Let the Storm Break

CHAPTER 6 AUDRA

I should be home by now.

I can’t tell where I am. Flying with the power of four turned the journey into a blur of color and light. But I can feel the sun directly above me, telling me it’s midday, and I see no bright yellow desert on the horizon. Only the dark blue of the sea.

I command the drafts to slow so I can get my bearings, but they ignore me—and when I shout at them, they rush faster, spinning into a squall. The more I resist the more they tighten their grip, crushing me in their cyclone and dragging me far too fast toward the ground.

I have no idea what’s happening, but I curl into a ball and focus on the air brushing my skin. It’s not the same as wind, but it fuels my strength and steadies my nerves. I let the energy build inside me until I feel ready to burst. Then I shove myself forward and launch out of the vortex, squinting in the bright sunlight.

A quick glance down tells me I’m high above the shore, but when I call a draft to catch me, they rebel and whisk away. Leaving me alone in my free fall.

I force myself to stay calm.

I cannot fly without wind, but I’m still a part of the sky. I can float like a feather on a breeze—I just have to hold still and trust that the air will carry me.

I stretch out flat, trying to keep my body flexible as I take slow, deep breaths and concentrate on the white puffy clouds. I wish I could sink into their softness, bury my face in their cool mist. Instead I drift with the currents, dipping and diving and swooping so much I can’t tell whether I’m falling or flying until I collide with the rocky sand.

It’s not a soft landing, and I can feel my cheek sting from where my skin met a splinter of driftwood.

But I’m safe.

For now.

Something is wrong.

The wind always has a mind of its own, and sometimes it refuses to obey—but I’ve never seen every draft rebel. Some other force is at work. Something dark and powerful, if it could spook the winds that way.

I pull myself up and scan the shore, wincing as my muscles complain. The dark gray sand and white pieces of driftwood remind me of the beach I left hours ago.

In fact . . .

I turn to the ocean, feeling my heart jump into my throat when I see the stacks of stone standing tall among the waves. The glaring sun shows a fifth peak that I couldn’t see under the moonlight. But the twisted shapes are unmistakable.

I never left.

I never moved.

All that time I thought I was flying, I was really just hovering in the sky, spinning like a windmill rooted to the ground.

I have no idea what kind of command could bind me that way, but whoever gave it has to be here.

The beach is too empty.

No seals sunning themselves on the rocks.

No dolphins splashing in the waves.

Not even a single bird in the sky.

I reach for my windslicer, cursing myself for leaving it back at my old shelter. I was so focused on escaping my problems that I never considered that Raiden might come after me.

I should’ve known better.

He’s always trying to capture Gales to interrogate. And I’m Vane’s former guardian. He’d expect me to know all kinds of secrets about . . .

I sink to my knees as a horrifying thought hits me.

I know Westerly.

But no one knows that except Vane and—

No.

A few hours ago I shouted a Westerly call. If someone was watching . . .

My chest starts to burn and I realize I’ve stopped breathing—but how can I breathe?

I have the prize Raiden’s after, and I’ve basically hand delivered it to him, coming here with no weapons, no backup, no one even knowing where I am.

Bile rises in my throat, as bitter as my regrets. I choke it down and stand.

I’m a trained guardian.

I harness the power of four.

No Stormer is going to defeat me.

I turn toward the cliffs lining the beach, trying to guess which dark hole my attacker hides in.

It’s impossible to tell—but I know they’re watching me.

I call the nearest Westerly and coil it around my wrist.

Let them see how powerful I am.

Let them know that they don’t scare me.

“Show yourself!” I shout.

My words echo off the rocks before they’re swallowed by the waves.

I march toward the cliffs, but I’ve barely gone two steps before the winds vanish, turning the air quiet and still.

The calm before the storm.