I rewove my hair and changed back into my uniform the second I came home. I can’t let myself forget my role.
So I give myself to the count of five to wallow in fear and pity. Then I send Gavin to his perch on the windowsill, order him to carry away his mutilated carcass before I return, and push myself off the floor.
I call two of the Northerlies I sent from the mountains and wrap them around me with barely a breath. Their song of power and endurance fills my mind as they float me away.
I haven’t flown this path since the day I left four years ago, but the way is scarred into my brain. Over the hills, past the forest of spiky, twisted Joshua trees to the small, square house hidden in a stretch of desert so vast and empty I’m not sure the groundlings have any idea it exists. Which is why the Gales chose it.
The house is dark, but she’s home. I can feel her presence in the chill in the air. In the tightness in my chest.
I send the winds away, touching my feet to the soft sand quieter than a cat stalking its prey. Still, a slight movement near the window tells me she knows I’m here. Nothing can sneak up on her. It’s another of her gifts, and it only failed her once.
But that was my fault.
Birds of all shapes and sizes watch me from their rooftop perches as I cross the sparse yard, their glassy eyes glowing in the moonlight. They’re drawn to her, abandoning their instincts in order to stay within her reach. Years ago they would’ve greeted me like their kin. Filled the air with their ringing songs as they swooped and swirled, brushing my skin with their silky feathers.
Now only their judgment surrounds me. They’ve rejected me as much as she has.
Once a month my mother sends one gloomy crow to check my progress. He claws me with his razor-sharp talons as he delivers her message—the same message every time. My only contact with my mother, or the Windwalker world.
Has he had the Westerly breakthrough?
An update on Vane. The only thing that matters.
I ignore the birds’ mocking stares and focus on the lone, gnarled oak—a testimony to survival and endurance in the arid desert landscape. I kneeled in the shade of its leaves when I swore my oath to the Gales. My mother didn’t even bother to come outside.
I left that day and never came back. Never planned to return.
This is necessary, I remind myself as I force my feet up the steps.
The house is small, plain, and beige—the kind of place your eyes might skip entirely unless you tell them to pay attention. My mother despises it.
If she had her way, she’d return to our old estate in the east. Surround herself with the soothing tradewinds of our heritage and escape the turbulent desert storms.
But that’s not an option now.
An icy wind blasts the door open, and I’m proud of myself for not jumping. I’m prepared for her games. But I can’t stop my legs from shaking as I cross the threshold into the sparsely furnished, unlit room.
Leave it to my mother to keep our first meeting in four years in the dark.
“Well,” she says in her deep, throaty voice as she rises from a plush armchair by the only window. Moonlight streaks down the delicate lines of her perfect figure and face. Even darkness—or the scowl on her lips—can’t dull her beauty. “Given your dejected demeanor, and the shifting Northerlies I’ve been feeling all night”—she shudders, rubbing the skin on her arms like it itches—“I’m assuming you’re here to ask for help.”
“It’s nice to see you too, Mother.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. I don’t blame her for the way she’s treated me since my father died. That doesn’t make it hurt any less.
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she rubs the skin on her arms harder—like the itch has grown into pain—and waits for me to speak again.
I clear my throat. “I need you to call the Gale Force for aid.”
One perfectly arched eyebrow rises in my direction and I fight back my sigh. She’ll require every last detail before she extends even the smallest bread crumb of assistance. So I give her the full story: how I used the Northerly to stop Vane from bonding to a groundling. How I joined the wind to force Vane’s Easterly breakthrough. And how Vane gave me water while I was unconscious. I don’t explain the predicament that leaves us in. She knows as well as I do.
My mother makes dramatic pauses a work of art, but I refuse to so much as blink until she finally tosses her long, raven-black hair and turns away. As a fellow guardian, she should be wearing the regulation braid. But my mother’s like a wildwind. She follows her own flow. It’s what my father loved most about her.
She swishes down the hall, flicking on the light so I can see her silky green dress shimmer with each movement. My mother’s never worn a true guardian uniform, needing her skin exposed to the wind in order to use her gift. The slightest ripple in the air speaks to her as clearly as the words of the wind’s song. A secret language only she understands. A constant push and pull. An ebb and flow of power and drain, stillness and motion.
A rare gift and burden none of us have ever understood. But my father tried harder than anyone. He was awed that her strength caused weakness, and he did all he could to steady the turbulence so she could rise above it.
It’s what she loved most about him.
She scrapes a chair across the floor and sits at the narrow, empty table. She doesn’t invite me to join her. I wouldn’t anyway.
Against my will, my focus is drawn to the place it hurts most to look. To the wind chimes hanging over the table, where a chandelier would be.
A blackbird—carved in exquisite detail—soars with spread wings over a series of gleaming silver chimes. My father made it for her the day she chose to bond to him and it has hung from the breeziest eaves of every house we stayed in, filling the air with its tinkling song. It’s the only thing from her past that survived the Stormer’s tornado—not counting me.
Given the perfect shine on the chimes and the way they’re kept away from the elements—safe, protected—it’s obvious which means more.
My eyes burn, but the snub isn’t what upsets me. It’s seeing the chimes trapped inside. Never to sing again.
My mother clears her throat and I force myself to look at her, hating that she caught me staring.
“What was he doing with another girl in the first place?” she asks. “Vane should be so madly in love with you he’d never so much as think of wasting time on anyone else—especially a groundling.”
“How? I wasn’t allowed to talk to him until his mind broke through, and I tried not to let him see me.”
My mother sighs. “And that was your mistake. You’re a beautiful girl, Audra. You should be able to turn boys to mush with a simple smile, and use that to your advantage.”
Easy for her to say. My mother can melt the heart of any man—sylph or groundling—with one toss of her shiny hair or a single wink of her sapphire-blue eyes.
“I don’t know how to make Vane feel that way,” I admit, shaking my hand as my fingers tingle again. Remembering Vane’s warmth. “I’m not like you. I can’t have any guy I want.”
“Neither can I.” Her right hand darts to her chest, clutching the silver feather hanging from a black cord at the nape of her neck.
My father’s guardian pendant.
I have a similar necklace tucked under my jacket, though my cord is blue. My life force still flows through mine.
I nearly gag on the emotions as I swallow them.
I study my mother. Shadows under her eyes. Thin frown lines at the corners of her mouth. They appeared the day we lost my father—instant aging. And they’ve only deepened with time. My mother’s bond should’ve broken with my father’s death. But somehow it seems stronger. Like she’s clinging to it, fierce and white-knuckled, refusing to let go. Much like her refusal to remove their link.
The wide gold cuff has covered her left wrist since my father clamped it there when they made their official vows. But the jeweled rings in the center have lost their shine. And
the intricate blackbird mounted across them looks worn and tarnished. Like it’s been rubbed dull by nervous fingers.
I clear the thickness from my throat. “It’s better if Vane doesn’t care for me. That would only complicate things when he learns about Solana.”
My mother nods, conceding my point. The Gales have big plans for Vane. Nothing can or should get in the way.
“Still—calling a Northerly? You couldn’t think of any safer way to prevent the bond?”
I stare at the floor, tracing trails in the wood grain with the toe of my polished boot. She’s right again. I panicked. I saw Vane lean toward that girl and I just . . . reacted.
But what was I supposed to do? A Northerly was the only wind strong enough to shove him away, and there hadn’t been any nearby.
Though . . . I suppose I could have had Gavin swoop between them. The thought didn’t occur to me. Some guardian I’m turning out to be.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” my mother says quietly. “You’re good at calling the wind when you’re not supposed to.”
If she punched me in the stomach it would hurt less.
“What’s done is done, and I can’t undo it,” I whisper, reminding myself as much as her. “I’ve hidden the trail as much as I can and I’ll train Vane to fight. But we need help. Will you call the Gales?”
Her slender fingers stroke my father’s pendant, and she stares at the still, silent wind chimes when she answers. “No.”
“What?” Surely she won’t deny a request this important just to spite me.
My mother shakes her head, like she knows what I’m thinking. “Raiden’s launched an all-out attack against the Gale Force, determined to extinguish our resistance. They can’t afford to spare anyone—especially for such an easily resolved problem.”
It takes me a second to find my voice, and another after that to choke back my anger. “I know you’ll never forgive me for what happened to Dad—but this isn’t about me.”
“Of course it isn’t. You have no idea what we’ve been up against these last few years. You live, breathe, and sleep Vane Weston. You don’t hear how many bases Raiden found. How many Gales have been slaughtered. Raiden learned all of our secret workings from those guardians he tortured. Our depleted force is under constant attack. Calls for aid have to be restricted to absolute emergencies.”
“But this is an emergency. Vane’s too important to put at risk. Plus, the groundlings in the valley could be killed.”
“Then it’s up to you to train him and defend them.”
“How? What can I teach him in three days?”
“Three days,” my mother murmurs. She raises her arm, letting her fingers dance like they’re playing an invisible instrument. Feeling the mood of the air. “I can buy you more time.”
“I already stalled them every—”
“I do not share your limitations.” She turns toward me, her arm a blur as she sweeps it upward, twisting her wrist and gripping the air in one fluid motion. I jump as a loud crack shatters the silent night, followed by a thunderous crash outside.
I don’t need to look through the window to know she’s used the wind to tear a branch from the oak and then hammered it against the ground. Controlling the wind without words, manipulating it entirely through touch. Another artful trick I’ve seen my mother perform dozens of times. Another skill only she understands.
“I know you’re powerful—”
“Power is not the point.” Her hand returns to her lap, and her fingers rub the blackbird on her golden cuff. “The wind tells me things—secrets that will save you from this mess you’ve made. The same secrets that would’ve saved your father’s life ten years ago, if you hadn’t lied to me.”
Her face blurs to a smear of colors as my eyes well with tears. She waits for me to say something. But I don’t have the words.
Eventually, she sighs. “I will buy you five more days.”
“Five days? How can you possibly be so precise?”
“If you could feel what I feel, you’d know.”
My nails prick my skin as my hands curl into fists.
She’s been using that same vague answer my entire life, demanding that everyone trust her blindly. This is too important for mysteries and secrets—regardless of how powerful she’s proven herself in the past.
But I know she won’t tell me anything more. It’s another game she plays. Always keeping the upper hand. So I say, “That still only gives me eight days. It won’t be enough.”
“It’ll have to be.”
“Vane has no skill. He’s only had one breakthrough—not even the important one. I’m not strong enough to fight two Stormers by myself anymore. If you won’t call the Gales, I’ll need your help.” I swallow, needing a second to choke down my pride. “Will you fight with me?”
The words are no louder than a breath.
Her fingers rub harder against the etched blackbird as she simply says, “No.”
She knows I wouldn’t ask unless I’m desperate. And still she denies me.
“The Gales need me to keep watch more than ever,” she explains, meeting my eyes. “I’ll be risking too much as it is by stalling them. Remember, Raiden’s been desperate to find me, ever since he learned I survived. That’s why I’m stuck in this hovel, cut off from the world.”
I laugh—but there’s no humor to it. “And you think the Gales value your life over Vane’s?”
“Of course not. But Vane has you as his guardian.”
“And I’m not strong enough to protect him—not with the water in my system. There’s no way I can do it alone.”
“I can think of a way.”
Her voice is hushed, but everything inside me still twists into knots. “Is that what you’re hoping for?”
“I’m hoping you’ll trigger his Westerly breakthrough before the Stormers arrive. That’s what you were supposed to do, years ago. The Gale Force chose you because they knew no one would push him harder in his training. They knew how much you had to prove. Or redeem.”
Redeem.
It’s the closest she’s come to admitting that she blames me for my father’s death, and a rebellious tear sneaks down my face before I can smear the others away.
“The Gales have been incredibly frustrated with how slow Vane’s progress has been,” she adds quietly. “So take this for what it is—proper motivation to show them that you are a guardian and can get Vane to live up to his potential. Prove them right for trusting you. But . . . if you should fail . . . there is another option.”
She doesn’t look at me when she says the last part, so I can’t study her face—not that it would tell me how to respond.
None of my training taught me what to say if my mother tells me to end my life. Especially since she sounds more like she’s warning me I might break a nail. Not die.
I fight back the flurry of anger and pain that swells inside me. Hadn’t I sworn—and planned for—this possibility when I accepted the role as Vane’s guardian?
I knew the risks. Better than anyone.
“I’m prepared to make the sacrifice if it’s necessary,” I whisper, surprised at how true the words feel.
Every breath I take is stolen from my father, so if it comes to that I’ll follow his lead and make the ultimate sacrifice.
If it comes to that.
If Vane can master all four languages in the next eight days, he’ll be undefeatable.
It’s a big if, but it’s still a possibility.
Otherwise, I’ll do what has to be done.
My mother clears her throat, almost like she’s battling back emotions of her own. But her face is the same unreadable mask she’s worn since the day my father left the earth. “I’ll send warning when I feel the Stormers arrive in the region,” she tells me.
I nod.
Trusting her goes against every instinct I have—but I’m out of options. All I can do is dive straight into Vane’s training and hope she delivers on her promise. I turn toward the door
.
“I’ll need your windsong before you go,” she calls after me.
I freeze.
Every Windwalker is born with a song on their lips—a melody only they know. When we die, the tune becomes part of the wind. A small piece of us that carries on. Our mark on the world.
They don’t have to stay secret, but most of us never share them. Hearing someone’s windsong is like peering inside their heart. The last person I would ever want to reveal mine to is my mother.
“Nothing leaves a more powerful trace,” she explains when I stay silent. “Nothing will confuse the Stormers more.”
I’d rather strip bare and expose myself to the whole of the Gales.
But this isn’t about me.
I can’t look at her as I sing the simple verse:
A wandering breeze, swaying restlessly.
Swept up by flurries. Lost and led astray.
Storms rage and roar, and threaten all that remains.
But the breeze drifts ever onward. Finding its own way.
Each word pulls a tiny part of me with it and swirls in the air around us. My mother calls the verses toward her, tangling them together, like my breath has become the wind.
“You sing like your father,” she whispers.
I risk a glance at her, but find no warmth in her eyes. They’re colder and harder than I’ve ever seen. Like it’s a crime for me to remind her of him.
Part of me wants her to follow me down the hall, even though I know she won’t. She won’t care that this could be the last time she sees me alive. She’ll be relieved when I’m gone.
So I almost don’t hear her whisper as I open the door to leave. “You’re stronger than you think, Audra.”
I take a shaky breath. “Goodbye, Mother.”
I leave without turning around. She doesn’t say goodbye.
CHAPTER 11
VANE
Wake up, Vane,” a familiar voice whispers. I try to cling to the dream I’d been having—something about flying and wind—but the voice speaks again, breaking my concentration. “It’s time to start training.”
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