“Why do you care?” Vane demands before I can answer.
“Because I’m trying to strategize! If you won’t teach the rest of us, the least you can do is tell me her strengths so I can organize our formation accordingly.”
I choose only things they would see me use during the fight. “He taught me how to call a Westerly. And how to weave all four winds into a spike.”
“The same spikes Gus used when he defeated the Living Storm?” Os asks, stepping closer when I nod. “We need those for this battle. If you won’t teach us to weave them, at least supply them for the others.”
I’d thought of that earlier—and it seems like a fair compromise. But the idea of handing over that kind of power turns my stomach. Vane must feel just as torn, because when I look at him he shakes his head—but it doesn’t seem like a no.
It looks more like he’s leaving the decision up to me.
“Please,” Os whispers. “I don’t want to lose any more of my guardians.”
For a moment he looks like the Os I remember—the valiant captain staring at me with a mix of fear and respect.
I don’t understand or agree with his recent methods, but I know he’s trying to protect our people.
That doesn’t mean I can trust him, though.
I try to think through everything I’ve learned about the Westerlies, hoping there’s some clue that will tell me what they’d want me to do. They’re brave and loyal. Steady and peaceful. And yet, the command that finally allowed our escape from Death Valley was an aggressive word. I never would’ve thought to give that kind of command to a Westerly. But that was what my shield told me to use, like it knew there are times when we have to push beyond what feels comfortable and go with something more extreme.
I take a deep breath, looking at Vane as I say, “I’m willing to weave one spike for every guardian. Only one.”
Vane hesitates for a second, then nods.
Os does too, though he looks less than satisfied. “How long will it take?”
“How many guardians are coming?”
“Nineteen, including myself and Gus. Twenty if you count Solana.”
The numbers feel heavy in my head.
Twenty-nine Living Storms—plus who knows how many Stormers—against so small a band of Gales . . .
Os must read the worry on my face because he tells me, “You could teach us your commands.”
“I can’t.”
“Really? And what if Raiden captures you? Have you thought of that?” he asks Vane. “You realize she could hand him the power of four now, don’t you?”
“Uh, have you met Audra? If anyone’s stubborn enough to resist Raiden, it’s her.” He flashes a small, sad smile at me, but that isn’t what makes my breath catch. It’s the absolute trust in his eyes.
Not since my father has anyone shown so much faith in me.
“But I’ll never let that happen,” Vane adds, his voice darkening. “Raiden won’t get anywhere near her.”
“If you really want to make sure of that,” Os snaps, “you’d give more of us the power to protect you two.”
“The wind spike was all I needed,” Gus reminds him. “And if Audra’s going to make them for us, she should get started—now. While we still have enough winds.”
We all turn to the window. The sky is a clear, perfect blue, but the trees in the grove are mostly still. The morning breezes that usually stir their leaves are whisking away. Spooked by the change in the air.
Vane slips on his shoes. “Will you be okay without me for a few minutes?”
He’s talking to me, but Os is the one who answers. “Your responsibility is here, Vane.”
“Actually, I thought my responsibility was to every innocent person in this valley.”
“And you think you’re helping them by wasting time warning one groundling?”
“He’s my friend.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“For me, it is.”
“Maybe you should let him go, sir,” Gus interrupts. “You know he’s going to do it anyway.”
Os doesn’t agree—but his silence is enough.
Vane pulls me in for the briefest of kisses—so light I’m not sure if our lips even touch—before whispering for me to stay close to Gus, then making his way to the window. I can’t help smiling as he jumps outside and I hear the thornbushes crunch, followed by a high-pitched yelp.
“So smug in your betrayal,” Os grumbles as soon as Vane’s flown away. “You swore an oath—have you forgotten that?”
The words sting more than I want them to, and it takes me a second to find the right reply. “I’ve never stopped serving the Gales—but my loyalty lies with my king. As I thought it was supposed to be for all of us, now that he’s stepped into his role.”
“Has he now?” Os laughs without humor. “Do you know how many guardians we’ve lost since Vane stepped into his role? Forty-one.” He kicks one of Vane’s shoes across the room and it slams into the wall hard enough to leave a black scuff. “Forty-one loyal, dedicated soldiers who kept up the fight after you abandoned your duties. All while we have a leader who harnesses an ultimate power he refuses to share with anyone—except you. A leader who we thought had at least been trained for this moment by our most dedicated child prodigy. And yet Feng told me Vane knew almost nothing when he took over. Did you do anything besides seduce him?”
My eyes sting with shame, but I fight back the tears.
What Os is saying might be true—but I have to believe that Vane shared his heritage with me for a reason, and that with the Westerlies’ help we’ll be able to win the coming battle.
Voices outside break the uncomfortable silence.
“Excuse me,” Os says, “I need to go lift the morale of my soldiers before the fight—not that there’s much I can say. Without the power of four, we all know someone’s going to die today. We just don’t know who, or how many.”
He stalks out of the room, followed by Solana. She doesn’t look at me, but I can see her judgment in the straight line of her shoulders and the sway of her hips.
Gus sighs. “Well, that went well.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with all this—and thank you for not correcting me.”
He nods, staring at the floor before he steps closer and whispers, “You have had the fourth breakthrough, right?”
I study his face, making sure I can trust him. “Yes.”
He releases the breath he’d been holding. “Then maybe we have a chance. Vane’s a terrible fighter.”
“I know. I tried to—”
“Relax, I didn’t mean that against you. My dad didn’t get very far either—and he’s one of the greatest fighters in the Gales. Was,” he corrects.
Guilt surges inside me, hot and sharp. “I’m so sorry—”
“Please don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. And in a weird way, I think this was what he wanted. He never got over losing my mom. Now he doesn’t have to miss her anymore.”
The only thing I can say is what we’re always supposed to say at a moment like this. But this time I force myself to believe it’s true. “Now they’re together in the sky.”
Gus nods and looks away.
I leave him alone, heading toward the door.
“You don’t have to stay with me,” I tell him when he follows.
“Vane will kill me if I let you out of my sight. And it’s probably better if I stay out of Os’s way right now.”
I can feel all the guardians watching us as we make our way to the date grove. It’s strange to see so many of them gathered together. During my training they always worked in small groups. Bases of five or ten at the most, to make sure we never opened ourselves up to too many casualties. And once I was assigned to Vane, I was alone.
If Raiden’s killed forty-one Gales—even if twenty-nine of those were his recent capture—he must’ve taken down most of the nearby bases. And if he wins today he’ll have wiped out the bulk of our Pacific Fleet. I wish we had t
ime to call the other fleets for aid, but I’m sure that’s why Raiden is moving quickly. He doesn’t want us to have a chance to regroup.
My legs feel heavy as we weave through the familiar overgrown trees, but I stuff my exhaustion away. I’m no stranger to sleepless nights.
Still, I wish I had time to steal away to the mountains for fresh air to revive me. Instead I head straight to the sun-bleached walls of my shelter.
Vane was right about the mess, and paired with the heat and the bugs swarming everywhere, it’s hard to imagine that I actually lived here. I never truly thought of this place as my home, but as I cross into the small corner of shade under the few remaining eaves, I realize that, for better or worse, these crumbling walls know the story of my life.
I pull my windslicer from the slit I carved into the floor and check the needles to make sure they’re not bent or tarnished.
“This must’ve been a tough assignment,” Gus says, kicking away a couple of date roaches. “I don’t know how you did it. I mean, living in this piece of crap, having to stay hidden, putting up with Vane—though clearly that last one wasn’t as challenging for you.”
“Actually, having feelings for Vane was the hardest part. Despite what you may think, I did try to fight them.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine, Gus. You don’t have to pretend that you don’t think I’m a traitor for bonding to him.”
“Good, because I don’t.”
I nearly prick my finger on a needle. “You don’t?”
He crunches a few more roaches as he comes to stand beside me. “No. It’s a mess—I’ll give you guys that. But if this is what you both want, I don’t think the Gales should have the right to interfere. And I will never support them if they try to break you apart.”
I’m almost too stunned to speak. But I manage a weak “Thank you.”
That’s one vote in our favor at least. I wonder how many others . . .
“How does it even work?” he asks quietly. “Like, how do you break a bond?”
“Aston didn’t say. He told me our instincts can guide us if we decide to do it ourselves, and that it’s a bit like shifting forms. But if someone does it to you, all he said is that it would be very unpleasant.”
Gus shudders. “Sounds like an understatement.”
“Yes, it does.”
The holes in Aston’s skin flash through my mind.
Vane is so much a part of me now, I can’t imagine I’d be any less scarred if someone ripped him away. But I shove my worries to the same place I shoved my weariness. I have a lot of wind spikes to make.
I build them the new way Vane used, with only one of each wind united together. They turn sleek and deep blue and even more deadly than I remember, and with each new spike, I whisper a silent plea that I’m making the right choice by sharing them with the Gales.
“Is that your bird?” Gus asks, pointing to the top of the tallest palm. “Because that would explain a lot. Freaking thing screeches his head off every morning at sunrise, and the only reason I didn’t blast him across the country is because Vane wouldn’t let me.”
I smile sadly. “Gavin was used to me coming home at that time.”
It takes several deep breaths to work up the courage to finally look where Gus is pointing.
I could’ve taken Gavin with me when I left, could’ve let him fly beside me for my journey, the way he did every day since he became mine. But after all the ways my mother lied and deceived me through him, all the misplaced blame and guilt—even though it wasn’t Gavin’s fault—I couldn’t have him with me.
Even now, as I stare into his angry red-orange eyes, part of me wants to look away. But then I’d be as bad as her, turning my back on someone who needs me, simply because it hurts.
I hold out my arm and call Gavin to my side.
For a second he ignores me. Then he spreads his strong gray wings and dives, landing on my wrist with an earsplitting shriek. His talons cut in just enough to let me know he hasn’t forgiven me, but not enough to draw blood. A happy truce I’m willing to accept as I reach up and stroke the silky feathers along his neck.
“A storm is coming,” I tell him, beginning to understand why Vane had to warn his friend. “You have to get somewhere safe. Head as far south as you can and don’t return until the skies clear.”
Gavin screeches again, and his wings don’t budge. But when I repeat the command with a plea, he nips my finger gently and takes off, sweeping toward the south like I’ve asked.
“It’s hard to believe we’re really going to get through this, isn’t it?” Gus asks as he picks up a wind spike, testing its weight in his hands.
He steps back, squatting into a sparring position before he launches into one of the Gale’s advance practice routines. The way he moves is flawless. No wasted energy. Every swipe precise and perfect. I’ve seen Gales with decades more training fight with less ease.
And Vane trusts him.
And he kept our secret—without my even asking.
“Come,” I say in Westerly, and the wind spike shoots out of Gus’s hand, midslice.
He glares at me as I catch it. “No need to rub it in.”
I hold his gaze and repeat the word again, slower this time. Making the syllables easier to understand.
His eyes widen. “Are you . . . trying to teach me?”
I nod, relieved when a wave of nausea doesn’t hit.
“Will that even work if I haven’t had the breakthrough?”
“It did for Vane as a kid. He used a command he’d heard his parents say, even though he didn’t know what it meant. It’s how he saved my life.”
“Wow, you guys have a ton of history, don’t you?”
“We do.”
I repeat the word again, breaking down the intonations. Gus repeats it, fumbling over the sleepy hisses in the second part. But after four tries the spike launches into his hands.
“That is so freaking awesome.”
He flings the spike toward a palm and hisses the command, snapping it back toward him like a boomerang.
“So I don’t get to know what I’m saying?” he asks as he catches it one-handed.
“It’s safer for you if you don’t.”
Breakthroughs are complicated things. Most of the time they require extreme measures to trigger. But it always comes down to learning one word and having all the pieces snap together. Sometimes just hearing it is enough.
Gus goes back to practicing slashes with his spike. He moves so fast his arms turn to a blur as he whips the sharp edge at a strange angle that ripples the air.
“I guess it would be a pretty big responsibility,” he mumbles. “You just jumped to the top of Raiden’s Most Wanted list.”
“Second to the top,” I correct, trying to copy his motion and not coming close. “Vane’s still the only actual Westerly.”
“All the more reason why you’ll be at the top. Who’s Raiden going to want more—the guy whose kinsmen have been resisting his interrogation methods for decades, or the first non-Westerly to have the fourth breakthrough?”
I slash again, still failing to copy Gus’s skill. “Both.”
“Maybe.” He comes up behind me, grabbing my arm and guiding me through the motion. Halfway through the thrust, he slides his fingers to my wrist, showing me how I need to twist it at the tail end of my swipe. It’s the same way all my trainers worked with me when I was learning blade technique, but it feels strangely uncomfortable this time. Probably because Gus still has no shirt on and I’m stuck in this ridiculous dress.
Gus must feel the same way because he clears his throat and steps back, raising his spike to challenge me to a spar instead. “All I’m saying is, be ready. If I were Raiden—and I knew there was a chance I might only be able to grab one of you—I know which one I’d make my priority.”
I raise my spike to accept his challenge. “If that’s the case, it’s a good thing. Of the two of us, I’m far more ready to face down Raiden
than Vane is.”
“Well, that is definitely true.”
Still, Gus manages to knock my spike out of my grip in only three thrusts—and when I challenge him to a rematch I barely last five minutes before he knocks me to the ground and sends my spike skidding out of my reach.
“My gift lets me pull strength from the wind,” Gus explains, and I’m sure that’s part of my problem.
But the bigger issue is that every time I go for a deadly swipe, a rush of dizziness weakens my arm.
Gus helps me to my feet, and I can feel him studying me as I dust the sand off my shaky legs.
“That question you asked earlier,” he says after a second, “about picking up the Westerlies’ aversion to violence. Did you . . . ?”
I can’t look at him as I nod. “I’m not as bad as Vane, but . . .”
Gus sighs, and I want to crawl into a hole and disappear.
He squeezes my shoulder, waiting for me to meet his eyes. “I’ll have your back the entire time.”
I force a smile, trying to be grateful.
But as I stare at the sky, all I can hear are Os’s words from earlier.
Someone’s going to die today.
For the first time, I believe him.
CHAPTER 35
VANE
The flight to Isaac’s street takes less than five minutes, and as I touch down next to his beat-up truck, I still have no idea what I’m going to say. I just know that I’m not leaving until he agrees to get the hell out of town.
His neighbors are still asleep—their blinds closed tight—and when I stare at the row of nearly identical single-story houses, I feel like I’ve swallowed something bitter.
Dozens of families are in there, just like Isaac’s, all sound asleep, with no idea they’re in any danger.
Same with the next street over.
And the one after that.
And the whole freaking desert.
But I don’t have time to warn them all—and even if I did, it would only create massive panic.
I won’t let the Storms reach the valley, I promise myself as I sneak in the gate to Isaac’s backyard. His curtains are closed, and when I test his bedroom window, it’s locked. Which leaves pounding on the glass and calling his name, hoping I’m not waking his whole family.