The sky is quiet in the desert.
Almost too still.
Just a slice of moon surrounded by dust and stars.
It makes me uneasy, though I’m sure that’s mostly the pull of my bond. The constant reminder that Vane is much too far away.
“Aren’t you coming inside?” my mother asks for what must be the fifth time.
“I told you, I will.”
I lasted five minutes after we arrived.
Five minutes of staring at the still, silent chimes my father gave her, once again locked away from the wind.
Then I needed air.
I move to the shadow of her lonely oak tree, the only place in this sad stretch of land that feels welcoming.
I made my guardian oath here.
Sacrifice before compromise.
I thought I was done with that life.
And yet, here I am—voluntarily my mother’s keeper.
I don’t regret the decision. But I dread it all the same.
Her birds have already begun to gather—fierce crows and twitching sparrows and leering vultures. They line the roof, the branches, the rocks and weeds. Their eyes follow my every move, their stares both wary and unwelcoming.
They always choose my mother over me.
I’ve assumed it was some testimony to her superiority.
But I wonder if it’s a simple matter of authority.
I march back inside, pluck my father’s chimes from above her empty table, and carry them out to the porch, stringing them from the same hook I used the last time I freed them.
My mother shouts for me to stop, but already their soft tinkling has made the air less lonely.
“I’m going to move them back as soon as you’re gone,” she tells me.
“No, you’re not. You risked my life—and cost Gus his—all to protect whatever remains of Dad’s songs. And yet you lock his chimes away and refuse to let them sing?”
“I’m protecting them!”
“No, you’re ruining them. I know how it feels to be a prisoner. I know how it drains the heart slowly out of you. I won’t let you dull Dad’s legacy the same way.”
The words knock her back a step, and I watch the emotions flicker in her eyes. Flashes of guilt and sorrow and remorse—but there are too many darker notes for me to care.
“Fine,” she says, her focus on the stars. “We’ll try it your way—for now.”
“If it helps you to tell yourself that, go ahead. But this is permanent. You have to follow my rules.”
“My, we’re taking our role as potential queen quite seriously, aren’t we?” she asks.
“You think I care about a title? I care about my vow. I swore to keep you under control. I swore to protect our people from your influence. And I will. You don’t leave this house without me—ever. I don’t care if it’s a raging inferno. Suck the air away to squelch the fire and stand in the ashes. And no sending messages to anyone except me.”
“So is that what you’re going to do with your life now?” my mother asks. “Constant vigil monitoring me? I don’t think Vane would be too happy with that arrangement.”
He wouldn’t—though if I asked him to, he’d do it.
But I’m not alone in this. I have the sky—and my gifts.
“The wind will tell me if you disobey,” I warn her. “As will my birds.”
I turn toward our feathered onlookers, glad to see I already have their focus.
“You answer to me now,” I tell them. “And your task is to watch her.”
I stretch out my hand, and a brave sparrow flits to my finger.
He nuzzles his beak against my thumb as I stroke the bold stripes along his head and tell him to report to me twice a day. I can feel his loyalty swell with my touch, and I know he’ll keep a steady eye.
I order the rest of the birds to be his backup.
The wind will tell me if they fail.
“If you prove you can’t be trusted, I’ll let Aston find another solution,” I warn my mother. “And if he can’t find one, I’ll send you to Os, and we both know his answer.”
“Well,” my mother says, smoothing the fabric of her silky blue gown as I send my new sparrow friend back to his oak branch. “I see you have it all figured out.”
She’s trying so hard to be the elegant creature she’s always been. But she’s too frail and scarred to pull it off.
Too weak and wounded to ever intimidate me again.
My mother sighs. “Why does it always have to be like this? Can’t we . . .” She shakes her head, scattering whatever else she’d been planning to say. “Why don’t you come inside? I can help you clean your wounds.”
“I should get going.”
I promised Vane I’d be waiting for him—and after all the waiting he’s done for me, that’s one promise I intend to keep.
His bond tightens its hold on my heart, the crushing pain proof that he’s still breathing.
Still fighting.
Please let him win.
My eyes will be glued to the sky. Listening. Hoping.
“We can’t leave things like this, Audra,” my mother says. “Just come inside for a few minutes.”
“Why are you so insistent on that?”
She stares at the singing chimes, and her hand darts to her wrist. “Maybe . . . I’m not ready to be alone,” she whispers.
I watch her fingers twitching across her bare skin, itching to polish the gold cuff that should be there. And I have to ask. “What happened to your link?”
“Os took it. Before he sent me to the Maelstrom. He said I dishonored my bond with my choices.”
“You did.”
“I know.” The wind seems to shift, and she turns her face to the breeze, her expression peaceful even as her fingers gouge red trails across her skin. “I’ve lived with my mistakes every day for ten years. Sometimes I’m not sure how I’ll bear it any longer.”
“That’s your fault.”
“It is. But you could fix it.”
“If you’re asking me to forgive you—”
“I’m not asking anything. I’m simply telling you what your father told me. When Vane pulled me out of the Maelstrom, I was mostly gone—and I had no plans to fight my way back. But your father’s songs found me and called me toward him. He filled my heart with new lyrics. Reminded me that while he gave you his gift, he gave me you. And he said I could live without him—but never without you.”
I close my eyes, hating that I have to hear the message in her voice instead of his.
“Is that why . . . ?” I whisper.
“Yes. It’s why I helped Vane rescue you. I had to see if your father was right.”
The next logical question burns on my tongue, begging me to ask it.
But I can’t.
I don’t want to care about her answer.
So I turn to the wind, searching once again for my father’s Easterly.
“You won’t find him,” my mother tells me.
I hate her for being right.
Why can’t he be there?
Why can’t he—
I suck in a breath. “I feel him.”
My mother grabs my arm, her whole body shaking.
“He’s coming from the north,” I whisper. “I’m calling him over.”
“Go inside,” she tells me, dragging me toward the door.
I lock my knees. “Why? What are you doing?”
“I’m bringing you inside. For once, can’t you simply listen to me?”
“Not until you tell me why.”
My mother laughs, clawing harder at her skin. “Stubborn right to the end.”
She reaches down her dress and pulls a golden-brown eagle feather from what’s left of her cleavage.
“Yes,” she says as my eyes widen with recognition. “Raiden sent me a special message. He told me to bring you somewhere and keep you occupied so his Stormers could collect you.”
“And you agreed,” I finish, though it goes without saying.
“I didn’t have to. He was sending them either way. And if I resist, he’ll destroy your father’s wind. So go inside, Audra. Don’t make me force you.”
I have to laugh at that. “You think I’m going to surrender that easily? You can’t beat me anymore. I have the power of four! I have Gus’s gift!”
“GO INSIDE NOW!” she screams, launching a whipping wind that drags me through her front door and slams it behind me.
I tear at the handle, but somehow the wind holds it closed.
She can’t contain me that easily.
I grab one of the chairs from the table and smash it through the nearest window, kicking away the jagged shards of glass so I can crawl through.
My feet have barely touched the ground when two Stormers land in the yard.
“Let’s make this quick,” the tallest one says—though they’re both enormous.
Raiden sent his best.
“GO INSIDE!” my mother screams as I gather any nearby winds.
The Stormers have tried to clear the sky, but they can’t chase away my Westerlies.
“They’re not taking me again!” I shout.
“Please, Audra,” my mother begs. “I don’t want you to see this.”
“See what?” the smaller Stormer asks.
It all happens too fast then.
Wood crackles as my mother whips her arms, tearing huge branches off my favorite oak and slamming the jagged ends through the Stormers’ chests.
No one has ever survived her trademark trick.
No one can match my mother’s speed.
But . . . she wasn’t fast enough.
With his final breath the largest Stormer snarls a broken command.
I scream and drop to my knees as the wind he’d been carrying writhes in pain and unravels. Slowly the draft’s essence crumbles away, until there’s nothing left but a sickly yellow whirl.
It used to be an Easterly.
It used to be everything.
“I didn’t want you to see,” my mother whispers.
I realize her arms are around me, and that we’re both shaking too hard to move.
It’s impossible to think surrounded by so much destruction.
Shattered branches.
Shattered bodies.
Shattered wind.
“I’m so sorry, Audra—there was no way to save you both, and I wasn’t going to make the wrong choice again.”
She chose me.
“Please come inside,” she whispers. “The violence . . . remember, you speak Westerly.”
Somehow I make my legs carry me into the house. Or maybe it’s my mother carrying me. My mind is too stuck on the fact that she chose me.
And my father . . .
“He’s really gone,” I whisper.
That last tiny piece.
I hadn’t realized how much it meant until . . .
“He’s not gone,” my mother tells me. “That’s what I finally see. He lives in you—everything powerful and incredible about him lives in you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. And I’m sorry I let the madness ruin us.”
“Are we ruined?” I whisper.
It feels like it.
But I don’t want to give Raiden that power.
My mother has played the villain—but Raiden’s always been the true enemy. He set our world on this path and left everything scattered and broken.
I won’t let him break me.
I won’t let him take anything else.
So I hold tight to my mother—let her wipe my tears and check me for wounds. And when she’s done, I do the same for her.
“I can hear your Westerly singing,” she tells me, tracing her fingers through the breeze against my skin. “What is it saying?”
I close my eyes and listen to a song about a steady tree, braving every storm because of its strong hold.
My mother has always been my tempest.
But maybe she can also be my roots.
I sing the lyrics for her—but stick to a loose translation to avoid risking any breakthrough.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “I’ll try to remember that so I can hold steady until the next time you come to check on me. In the meantime, go. Get ready for Vane.”
I check my bond, not sure if I should be relieved or terrified that the pull feels just as far away as before. Clearly there was more to Raiden’s plan than any of us anticipated.
But I’m too far away to get there in time.
And . . . he doesn’t need my help.
He has the wind—and Solana. He has his training.
“What about you?” I ask my mother. “Do you need help with . . .”
She shakes her head. “I can handle the cleanup. I’ve done it before.”
She helps me stand and move my shaky legs to the door, and I find my strength with every step.
I know there’s probably something I should say—some grand speech that could cement these new connections.
But words are failing me at the moment.
So I borrow some from Vane, clinging to the hope that they’ll soon be true for him and me as well.
“It’s not goodbye. It’s see you soon.”