him lives in you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. And I’m sorry I let the madness ruin us.”
“Are we ruined?” I whisper.
It feels like it.
But I don’t want to give Raiden that power.
My mother has played the villain—but Raiden’s always been the true enemy. He set our world on this path and left everything scattered and broken.
I won’t let him break me.
I won’t let him take anything else.
So I hold tight to my mother—let her wipe my tears and check me for wounds. And when she’s done, I do the same for her.
“I can hear your Westerly singing,” she tells me, tracing her fingers through the breeze against my skin. “What is it saying?”
I close my eyes and listen to a song about a steady tree, braving every storm because of its strong hold.
My mother has always been my tempest.
But maybe she can also be my roots.
I sing the lyrics for her—but stick to a loose translation to avoid risking any breakthrough.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I’ll try to remember that so I can hold steady until the next time you come to check on me. In the meantime, go. Get ready for Vane.”
I check my bond, not sure if I should be relieved or terrified that the pull feels just as far away as before. Clearly there was more to Raiden’s plan than any of us anticipated.