Let the Sky Fall (25 page)

The idea stirs such a mix of hot and cold I don’t know which sensation to settle on.

“That’s how I recognized you.” He keeps his voice low as a
fisherman passes us, whistling a tune that feels far too cheerful for the moment. “I’ve dreamed about you almost every night for as long as I can remember.”

I never realized. I’d assumed he only recognized me from the few times I’d revealed myself. But if he’s dreaming about me . . .

There’s only one way that could be possible. His mind would have to separate my voice from the whisper of the wind. We can do that with the people we care about. Like how I’d dream about my father after he sent me his lullabies.

But . . . how could Vane care about me? Before his memories were erased, he barely knew me. And in order to find my voice on the wind and attach it to my memory—a memory he should have forgotten?

He’d have to
love
me.

“Are you sure it’s me?” I ask, grasping for some other explanation.

“Trust me, it’s you.”

There are dozens of different ways to love somebody. But how could Vane Weston feel any of them for me—especially back then?

“Your hair’s always loose,” he adds quietly.

“Loose?”

“Yeah. It’s not in the braid. It’s free . . . and beautiful.”

His voice is soft. Tender. Laced with the kind of emotions he needs to cast away.

I shouldn’t meet his gaze—I know what I’ll see. But it’s like he draws me to him, and when our eyes lock I find the same intense stare I’ve seen too many times in my brief days with him.

I feel the air heat up as he takes a step closer, and I can’t believe
we’re here again. I have to say something—do something to stop this. But my head is swirling too fast. I can’t think.

“Why didn’t we fly here, Audra?” he asks. “You must have flown here when you followed me as a kid. So why not tonight—when we were in such a hurry?”

“I couldn’t.” The words slip out before I can think them through.

“Couldn’t do what?”

I look away, trying to recover. Trying not to imagine myself wrapped in his arms, surrounded by nothing but wind and darkness and stars. Our warmth blending into one as his hands slide down my waist . . .

“I was too tired.” I finally answer.

“Is it because of the water?” he asks.

I don’t want him to doubt my strength. But the lie is easier than the truth. So I nod.

He takes another step closer and cups my cheek, so soft. So gentle. “I’m sorry I gave it to you. I didn’t realize—”

“I know,” I whisper. I lean against his hand, closing my eyes and giving myself one second to let his warmth erase the chill that’s settled inside me from the strange winds and the stranger memories. Then I turn my face away.

“We should get started. We’re losing time.”

He takes a step away. “Where do you want to do this?”

“Down at the end. The winds should be strongest there.”

I expect him to turn and head that way, but he holds out his hand. When I don’t reach for it, he sighs. “We’re in this together, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then walk with me.”

I should protest. But after the emotional roller coaster I’ve just ridden, I’m not sure I can keep going on my own.

I take his hand.

Waves of heat rush up my arm as our fingers lace together, and I feel Vane shiver at the same time I do. Neither of us says a word as we walk toward the end of the pier. It feels like we’re both holding our breath. Waiting.

For what, I’m not sure.

Hopefully, for a new beginning.

But deep down it feels like the beginning of the end.

CHAPTER 37

VANE

I
wanted to lean in and kiss her so badly I thought my body might explode from the pent-up pressure—but I fought the urge.

Not because I think it’s wrong. Not because I’m scared of her army. Shoot—if I’m their future king, then I’m the one with the power. No way I’ll let them charge Audra with treason.

But Audra’s too . . . broken.

It’s like something shattered inside her years ago, and until she fixes it, she’ll just keep shoving me away. I have to wait until she’s ready.

Huh—I’m actually figuring her out.

Cool.

The winds pick up speed the farther the pier takes us out over the ocean. I try to listen to their songs, but all I hear is a loud hiss,
like static. My nerves knot into a big ball in the pit of my stomach and by the time we make it to the pier’s edge, I kinda want to hurl over the railing.

What if I can’t do this?

What if I’m . . . defective?

Great—like I need more pressure. Now I really am going to hurl.

The end of the pier is empty, probably because the wind is so strong. I lean against the blue railing and try to look way more relaxed than I feel. “So, how do we do this?”

“I don’t know,” Audra admits. “I guess you have to sit back, close your eyes, and hope your instincts do the rest.”

That really isn’t much of a plan. I can’t think of anything better, though, so I flop onto an empty bench. Audra tries to pull her hand away, but I tug her onto the bench next to me. Close enough for our legs to touch. “I need you with me for this. In case you have to bring me back when I have the breakthrough.”

Her body radiates as much tension as it does heat, but she doesn’t pull away.

Good.

I try to concentrate on the songs. It feels like fifty people are whisper-shouting at me in a foreign language.

“Just relax,” Audra tells me. “Let your mind drift with the winds. Follow their lead and hope they accept you.”

That falls into the category of advice that sounds helpful but actually makes no freaking sense. But I try to do as she says.

Yeah . . . it works as well as I figured.

Doesn’t help that the bench is arguably the most uncomfortable
seat ever invented. Cold wooden slats dig into my back. I slouch, and they dig in more. I try to lean my head back, but my neck throbs. I shift again and my butt goes numb.

“What are you doing?” Audra asks as I reposition again, this time lying across the bench on my back.

She’s probably referring to the fact that I’ve rested my head in her lap. Hey, when I see an opportunity, I take it.

“Do you want me to be able to concentrate or not?”

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t shove me away.

Awesome.

And actually . . . being this close to Audra makes everything else fade away. I focus on each Westerly as it slides across my face and feel the pull I felt at the wind farm.

My heritage is calling the winds.

But the winds don’t respond.

Minutes pass. Or maybe hours. I lose track of reality. My whole world narrows to me and those drafts. And the more my mind reaches for them, the faster they pull away.

Isaac likes to tease his sister’s cat with a laser pointer. I always thought it was hilarious—but as I lie here, grasping for something that insists on staying just out of my reach, I feel sorry for that dumb cat, chasing a red dot it will never catch.

The winds whip and swirl, and I feel my body move with the drafts. But no matter what I do, they won’t reach deep enough inside me, to the part that craves them so strongly it actually aches.

Then . . . something shifts.

A small strand of wind lets me breathe it in, and it slips inside
my mind. It darts around my consciousness, stirring feelings I can’t understand because I have nothing to attach them to. I strain to focus, grasping for whatever piece of myself the wind needs to make a connection. But I can’t find what it wants, and the longer it’s in there, the harder it thrashes.

Sparks flash behind by eyes and my stomach cramps. I want to vomit, but I can’t move, can’t think. Can only lie there as a million different splinters rip apart my skull and slam into my brain.

I hear myself groan.

“What’s wrong?”

It’s Audra’s voice. I know I should answer, but the throbbing has taken over my body. I’m not Vane anymore. I’m a lump of pain.

“Vane?” Audra calls. “Vane, wake up.”

Her warm hands press against my face—or I assume they do, based on the electric shocks that jolt me.

But it’s not enough to pull me back from the agony.

My brain fuzzes and I can’t fight it anymore. Darkness swallows me whole.

CHAPTER 38

AUDRA

T
his isn’t happening. There’s no way this can possibly be happening again. My whole body trembles as I fumble to get a better hold on Vane’s limp body.

I shake his shoulders, trying to jar him awake.

Useless.

His chest rises and falls, but they’re slow, shallow breaths.

Why isn’t he waking up?

I squeeze his hands. Whisper pleas in his ear. Hold him as tightly as I can. All the things that brought him back before.

No response.

So I smack his face. Shake him. Shout his name—not caring if anyone hears me. Try anything—everything—I can think of.

Still he lies there. Completely beyond my reach.

This isn’t like the breakthroughs, when I could see his body shutting down, surrendering to the winds. It’s like he’s left his body entirely, and all I’m holding is a cold, empty shell.

I don’t know how to bring him back.

I taste bile as an image of Vane spending the rest of his days in this useless half life flashes through my mind. Worthless. Hopeless.

My fault.

I pound my fists against his chest, and his breath echoes in his lungs. Like a death rattle.

Something inside me breaks.

Everything—the fear and stress and anger, the hurt and regret and sorrow, the doubt and longing and turmoil—bubbles over in a fit of heaving sobs.

He left me.

How could he leave me?

And what am I supposed to do now?

Nothing.

Nothing except hold his limp body and cry. For Vane. For me. For every mistake I’ve ever made.

And for the ten millionth time, I wish I’d died instead of my father.

He would’ve known what to do.

Maybe he still does.

I turn to the lone Easterly swirling over the ocean and call it to my side.

“Please,” I whisper as the draft cocoons around us, “please, Dad—if there’s any piece of you left,
please
tell me what to do.
I can’t lose Vane. Not now. Not like this. Please help me wake him up.”

The seconds race by in silence and I give up. I release my hold on the Easterly, let it float away with the last of my hope.

I close my eyes, cradling Vane in my arms and resting my head against his chest, soaking his shirt with my tears.

“I’m sorry, Vane. I don’t know if you can hear me or if you’re there anymore. But I’m sorry. Not just for this. For everything.”

It’s the closest I’ve ever come to a confession, and as the words leave my lips I feel a tiny bit of the burden I’ve borne so long slip away with them.

My head clears a little, and as it does I catch the faint whisper of a nearby Easterly—one I didn’t notice before. Its song is similar to the typical Easterly melodies I’ve heard my whole life, singing of the constant fight for freedom. But four words stand out from the others.

Caged by the past.

The winds can be called and tamed and controlled. But they can
never
be caged.

It has to be a message.

But how is Vane caged by the past? He doesn’t even remember his past.

Unless that’s the problem.

My heart races as fast as my mind, making me dizzy.

What if his consciousness chased the Westerlies deep into the mental abyss my mother created to store his memories? Could he be trapped there?

I stretch out my hands, feeling for the slow tug of a Southerly. For a moment I don’t find any. Then a soft itch stings my thumb, on the farthest edge of my reach.

My voice shakes as I call it to us.

The warm, sleepy breeze coils around me and I part my lips to command it into Vane’s mind. But my voice betrays me.

The command will release Vane’s hidden memories.

All of them.

I hug my shaking shoulders and take deep breaths.

This is bigger than my secret shame—or how it will change Vane once he knows. This is about saving his life.

If this even works
, my selfish side reminds me.

I can’t believe I’m sitting here arguing with myself when Vane could be slipping further away.

I grab Vane’s hands and whisper the command, ignoring the fear that stabs me with each word.

“Slip with his breath, then fall free. Release what’s been hidden and return to me.”

Southerlies have a magnetic quality. Any part of us that touches them wants to follow. So when my mother erased his memory, she sent a Southerly into his mind and told it to bury itself deep. All his memories drifted along with the draft, sinking so far into his consciousness they’ll never return without a trigger.

Now I’m drawing them back, hoping they bring Vane with them.

His neck jerks as the draft climbs into his mind and I squeeze his hands harder, hoping the energy between us will prevent him from getting caught by the pull of the Southerly. It’s only one weak
wind, not the dozens I used to trigger his breakthrough. But in his altered state there’s no telling what effect the wind will have on his consciousness.

His arms twitch, and my breath catches.

“Vane,” I whisper, leaning closer. “Please come back.”

His shoulders rock.

“Vane,” I call louder. “You need to come back. We need you.”

I have more words on the tip of my tongue—words I know I shouldn’t say. Before I let them slip, his eyes snap open and he takes a deep, shaky breath.

Tears stream down my face and I send a silent thanks to whatever part of the winds helped me figure out what to do. I won’t let myself believe my father spoke from the great beyond. But I know my heritage saved me.

Saved us.

Vane twists in my arms and I pull him against me, burying my face in the nape of his neck.

“What happened to—” he starts to ask in a raspy, broken voice.

“Shhh.” I breathe in the warm, sweet scent of his skin. “It’s all going to be okay. Just rest.”