The sky is dark by the time we reach the mountain that hides Raiden’s fortress—and I mean really dark.
No stars.
No moon.
Just storm clouds blacking out the world and showering us with snow . . . in the middle of summer.
“I’m g-g-guessing this isn’t n-n-normal,” I stutter as Aston sets us down in an ice-crusted forest. It looks like Mr. Freeze came through and blasted everything with his freeze gun.
“It means Raiden knows we’re coming,” Aston tells me, pulling his hood up to block the snow. “I’d figured as much. But I’d been hoping he wouldn’t be this prepared.”
I know it shouldn’t surprise me that Raiden can change the weather. But somehow the idea feels huge.
And the mountain itself is huge—way bigger than I’d imagined. We should’ve brought climbing gear—and about a million extra layers of clothes.
“Here,” Solana says, blanketing me in a Southerly.
She does the same to herself before turning to Aston.
“I’ll just absorb it,” he tells her.
“And it would dull my senses too much,” Arella adds.
I shiver just looking at them. The Southerly can’t keep all the freezing air away, but at least I’ll leave here with all ten of my toes.
Aston licks his finger and waves it back and forth, then curses under his breath. “Raiden’s definitely gunning for you, Loverboy. He brought in the northern squalls. We’ll have to limit flying to emergencies only, and Brezengarde will be at maximum power.”
“The fortress draws strength from the wind,” Solana explains when she sees my confusion. “There are windmills on every wall, and a system of tunnels to channel the wind to the heart of the fortress, where a central turbine powers all of Raiden’s defenses.”
“And his offenses,” Aston adds. “Raiden isn’t the type to sit back and wait for his fortress to be stormed. He likes to blast you to pieces long before you ever get there. And the squalls triple the range of his blasters—and quadruple the force of the Shredder.”
“The ground isn’t safe either,” Arella warns, waving her hands to fan away the cloud of her breath. “I can feel patrols all over the mountain.”
“Okay, so . . . how do we get around all of that?” I’m done hearing about problems. Let’s get cracking on the answers.
Aston turns to Solana. “It might help if we knew where we’re going. Care to tell us where we can find this mythical tunnel?”
“It’s not mythical,” Solana argues. “But . . .”
I feel a nightmare coming on.
Solana fiddles with her link. “I don’t know exactly where it is—but I remember seeing train tracks near the exit my dad used in his memories. And some sort of structure.”
“Train tracks?” I repeat. “On a mountain?”
“There’s a train that takes people to the summit observatory.”
She says it like that’s good news, but uh . . . “There are people on this mountain?”
“Normally, yeah—especially at this time of year,” Solana says. “But the squalls should be keeping them away.”
I hope she’s right.
There was enough collateral damage during my last battle with Raiden’s army.
“Why would your family build their fortress so close to humans?” I ask. “And why hasn’t someone noticed it and been like, dude—what’s that?”
“It’s tucked away quite brilliantly,” Solana tells me. “And the winds help disguise it.”
“You know, for a sylph raised by groundlings, you don’t seem to know much about either race,” Aston points out.
“Oh, please, like anyone normal knows about . . . um . . . what mountain is this?”
Okay, so maybe I’m an idiot. . . .
“Mount Washington,” Solana tells me. “One of the windiest places in the world. Also the highest peak in the northeast part of this continent.”
“Well, look who’s a walking geography book,” I grumble.
“No—I just took the time to learn about my home,” Solana snaps back. “Though I guess it’ll be your home when all of this is over. You and your wife.”
Oh good, so we’re going there.
It gets even better when Arella says, “Audra will make a better queen.”
“Okay, no one is getting crowned right now,” I jump in. “Can we get through this alive and then worry about who gets to keep the castle?”
The sad truth is—assuming we find a way to defeat Raiden—if I don’t marry Solana, I’ll basically be usurping her family’s throne. It doesn’t matter who I love—or who loves me—or that I don’t even want to be King Windwalker. It’s all about the Gales’ plans for rebuilding their world.
“Entertaining as it is to watch this little drama,” Aston interrupts, “we’re standing in the middle of enemy territory and clinging to the ever-unraveling hope of somehow eluding them. So perhaps we should stay a moving target?”
“Right,” Solana mumbles. “Sorry.”
“Me too,” I tell her. “So . . . anyone know where the train tracks are?”
“I know how to find them.” Aston pats the icy trunk of the nearest tree. “Get climbing, Loverboy.”
“Great idea! Except, y’know, one of my arms isn’t working right now,” I remind him. “So how about you shimmy on up there?”
“I’ll do it,” Solana says, jumping to grab the lowest branch.
She misses by at least six inches.
“Honestly, if I’d realized I’d be working with idiots,” Arella snaps, “I would’ve made this a solo rescue.”
“Uh, we wouldn’t need a rescue if—”
“Yes, I know,” Arella says, cutting me off.
She cups her hands around her mouth and makes a warbling screech, and a small gray owl dives from a hole in one of the trees and lands on her wrist.
It’s too cute to scare me—though it’s super freaky the way it can spin its head around. Arella scratches its speckled feathers and makes a few more warbles until the owl blinks its huge yellow eyes and flaps toward the sky.
“The best way to get a bird’s-eye view,” Arella tells us, “is to ask a bird.”
Sure enough, when the owl returns, it tells her we need to head northeast.
“Most of the tracks are under the snow,” Arella says, “but it said there are several structures halfway to the summit.”
“Oh good—time for some mountain climbing,” Aston says, heavy on the sarcasm.
I’m right there with him.
I’ve always hated hiking. Hiking through ice and snow—without the right shoes or gear—is a million times worse. Hiking through ice and snow, when every creak or crackle could be an evil soldier coming to murder us?
Yeah . . . every minute pretty much feels like a thousand years.
I have no idea how long we’ve been trekking when Arella hisses for silence, waving her arms around, testing the air.
“I feel something,” she whispers. “A deep shiver down my spine.”
“I feel nothing,” Aston tells her. “I think it’s—”
A soft squeaking cuts him off, and we all focus on Arella’s hip, where the silver anemometer has started spinning.
Aston grabs my arm. “Get us airborne—now! And use Westerlies!”
There aren’t many around, but I manage to tangle a handful into a wind bubble. Solana, Aston, and Arella cling to me as I rocket us into the sky.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Aston pulls the anemometer from Arella’s belt. “These only spin around other Stormers. Things are about to get very . . . explosive.”
The word is still bouncing around our wind bubble when a thunderous crack erupts behind us, and one of the trees blasts into a million jagged pieces.
“Care to fly a little faster?” Aston asks. “And maybe make us a bit of a harder target?”
“On it!” I beg more Westerlies to join the bubble and command them to dash around in whatever random pattern they want.
It seems to help—the next few explosions are nowhere near us. But it’s definitely not awesome on my stomach.
“What is the anemometer sensing?” Arella asks. “I’ve never felt anything so cold and hollow.”
“It’s the suicide draft,” Aston tells her. “I’m surprised you could detect it. Clearly the rumors of your talents have not been exaggerated.”
“Of course they weren’t.”
I roll my eyes, glad when Solana asks, “What’s a suicide draft?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Aston says. “Think of it as Raiden’s ultimate control. He doesn’t allow his Stormers to be taken prisoner, but he doesn’t trust that they’ll all have—shall we say—the dedication to honor the requirement if they’re captured. So he forms a suicide draft around their necks when they swear their fealty, and then all he has to do is give the command and . . .”
He mimes his neck being snapped.
“Does he really keep tabs on every single soldier?” I ask.
“He lets his ruined drafts do it for him. It’s amazing how efficient the wind is when it has to obey. Meanwhile you seem to leave it all up to whatever whim a draft might feel.”
“Uh, it’s keeping us alive so far,” I remind him, as yet another explosion misses us. “The wind knows what it’s doing way more than I do. Why boss it around?”
Aston laughs. “That’s either noble or incredibly naive.”
“I see the tower!” Solana shouts. “Can you get us lower?”
I try several different commands, but the Westerlies won’t go below the tops of the trees. “If you need me to go lower, we’ll have to be on foot again.”
“And the Stormers will ambush us in minutes,” Aston warns. “Our only chance right now is in the air.”
“Not if we split up,” Arella says. “I’ll go with Solana. She can search for the passage, and I can keep watch for any nearby Stormers. I doubt they’ll be searching the ground if you two are buzzing around the sky, distracting them.”
It’s not a horrible plan, but . . . “What if you guys get caught?”
“Same thing you’ll do if you’re caught—fight,” Arella says, patting her windslicer. “And if we find the tunnel, I’ll send a bird to signal you.”
I don’t see any better options, so I ask the Westerlies to hold steady long enough for Solana and Arella to jump.
“Be careful,” I call as Solana uses a Southerly to slow their fall.
“You do realize you just left your fiancée with your girlfriend’s rather violent mother?” Aston asks as we get moving again, just in time to dodge another explosion.
“Solana can handle herself—and she’s my ex-fiancée.”
“It’s adorable that you believe that. Though honestly, we should probably be more worried about your future mother-in-law. Our princess is quite a natural with the power of pain.”
The words make my stomach squirm worse than the Westerlies’ next evasive maneuver.
It’s not a good time for this conversation, but I have to ask, “Is there seriously no way to heal after using that power?”
“So you do care,” he says, and I really regret asking. “Hm . . . the look on your face tells me you won’t like this answer. She’s in early stages still, so it’s possible she could reverse the effect. But it would take something . . . dramatic.”
“Like what?”
“You can’t guess?”
“Little busy here controlling a dozen Westerlies!”
“You’d think that would help you figure it out. Think about it, Vane. What do you replace violence with?”
The word pops into my head and my heart drops, even though our wind bubble is holding steady.
You replace violence with peace.
“So you’re saying . . .”
“Bonding with a Westerly should give her the balance she needs,” Aston finishes. “If only she knew someone who was up to the task . . .”
His laughter makes me want to shove him out of the bubble.
“You don’t even know if that’s true,” I argue. “You said should, not would.”
“Ah, so you can use that brain of yours. Very good. This is all just a theory. A very well reasoned theory though, don’t you think?”
It is, but . . .
No.
Uh-uh.
So not happening.
Solana was the one who decided to try Os’s command—not me.
But she did it to help Audra, my conscience reminds me.
Aston smirks. “Suddenly being noble isn’t quite so easy is it?”
No, it definitely isn’t.
But I don’t want to think about it anymore.
“This is taking forever,” I say. “How much longer do you think we can hold out?”
“Not much. I’d wager they’re readying the Shredder. It’s basically like Raiden having a mile-long windslicer to slash at us from the safety of his fortress.”
“Awesome.”
I get my first glimpse of the Shredder in action when a dozen trees get sawed in half.
The next slice clips the top of our wind bubble, and we almost go splat! But I manage to regroup after a few seconds.
I ask the Westerlies to take us higher, but the winds resist my command and keep ducking back down toward the forest.
“More proof of the folly in trusting the wind,” Aston says as an entire row of trees gets sliced and diced right beside us.
“We’re still alive,” I argue.
But it’s not looking good.
We crash into something a few seconds later, and I’m sure it’s all over.
“Would you stop screaming?” Aston shouts, and I realize my mouth is wide open and something that sounds like a dying hyena is blaring out of it.
“You hit a bird—see?” Aston points to the owl soaring beside us. “I guess that means the mythical tunnel is actually real.”
We follow the owl into the forest—the swervy little bugger is not easy to keep up with—and touch down in front of an old water tower. There’s no sign of Arella or Solana. Just a two-foot wide hole in the ground that drops down so deep, I can’t see the bottom.
“Jump,” Solana calls from the abyss below—which does not sound like something I want to do.
But . . . she’s alive—and we definitely won’t be if the Stormers find us—so one at a time, Aston and I drop into the darkness.