Gus loosens his grip on the hilt, but keeps his blade pressed in place.
“Trust me on this, Gus. It’s not worth it. You’re going to need every ounce of strength to escape.”
“Fine,” he says, slowly lowering his blade.
He punches the Stormer one last time—a knockout blow that leaves him silent and still. “It’s probably better to let Raiden deal with him anyway. I’m sure he’ll have much more creative ways to punish him for letting us get away.”
Each word drips with the purest, most potent kind of hate.
I don’t blame him—but it’s hard to watch Gus strip off the unconscious Stormer’s uniform and drag his limp body to one of the empty cells.
He slams the barred door and crushes the lock so easily, it’s like the metal melts at his touch.
“How are you doing that?” I whisper.
“My gift allows me to absorb strength from the wind and channel it into my muscles. That’s why those Northerlies helped me recover as much as I have. And now that I can finally absorb Westerlies . . .” Gus pries open my cell as though it were paper.
“That’s incredible.”
“It’s never been this strong before,” he whispers. “I can’t tell if it’s a power of four thing, or because your Westerly was especially strong.”
“Was?”
The word feels like a knife to my heart.
I know it’s ridiculous, but . . . after all that little draft and I have been through . . .
“Don’t worry.” Gus closes his eyes and whispers “Release” under his breath.
His body shifts ever so slightly, as though his essence unraveled for a brief moment, and a soft rush whisks past my senses, singing its familiar melody.
“We need to get out of here,” Gus says as my Westerly tightens into a shield around me. “But first, a little camouflage.”
He shuffles to where he left the Stormer’s clothes, and I notice he’s limping again.
He tries to pull the jacket on, but his bandages snag on the fabric.
“Here,” I say, scooting behind him and taking over.
It’s a slower process than I want it to be, pulling the sleeves inch by inch. But Gus has lost too much blood—I can’t tear open any of the scabs.
“I never thanked you for this,” he says, touching one of the pieces of torn red fabric. “I don’t even remember when you did it.”
“You were pretty out of it.” I pull his jacket the last little bit. “How are you doing—really?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll either get through this, or I won’t.”
“It does matter, Gus. We’re in this together. I need to know what you’re dealing with.”
He swallows hard. “Let’s just say I’m not planning on making it, okay? I’ll help you as long as I can and—”
“We’re both getting out of here.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be up to you to decide.”
He tries to button the jacket, but the fabric won’t reach. He’s far more muscular than the Stormer.
“Well . . . hopefully if anyone sees us, it will only be from behind,” I say.
“Or maybe they’ll think I got hurt in the battle,” he says. “I guess my pants might give me away, though.”
We both eye the Stormer’s pants on the ground, and I feel myself blush. “If you need help . . .”
Gus shakes his head. “It’ll take too long. Besides, I doubt they’ll fit. You ready?” he asks, strapping the windslicer around his waist. “We should get moving.”
He heads for the stairs, sucking in a pained breath as he climbs the first step.
I pull his arm over my shoulders and support him as we climb. “Maybe you should absorb my Westerly again. It seemed to make you stronger.”
“You need it more than I do.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“I’m not. Come on, Audra—let’s be real here. You’ve got people out there risking their lives to save you—”
“To save us,” I correct.
“Eh—mostly to save you. We both know that.”
I let out a sigh. “Vane is . . .”
I don’t know how to finish the sentence.
Now that my Westerly instincts are back, I feel a bit more of a stirring at his name.
But not what it was.
“Breaking your bond messed with your head,” Gus whispers. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t get it back. He came after you, Audra. You two need each other.”
I shrug, not sure what to say.
The gesture tilts Gus off balance, and I have to scramble to keep him from falling.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. This is proving my point. If I slow you down too much, I want you to leave me.”
“That’s not happening.” I stop and wait for him to look at me. “It’s not, Gus. I mean it. And I need you to promise that you won’t give up—no matter what.”
Gus sighs, not looking at me as he mumbles, “I’ll do my best.”
It’s not the most convincing delivery, but I have to take it.
“So where to?” he asks, as we get back to climbing the stairs.
With Vane and my mother still outside fighting, I can only think of one option.
“We need to find our way to the Shredder.”
CHAPTER 19
VANE
I have no idea where we’re going.
There are plenty of fires and explosions going on in the distance—but those are supposed to be leading the Stormers away from where we’re headed.
Meanwhile we’re flying through the dark, over trees and snow and shadows that all look exactly the same. Fortunately, Solana has no problem bossing me around, and it seems like she actually knows what she’s doing.
Soon enough, I spot the outline of train tracks peeking out of the ice. A couple of minutes after that, the weathered water tower appears.
“I don’t see any Stormers; do you?” I ask as we circle the curved tracks.
Solana unsheathes her windslicer. “No way it’ll be that easy. Dip a little lower to drop me off, then hide somewhere in the trees.”
“Uh, you’re not going down there alone.”
“I’m better alone—and it’ll be easier if I don’t have to worry about keeping you safe.”
My Dude Instincts tell me I should feel insulted by that—and that I need to insist that I be the one to protect her.
“You’re sure you can handle it?” I ask instead.
“I’ll call for you if I need help.”
She gives my hand a quick squeeze, and her warmth is still buzzing in my fingers as she jumps out of the wind bubble and lands in the snow with a somersault.
I fly to the top of the tallest tree and crouch on a sturdy branch, ready to swoop down at the first sign of serious trouble—and it comes fast. Solana’s barely taken ten steps when two Stormers burst out of the highest snowdrift. Between their thick shoulders and burly arms, they add up to about four of her.
“I’m fine!” she shouts, which is apparently my cue to stay put.
I grip my dagger and lean down for a better view of the action, balancing on the balls of my feet. I agreed to let her handle this—but if she needs me, I’m ready.
“We’ll get to you in a minute,” the smaller Stormer shouts at me.
The other Stormer snarls a broken command, sending ruined winds tangling around Solana—but she sucks the drafts up and stores them under her skin.
“Looks like we’ll need to do this the old-fashioned way,” the bigger Stormer tells her, unsheathing two windslicers, one for each of his hands.
The other Stormer does the same, juggling the swords back and forth like a freaking circus performer.
Solana positions herself between them. It seems like the worst place to be—until she does this crazy spin-flip move and somehow manages to attack both Stormers at the same time.
Within a few seconds she’s gotten them down to one windslicer each, and when the Stormers
charge, she somersaults away, moving so fast she’s just a blur of blond hair and scattering snow.
I knew Solana claimed she could fight—but dang. She does a spin-slash-backflip move this time, and both Stormers scream as she lands somewhere just out of their reach.
Red splatters the ice as the smaller Stormer clutches a deep calf wound and the bigger one holds his bleeding forearm. But their injuries don’t slow them down as much as I’d like. They rush Solana again, keeping a wider space between them so she can’t use the same move. She does at least dodge, but they strike back immediately—and then again.
I try not to think about how much time is racing past, but I can’t help glancing at the sky, wondering how much longer we have before more Stormers swoop in.
Solana’s cry drags me back to the battle, and when I see blood on her leg, I’m on the ground before I even realize I jumped.
“I was fine,” Solana says as the bigger Stormer comes after me.
I’m pretty sure this guy could kill me just by stepping on me, and I beg my Westerly to come up with a plan—preferably one that doesn’t involve using this dagger. I’m not sure how the violence will affect me, but mostly I really don’t want to have to get that close. That’s the sucky thing about bringing a knife to a sword fight. The chances of me hitting him before he chops off my head definitely aren’t good.
Retreat, the Westerly tells me, and I back off as much as I can.
Come on, I tell my shield. You told me about firewhirls last time—what else have you got?
The stubborn draft just keeps repeating for me to retreat. So I do—but I retreat toward Solana. I figure we might as well do this two on two instead of two battles waging at the same time.
“You okay?” I ask when I see how badly she’s limping.
“It’s only a scratch,” she promises. But when she tries to do her spin move again, her leg crumples and she gets a pretty nasty face full of snow.
The big Stormer laughs. “Had enough?”
“Have you?” Solana tries to get up again, but her leg is too shaky. So she dives and swipes at his ankles instead.
He dodges, but she manages to clip the smaller Stormer near his Achilles tendon, and he lets out a yowl that’s part dying cat, part humpback whale.
“I’m getting sick of this,” he shouts, launching a dozen draining winds.
Solana absorbs most of them, but one manages to tie itself around my arms and pin them.
“Not as skilled as your little girl, I see,” the big Stormer says, shoving me into the snow and adding a second bond around my legs.
I guess I should be glad the snow cushions my fall enough to spare my elbow, but it’s freaking freezing. Plus I can’t tell what’s happening anymore.
“He’s the only one we have to keep alive,” one of the Stormers says. “Kill her.”
“Come on, Westerlies,” I beg as I hear metal clang and Solana yelp.
I manage to twist to my side and blink the ice out of my eyes—and find Solana down on her knees in a puddle of red, with one Stormer on each side of her.
“Enjoy your final breaths,” the bigger Stormer says, raising his windslicer to deliver the deathblow.
My Westerly shield screams SLIDE! and I flop down like I’m a seal streaking across ice.
My shoulder knocks the bigger Stormer over, and he falls onto the needled edge of his own windslicer.
Darkness rims my vision during the squishy gagging sound that follows, but I’m much more traumatized by the sound of another bone-crunching windslicer swipe.
I turn toward the noise, terrified I’m going to find a headless Solana.
But hers is still attached.
The other Stormer . . . not so much.
“Hang on,” she tells me, and I can’t quite figure out why—until I taste bile on my tongue.
I’m not sure if I’m actually throwing up, or if I’m just about to. It’s kinda like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
I watch blankly as Solana grabs one of the Stormer’s black windslicers and shreds the winds binding me, then limps toward the water tower and counts her steps.
At some point she drops to her knees and starts digging in the snow. “In my memories this is about how far the entrance looked from the tower.”
I fumble to her side and focus on helping her dig.
Don’t think about the bodies. Don’t think about the bodies.
“It has to be here,” Solana murmurs.
I hope she’s right, because I hear a rumbling that sounds a lot like approaching Stormers.
Okay, I tell my Westerly. Got any ideas?
The Westerly leaves me, twisting into a weak funnel and sweeping aside more snow.
“Wait,” Solana says, pressing her ear to the ground. “I think it’s sinking in somehow.”
I trace the muck with my fingers until I feel the breeze slipping through a crack so thin, I doubt a hair would fit.
“Right there,” I tell Solana, who’s following my hands with hers. “Do you feel it?”
She nods. “But I don’t see a latch or anything.”
“Maybe the password is enough?”
“Let’s hope.”
She leans down and whispers through the crack.
I can’t hear what she says—but it works.
A roar of wind knocks us back as it blasts open a hatch.
Solana drags me with her as she jumps, and my ankles definitely aren’t happy about the landing. But I can see through the eerie blue light that Solana’s family crest is painted on the stone walls.
We found the Royal Passage—and just in time.
Wind spikes explode above us as Solana shouts the command and seals us inside.
CHAPTER 20
AUDRA
We’re going in circles.
Wasting energy.
Facing too many dead ends.
I knew the fortress was a maze, but I thought if we kept pushing forward, eventually we’d find our way through.
Instead we wind up back in the dungeon.
“Should we make him guide us?” I ask, motioning to where the scarred Stormer lies unconscious in his locked cell.
“He’d lead us straight to Raiden,” Gus warns. “You can’t trust your enemies—even when you force them.”
“But how else do we find the way out of here?” I stretch the muscles in my neck—supporting Gus is taking its toll on my back.
Gus presses his ear to the wall, and I assume he’s listening for sounds of battle.
When I copy him, I hear a low, constant hum.
“That’s the Shredder,” Gus says, backing away from the wall. He looks as pale and gray as his Stormer jacket.
“You okay?” I ask.
He closes his eyes, taking slow, shaky breaths. “I can still feel it, tearing around inside me, like the winds bored into my essence.”
I reach for his hand.
“I’m fine,” he promises.
But when he wipes his mouth, I see red.
“Is the sound making you worse?” I ask.
“It’s probably the lack of wind. Or all this walking. And at least now we know how to find where we’re going. If we keep following the sound, it’ll lead us right to it.”
The plan seems to be working, but the louder the hum grows, the paler Gus turns, if the sound alone makes him bleed, how will he stand among the Shredder’s blades?
“Maybe there’s another way out—”
“I’ll be fine,” he interrupts. “We’re not changing the plan.”
His words would be easier to accept if his teeth didn’t have a reddish gleam.
I pull Gus’s arm around me and try to move us faster, hoping he’ll grow stronger if I can get him some fresh air.
The sound leads us through several more turns and then . . .
. . . we end up back in the dungeon.
The scarred Stormer laughs when he sees us. “Ready to give up?”
Gus kicks the bars so hard I fear he’ll break his foot.
“We’ll find a way through,” I tell him before he can kick again. “I just need to think.”
I try to remember every detail I noticed during my time in the tunnels, but nothing stands out.
And then I realize what we’re missing.
“The power of pain,” I whisper. “The Stormers always use broken commands to open hidden doorways.”
“Indeed we do,” the scarred Stormer says. “Which doesn’t help you at all, does it?”
He rolls to face me, and I cringe when I get a better look at his mashed-up face.
“Please,” I say. “If you help us, you can escape with us.
Gus pulls me away. “Forget him, Audra. He’ll never betray Raiden.”
“He’s right,” the Stormer agrees.
“Why?” I ask. “We both know what’s going to happen when Raiden finds you like this. I’m offering you a chance to live.”
“So long as I join the Gales and spill all of Raiden’s secrets—and fight at their side as they destroy everything I’ve helped build? No thank you. I have no intention of becoming a traitor.”
“So be a loner,” I counter. “Get us out of here and disappear. It worked for Aston.”
“Yes, well Aston had an advantage I don’t have—though he paid for it with his skin.” His hands move to his neck, rubbing his throat. “If Raiden senses that I’ve betrayed him, he’ll trigger my suicide draft.”
I’m not sure I know what that is—though the name speaks for itself.
I squint at his neck, but I can’t see any trace of it.
“There’s no way to remove it,” he tells me. “In case that’s what you’re planning. I can’t even feel it—if I hadn’t been conscious when Raiden formed it, I wouldn’t even know it’s there. And if I try to tamper with it, Raiden will trigger the slow death. I’ve seen it in action once.” He shudders.
I reach up to rub my neck and catch Gus doing the same.
I knew Raiden’s methods were cruel, but I never imagined anything like this.
“And he makes all of the Stormers have them?” I ask.
“He doesn’t make us. It’s how we show our commitment—and the commitment is mutual. We swear to be loyal, and Raiden swears to teach us his ways.”
“You honestly believe that teaching you to do his dirty work for him is the same as agreeing to sacrifice your life?” Gus asks.
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