Let the Sky Fall (29 page)

My heart stops.

If I need to put Audra out of commission so she can’t sacrifice herself, human medicine would do it. I’m not sure how I’ll get her to take the pills—but I shove a packet in my pocket so I’ll have them if I need them. Then I race back to find Audra.

She looks ready for battle as she paces the grove. Her jacket’s tightly buttoned, hair smoothed, windslicer strapped to her waist. I’m usually not a fan of soldier-mode Audra, but right now it’s kind of awesome. She looks fierce. Brutal. And freaking sexy.

“Ready?” she asks, offering her hand.

I’m not. But I take her hand anyway, holding tight as she wraps the drafts around us.

Standing under the blue sky, it’s hard to believe a storm is bearing down on us. But I feel a change in the winds. They whip with more urgency, their songs clipped and rushed.

They know.

The Stormers are coming.

CHAPTER 46

AUDRA

I
’ve never felt so overwhelmed in my life. None of my training taught me how to survive this. But I do the best I can.

I find the ideal defensive point among the windmills, on the second-highest peak, near the shorter, two-bladed turbines. They don’t draw attention to themselves, and they all face east, making it easy for Vane to find Easterlies to use. His skills are the strongest in my native tongue. Probably because I triggered his breakthrough personally.

At first light I’ll launch a wind flare to lead the Stormers straight to the wind farm. Hopefully, that will keep their storms from spreading to the valley floor before we defeat them.

If
we defeat them.

I shake the doubt away. I
will
defeat them. Either with my skill or by my sacrifice.

I’m prepared for either.

I’ve reviewed everything I taught Vane, made sure he’s comfortable with his commands. He can’t do much, but he can call the wind, form pipelines, stop himself from falling, and make wind spikes. There’s nothing left to do except watch the sunset and listen for some sign the Stormers are near.

I listen to the wind but hear no trace of their trail. If my mother hadn’t sent her warning, I’d have been caught completely off guard.

I have no idea what she felt to know they’re coming—or how she stalled them what little she did. But clearly she’s right. She’s far more important to the Gales than I am. No matter how hard I train, how much I push myself, I will never rival her natural talents.

This is how it should be.

Her gift matters.

Vane matters.

I don’t.

Twilight settles over the valley, painting the thin clouds with purple and blue. Some would probably call it beautiful, but to me it feels ominous. I close my eyes and concentrate on the Easterlies, listening for some solution or advice. My heritage came through for me once. Maybe it will again.

All I hear is their traditional song of change.

We’re on our own.

Vane yelps. I open my eyes to find him flailing as another dove swoops around his head.

I can’t help grinning as I rescue the poor creature.

A Windwalker afraid of birds. It has to be a first.

“What’s
with
that stupid thing?” Vane grumbles.

“My mother sent her.”

I stroke the dove’s neck, calming her so she’ll let me pull out her wings to check for the message. It’s strange to have the dove respond to my touch—stranger still for my mother to send a dove instead of her bitter crow.

I’d figured the first message was carried on whichever bird was closest, since it was so urgent. But this time she could’ve used any of her birds, and still she sent a dove. Her favorite of all the birds because of their almost worshipful loyalty.

There has to be a reason for the change. And I’m not sure I have the energy to cope with whatever it is.

“See the notches in the plumage?” I explain to Vane, pointing to the dove’s wings. “It’s a code my mother developed so she could send messages no one would be able to decipher. She uses the birds she’s connected with, ordering them not to rest until they deliver the message. Saves the Gales from having to send important secrets on the wind, where Raiden could hear them.”

Vane snorts. “You guys have
seen
the cell phone, right?”

“Yes, carrying a chemical-filled radiation machine around in my pocket all day. I can see why you’re so attached to that thing.”

He shakes his head.

I count the notches on the feathers, triple-checking each one to make sure I’m getting the message right.

“What now?” Vane asks.

“She wants to know if we’re ready.”

He rolls his eyes. “Tell her some backup would be nice.”

I ignore him as I renotch the feathers with my response, finally giving my mother an honest assessment of our predicament. She might as well know what to expect.

Vane hasn’t had the fourth breakthrough. When I make the sacrifice, you’ll need to come collect him.

Tears blur my eyes as I release the dove and watch her vanish into the dusk.

That’s the last time I’ll speak to my mother.

I didn’t say I loved her. I didn’t say goodbye.

I started to notch the words, but I couldn’t bring myself to say them. Not when I don’t know if they’re true anymore. Or if she’d even want to hear them.

I don’t know what makes me sadder—not knowing if I love my own mother, or knowing she won’t care if I don’t.

But it’s too late to change my mind. Too late to change anything.

I scrub my tears away and sink to the ground, curling my knees to my chest. Vane sits next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I should pull away—but I don’t have the energy. And there’s not much point. In a few hours it’ll all be over.

“We’re going to get through this,” he whispers.

I can’t look at him—I’m too close to breaking down to let him see my face. So I feel rather than see him turn his head and press his lips against my temple. Soft as a feather. Gentle as a breeze. Heat explodes under my skin, whipping through me like a flurry.

I hold my breath. Wondering if he’ll do more. Wondering what I’ll do if he tries.

But he sighs and turns his head away. He’s finally learned to respect my boundaries.

Too bad. I’m not sure they’re there anymore.

The Gales would banish me for such a treasonous thought—but it’s hard to care. I won’t be around long enough for them to question my loyalty.

Why not enjoy what little time I have left?

I breathe deeply, soaking up the scent of Vane’s skin. Clean and gentle, just like the Westerlies.

“How did it start?” he whispers. “The storm that killed my family. I only remember bits and pieces. I should have some idea what we’re in for,” he adds when he sees my confusion.

I pull away from him, needing space if I’m going to relive this memory. “It started with a calm. Like all the life and energy were sucked out of the world. I remember standing on our porch, staring at the sky, wondering where the winds went. Then my father grabbed my shoulders and told me to run—as far and fast as possible. Before I could, there was this . . . roar.”

Vane squeezes my hand.

“I’d never heard the wind’s rage before. It was a beast, come to devour us. I started to cry, but my dad promised everything would be okay. Then he coiled an Easterly around me and launched me out of the storm.”

“But you ran back in?” Vane asks.

I fight back a sob. “I still wonder if things would’ve been different if I’d stayed where he’d sent me. If he hadn’t had to help me out of the storm a second time. Maybe he . . .”

I can’t say it.

Vane’s gentle fingers turn my face toward him. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what you’re punishing yourself for. You think it was your fault?”

“It
was
my fault.”

Everything inside me uncoils as the words leave my lips.

Finally. Finally they’re out there.

Tears pour down my face and I don’t try to stop them.

Vane wipes them away, his touch warmer than a Southerly. “You couldn’t have prevented what happened.”

I won’t let him let me off the hook like that. I don’t deserve it. “It was
my fault
, Vane. All of it. Your parents. My father. Everything. You don’t remember. But you will.”

I stand and put some space between us, keeping my back to him. “I told you. When you held me in the shreds of the storm, when my father was gone and your parents were dead and the world had ended. We clung to each other and cried, and I told you. I told you what I’d done.”

I stop there, needing a breath before I can finish.

“What did you do?” Vane whispers.

I close my eyes as what little is left of my heart crumbles to dust, leaving me cold and empty.

One more deep breath. Then I force the words out of my mouth.

“I killed them, Vane.”

CHAPTER 47

VANE

H
er words hang in the air: these ridiculous, impossible things that refuse to make sense.

“You didn’t kill them,” I tell her.

She couldn’t have. Wouldn’t have.

Would she?

No—she couldn’t have.

“Yes, I did.”

“So you started the storm that sucked them up and trapped them in the winds? You aimed the gnarled tree at my mom? That was you?”

“It might as well have been.” Her lips move a few times, like she’s trying to force them to work. “I gave away our location.”

She cries so hard then, I want to rush to her side. Wrap my arms around her.

But I need the rest of the story first.

She chokes back a sob. “I had to save Gavin. He was falling and I didn’t want him to die, so I called the wind. And then I lied to my parents. I could’ve warned them—but I was afraid to get in trouble. So I pretended nothing happened. And then the Stormer showed up and it was too late. I tried to help and only made it worse, and now they’re all dead and it’s my fault.”

I run my hands over my face, giving myself a moment to process.

That’s a lot of information to get in twenty seconds.

My legs shake as I stand, trying to make sense of the chaos in my head. Each detail swims through my brain, latching to a broken memory and tying them together.

I can remember her now. Standing in the field getting whipped by the winds. Her face streaked with tears and dirt and blood. Telling me the same things she just repeated. Shaking. Sobbing.

I do the same thing I did then.

I close the gap between us, pull her against me, and hold her as tight as I can.

Back then I did it because she was all I had left to hold on to. Ten years later I do it for the right reason.

I slide my hands down her back, trying to calm her heaving sobs. “You can’t blame yourself, Audra. You were just a kid.”

“It’s still my fault.” Her voice is hoarse and raw. “I’m so sorry.”

My chest hurts for her. For the scared little girl she was. For the hard, broken girl she’s become. I can’t imagine growing up with that kind of guilt on my shoulders. No wonder she pushes everyone away.

Not anymore.

“Listen,” I say, waiting for her to look at me. “I don’t blame you for what happened. I will
never
blame you for what happened. The only person who deserves any blame is Raiden—no, don’t shake your head. I mean it, Audra. It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault. Nobody blames you.”

“My mother does.” She says it so softly, I’m not sure I hear it at first.

I tighten my grip on her. “Then your mother’s an idiot.”

I already hate her for denying Audra backup for the battle, and whatever else she said or did to shatter her strong, brave, beautiful daughter. I hope we never meet, because I have a feeling I’ll suddenly have no problem getting violent.

I take Audra’s face between my hands, cradling it like she’s fragile—because she is.

“I mean it, Audra. I’m removing all of your guilt, right now.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Uh—yes I can. They were my parents. I get to blame whoever I want for their deaths—and it’ll never be you.
Never
.”

Her glassy eyes hold mine, and I want to lean in and kiss all her pain and fear and hurt away. Okay, fine—I also just want to kiss her.

But I won’t take advantage like that.

She has to heal first.

I reach up, fingering a strand of her hair that’s pulled free and fallen in her face. “Will you do me a favor? Will you please take your hair out of this ridiculous braid?”

I know it’s just a hairdo. But it’s also this tight, restrictive thing she does to punish herself. And I’m not going to let her do it anymore.

Her hands reach for the knot at the end and I stop them.

“No. Let me.”

She doesn’t resist.

I help her lower herself to the ground, then sit behind her. In my head, I picture this cool, romantic moment, like something from a movie where violins play in the background and the lighting’s all moody and seductive.

In reality, I kinda botch it, tangling her hair about a million different ways and taking three times longer than necessary. But come on, I’m a guy. I don’t have a lot of hair-unbraiding experience.

Audra turns to face me when the last strands come free.

My breath catches.

This
is Audra. Not the fierce guardian always ready to fight. Just the girl from my dreams. Only now she’s right in front of me, and I can reach out and touch her. Grab her. Kiss her.

I sit on my hands and lean back.

I’m not going to force her—even if everything in me is screaming to screw caution and spend what could very well be our last night on earth in a tangle of heat and lips and limbs.

It has to be her choice.

She reaches for me, her soft fingers sliding down my cheek, leaving trails of sparks.

My eyes focus on her mouth as she licks her lips and leans closer.

She’s going to do it.
She’s going to kiss me
.

I resist the urge to fist pump the sky.

“You’re beautiful,” I breathe instead.

She leans closer. Our noses touch. I stop myself from closing the distance.

It has to be her.