Let The Wind Rise (Sky Fall, #3) (32 page)

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they’re glassy.

“Okay,” he says. “I understand.”

“No. You don’t.” I reach up to cradle his cheek with my hand. “The feelings started coming back as soon as I saw you. Why else do you think I . . . ?”

A few tears spill out of his eyes, trickling over my fingers.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “Please don’t be sad.”

“I’m not,” he promises. “Not if there’s any chance you can love me again. All I need is a chance.”

“You have more than a chance, Vane.”

I pull his face closer.

Then closer still.

Our breath mingles, so warm and sweet in the cooling air.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he whispers.

“Yes.” The rightness of the word feels like the song of a steady Easterly, grounding me in who I am.

“Is it what
you
want?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? But I feel like I should wait to make it more special this time—or at least until we’re somewhere a bunch of people didn’t just die. Maybe even take you on a real date first—have we ever actually done that? I guess that day at In-N-Out sorta counts.”

“Of course it counts.” I smile at the memory.

That was the day Vane showed me how to live for myself—how to take what I needed and not feel any remorse. And since I’m starting to feel like I might actually lose my mind if he holds back any longer, I decide to take the decision away from him.

“I love you,” I whisper, bringing my other hand to his face. “That’s all that matters.”

I wait long enough for him to say, “I love you, too.”

Then I pull his lips to mine and kiss him like it’s the first, last, and only time.

O
kay, I thought I knew what it felt like to kiss Audra.

I thought I’d replayed all the details so many times over the last few weeks that I was ready for the soft silkiness of her lips and the sugary taste of her mouth and the dizzying rush of heat as a new bond unites us.

But either that old cliché about absence making the heart grow fonder really is true—or she’s been holding out on me.

Because seriously:
damn.

She nearly pulls me over.

We both stumble a few steps before her back finds the crooked tree, and she deepens the kiss and pulls me against her. Every doubt and worry I’ve ever felt seems to crumble at her touch, and it’s overwhelming how much strength and courage and devotion she shares with me as we connect.

I hope whatever she takes from my essence gives her the peace and happiness she deserves. I’d do anything to blot out whatever darkness her days with Raiden might’ve left behind.

She breaks away for a breath, and I kiss along her jaw, then up and down her neck, until I find a spot right below her ear that makes her tremble every time I press my lips there.

Her hands trail down my arms and make their way to my waist, slipping under my shirt and tracing across the lower part of my stomach. The sensation makes me shiver, and I’m tempted to do the same to her, but I’m afraid I might brush across more injuries. So I keep one hand on the side of her face and the other buried in the long, wild strands of her hair.

It’s such a gift to feel her this way—free of all the burdens she’s always forced herself to carry. Surrendering everything.

As I kiss my way back to her mouth, I promise her I’ll do anything in my power to keep her this happy and strong and brave.

I have absolutely no idea how many times Aston clears his throat before we notice, but when we finally pull apart we have
quite
the audience.

Solana’s redder than I’ve ever seen her, and Os looks like he’s ready to punch a few puppies. Aston’s smirk is equal parts
I told you so
and
Get a room.
And then there’s Arella who looks—

You know what?

I
really
don’t want to think about the look on my girlfriend’s mother’s face after she’s caught us making out. Especially since that mother is a psychopath—or is it a sociopath?

“Well now,” Aston says, “clearly we’ve settled the who-will-be-bonding-with-whom question—and just in time, since our boy could probably use a little Easterly influence for this showdown with Raiden. Might take the edge off the whole violence aversion.”

I actually hadn’t thought about that, but he’s right.

Score another point for
all the kissing
!

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe we should make sure the bond is really in place, just to be safe.”

Audra makes a sound that could probably be described as a giggle, and I’m on my way to steal one more kiss when Aston clears his throat again.

“You really
do
need to pay attention—unless you don’t care about what happens to mommy dearest. Turns out Os here is planning on bringing her back to the Maelstrom, and I thought you might not be happy about that.”

“She’s a murderer,” Os argues. “And a traitor. And a danger to everyone. And she has to be contained.”

He’s not wrong.

But the Maelstrom is a death sentence.

I take Audra’s hand, hating to see the color draining from her face—especially since she’d had such a sexy flush a few seconds ago.

“Is the Maelstrom really the only option?” I ask.

“It’s not,” Aston says. “That’s where we come in. I’ve managed to convince the Gales to let the four of us try our hand at deciding. Consider it a test for how this process might work should they decide to make us rulers. So let’s not mess this up. I’m starting to think I’d rather like to live in a castle—though I’ll want my own. No way am I living with the kissing couple.”

“Me either,” Solana agrees.

Yeah, right there with them—and while we’re at it, I’m never setting foot in Brezengarde again, so if Solana wants it, she can have it.

Though wait—
does this mean Audra and I are moving in together?!

How will I explain
that
to my parents?

“Focus,” Aston says, snapping his holey fingers in my face. “This is the part where we’re supposed to come up with brilliant alternatives.”

“I make no guarantee that we’ll hold to your decision,” Os jumps in. “But it will be interesting to know your thoughts. The Maelstrom was my last resort after I exhausted every other avenue, so I can’t imagine you’ll come up with much.”

“What about banishment?” Solana asks.

“Do you really think she’ll stay away?” Os counters. “And what even constitutes proper banishment? Our people are scattered throughout the planet.”

“Then what about full-time guards?” I ask.

“I tried that already,” Os says. “She slipped away within hours.”

“I came back,” Arella reminds him.

“No—we hunted you down.”

“I
let
you find me,” she corrects. “Believe me, if I wanted to disappear, I could. I know I’ve made mistakes, but I’m trying to be better. All I’m asking is for you to trust me.”

Audra snorts, and I tangle our fingers tighter as I lean in to ask her, “What do
you
want to do?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “I don’t think I can choose.”

“Wonderful,” Os says. “So our four potential leaders can’t even render a single decision.”

“I’ll give you a decision,” Aston says. “Make Arella my responsibility. I know how to control her. And this is an arrangement she already agreed to.”

She did—I was there.

But now . . . I don’t know.

“Allowing you to torture her three times a day doesn’t sound much better than sending her back to the Maelstrom,” I have to admit.

“She wouldn’t be dead,” Aston argues, “so that’s a pretty big improvement. She’d also have my charming company. But for the record, I have no intention of feasting on her pain. I’ve actually decided to go on a bit of a diet as far as that’s concerned. Solana’s new methods seem to be slowing my cravings.”

“Are you okay with this?” I whisper to Audra. “It’s better than the Maelstrom, right?”

She has her face turned to the wind, blinking back tears as she listens to their songs.

Os sighs. “We don’t have time for this.”

“You don’t have time to consult the wind?” Solana asks.

“Is that what she’s doing?” Os snaps back. “Or is she stalling?”

“It started as stalling,” Audra admits. “But the wind does have an alternative suggestion.”

I concentrate on the winds’ song and notice its singing about a lost bird. It doesn’t mean anything to me, but it has a different effect on Audra.

She sounds equal parts weary and nervous as she whispers, “The wind wants her to be my responsibility.”

I
should’ve known the wind would side with my mother—though I suppose I should be grateful it didn’t tell me to forgive her.

Only to help.

And to attempt to understand her.

I hear the words of the Easterly’s song in my father’s voice—deep and rich and resonant. And I can imagine him standing in front of me, his eyes glinting with too much love and joy to ever match the wind’s melancholy tone:

A lost bird with tired wings

Never rests and never sings

Begs the sky for a place to land

Never finds a friendly hand

Passing time fades hope into a darker shade of gray

Wayward winds drag calm and reason much too far away

Hearts go cold

Paths get crossed

Strength fades to bitter doubt

Sometimes the end only begins when someone reaches out

My father was the first to offer my mother shelter—the first to steady her against the turbulence of her power.

But it wasn’t enough.

How am I supposed to be more than he was?

“What do you mean she’ll be your responsibility?” Os asks, giving me a chance to take the words back.

It’s one of those rare split paths, where I can choose the easy and safe. Put myself ahead. Take what I want.

Or not.

I know which path my mother would choose.

And I never want to be her.

So I choke down my bitter anger and tell Os, “I meant that I’ll be the one to monitor her. The place she’s been hiding these last ten years is sufficiently isolated and safe. I’ll make sure she stays there, finishing her days in peace and never harming another life again.”

“Wait—what?” Vane says, as Os asks me, “How?”

“I’m still piecing it all together,” I tell them both.

I can’t stay with her in that stuffy house—my sanity will unravel.

But how else can I keep a vigilant enough watch?

Vane takes my hands, his eyes searching my face. “I’ll support whatever you decide—and I’ll help any way I can,” he promises. “But do you really want to be your mother’s babysitter?”

“
Want
isn’t the right word,” I whisper. “But . . . she’s my mother.”

And there it is—the truth I’ve been running from for longer than I can remember.

Unstable and cruel as my mother can be, we share the same blood.

And . . . she’s had her moments, however rare and far between.

She flew to Raiden’s fortress to aid in my rescue. She also convinced Aston to remain after he’d chosen to flee.

Also—probably most tellingly—she didn’t fight back when I attacked her after Gus died.

She’s not the same crazed woman who attacked me after I learned her role in my father’s death. I thought I saw my
real
mother that day. But maybe I only saw another part.

A dangerous, deadly side that must be restrained and monitored.

But not her entire essence, either.

And with that admission, I feel the truth settle—like that lost, lonely bird, finally finding a place to rest.

Sometimes the end only begins when someone reaches out
.

“So this is your vote, then?” Os asks.

I focus on my mother as I nod.

Her expression is unreadable—but I’d expect nothing less.

Vane tightens his hold on my hands as he says, “Then it’s mine, too.”

“The matter can always be revisited if the arrangement doesn’t work,” Solana adds. “So for now, that’s my vote as well.”

“Well, I suppose that means I should add my vote,” Aston says. “And hey, look at that! The four of us found a way to agree. Bet you thought we wouldn’t be able to do that, didn’t you, Ossy?”

Os shakes his head, more in frustration than disagreement before he launches into further reminders that our decision-making powers haven’t actually been granted.

Those still lie up in the air, like so many other things.

Too many other things.

The most important things.

“How am I supposed to leave you here?” I whisper to Vane as everyone shifts back into motion. “How can I fly away when any moment now, Raiden could arrive. And if . . .”

“Hey, maybe this will be good,” Vane says, pulling me closer. “We’ll prove we’re not one of those like . . . needy, codependent couples.”

He tries to smile, but I notice he hasn’t let go of my hands.

It should be
me
fighting with him—or me fighting
for
him.

But the wind is telling me to go.

I focus on the feathery soft clouds—clouds that promise calm and quiet ease—and beg the sky to lend Vane its full power and protection.

I’ll do anything the wind asks, if it rises up this one last time.

I’m still finishing my plea when I notice a tangle of movement on the northern horizon.

“What is that?” Vane asks, pointing to the same blurry spot.

The dark smudge is too small to be Raiden, and yet I still hear the scrape of drawn windslicers.

My mother covers her mouth. “No! The poor thing . . .”

Her words choke into a sob.

I don’t understand her grief until she calls the swirling winds to her side, and a tangle of long, golden-brown feathers flutters to our feet.

“Is that . . . ?” Vane asks.

“Yes,” Aston tells him. “It looks like our eagle messenger met a rather unpleasant end.”