Let the Storm Break

CHAPTER 12 AUDRA

This is why the Gales will never win,” Aston murmurs as he steps closer, giving me a clearer view of his scars.

There’s something sickeningly beautiful about the way the moon’s glow seeps through the holes speckling his skin. Almost like Raiden created tattoos of light, carved out piece by piece.

“What did he do to you?” I whisper, not sure if I really want to know. I can see other changes too. A blue tinge to his lips. Wavy lines running along the sides of his torso. He’s probably only ten years older than me, but his eyes look a hundred years old.

“Oh, this?” He waves his hands, making a disturbing whistle as the air squeals through the gaps. “This was simply the product. The power comes from the process.”

The power in pain.

I can’t help shivering as I ask, “How does it work?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I don’t,” I agree. “But maybe if we knew more about what we’re facing we could—”

“You could what? Do this to others?” He steps so close that I can see straight through his wounds to the rocky cave behind. “Watch them writhe and scream as you make their bodies crumble? Is that the future of the Gales?”

“No. But what about the tricks you used to capture me? If the Gales had those in their arsenal maybe they could stand a better chance.”

“You don’t understand what you’re requesting.”

“Then explain it to me.”

He laughs.

A sad laugh.

A broken laugh.

Then he throws his cloak back on, scoops me up, and carries me through the cave. His strength is remarkable given his hollowed-out form. I can’t even twist in his grasp.

“Now, I’m going to need you to be a very good girl and not get any ideas about escaping,” he tells me as we step through whatever barrier he’s built to keep out the winds. “I’d really rather not have to hurt you again, but we both know that I will.”

I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him.

He’s crazy and erratic and his mind is just as ruined as his body.

But he’s a Gale.

Then again, so was Raiden . . .

Cold Northerlies blast my skin, and I close my eyes, fighting back tears when I realize I can’t feel the pull of my bond.

I don’t know if it’s some trick of Aston’s or a sign or something more, but I need to find a way back to Vane.

“A throne for Her Majesty,” Aston says, setting me down on a flat-faced rock just outside the cave’s entrance. “Or do you prefer Her Highness?”

“I prefer Audra.”

He shakes his head. “You’re going to make an interesting queen.”

It’s hard not to cringe at the word.

I may be bonded to the king, but I doubt the Gales will ever do more than tolerate our connection. There’s still a chance I could be charged with treason.

The thought makes me want to squirm, but the rope around my waist is too restricting, cutting into my skin with every breath.

I resist the urge to call a Northerly to sever it.

“I knew you were a clever girl,” Aston says, hissing a word that makes a draft slice through my restraints. “And yet you still foolishly believe your worthless army can stand against Raiden.”

“The Gales aren’t worthless.”

“Oh, but they are. Let me show you the many ways.”

He calls an Easterly, using the command I’ve said thousands of times over the years.

“You’ve been taught to give the wind a choice,” he says as a swift draft streaks between us and coils into a small funnel. “You tell it to come to you swiftly and you expect that it will. And most of the time it does. But the wind still has a say. Which is why you will never truly be in control.”

“I don’t need to be.”

“Really? It looked to me like you nearly died several times this afternoon when the winds abandoned you.”

“But I’m still alive. And they only did that because you made them.”

“Which is why the Gales will never win. You can’t beat someone who doesn’t play fair, and they aren’t willing to cross the line between request and demand—most of them, at least. And if they did, it would only destroy them.”

He points to the Easterly in front of me and I have a horrible feeling I know what he’s going to do. I want to send the wind away—save it before it’s too late. But I have to know Raiden’s secret.

Aston snarls a harsh word I can’t understand, and the draft howls. A deep, primal wail that shreds every part of me as I watch the wind of my heritage—my kin—stripped bare.

Everything good and pure crumbles away.

Its energy.

Its drive.

All that’s left is a pale, sickly gust that hovers lifelessly between us.

Still.

Silent.

I feel a tear streak down my cheek.

Aston crouches in front of me and wipes it away.

“I wanted to strangle Raiden the first time I saw him do that,” he whispers. “Wanted to beat him bloody until he understood the kind of pain he just caused. And when he ordered me to learn the skill, I refused, not caring that he would punish me. I wasn’t going to turn into a monster.”

“What changed?” I ask, unable to hide the anger in my voice.

He laughs and slips his cloak off his left shoulder, running his hand along a line of holes that trace his collarbone. They’re different from the small, jagged holes covering the rest of him. Perfectly round—and twice as big. And they go through skin and bone.

“He gave me one for each day I resisted. Twenty-nine in all. I almost made it to thirty, but then he found a better way to break me.”

He doesn’t explain further, and I decide not to push him. I already know where the story ends.

“So why keep ruining the winds?” I ask, watching the sickly draft groan and hover. “Why not—”

“Because breaking the winds breaks you. The power becomes a craving, like . . . part of you dies and the only way to fill the emptiness is to spoil everything around you. And you can’t fight it because you don’t want to fight it, because then you’d never be able to experience the rush again. It’s why the Gales can’t win, Audra. They can’t compete with this kind of ultimate control. And if they tried to embrace it, they’d just be consumed by it.”

I stare at the sallow wind swirling between us, hating that he’s right.

It would explain how Raiden commands such loyalty from his Stormers. I’d always assumed they were fueled by fear or greed. But maybe they’re also slaves to their bad choices.

“That’s why you never came back, isn’t it?” I whisper. “Why you hid in a cave, let us all think you died?”

“Aston did die. This thing I’ve become”—he stares at his ruined hands—“I’m not going to let anyone know it exists.”

There’s a darkness in his final words.

A warning.

I know what he’s going to tell me, but I still have to ask the question anyway.

“What about me?”

His lips curl into a smile, but it’s the coldest smile I’ve ever seen. “We both know I enjoy your company. And if you ever try to leave, I’ll kill you.”