Shannon Messenger - Let the Storm Break

If anyone could figure out how to block Raiden’s winds, it’s Arella.

But she’s forgetting one key detail.

“So let’s say I actually believe that you’ve changed and are no longer the heartless, murdering psychopath we all know and hate. If I ship you back up to fresh air and put you to work protecting me, how long before the madness takes over again? How long before you’re back to scheming and betraying and not caring who gets hurt—or killed—in the process?”

“It wouldn’t be—”

“Yes, it would.”

I turn my back again—for real this time.

Still, I can’t quite tune her out as she tells me, “I can help you, Vane. I might be the only one who can.”

I’m not dead.

The water crashed over me, swallowing my air. And as I drifted with the waves, I felt my consciousness slip away.

But here I am.

Still breathing.

Facedown on the soggy sand of an eerily silent cave.

Thick cords bind my arms to my sides, telling me I’m a hostage. But I feel no hint of my captor’s presence. Only a suffocating stillness in the air.

The entrance to the cave is unguarded—but I dare not try and run. My enemy has always been five steps ahead of me. This is just another part of their game.

I pull myself up, wincing as my bonds twist tighter. I can feel the sharp rocks still in my pockets, but given my attacker’s ghostly methods, I doubt they’ll ever get close enough for me to use them. Still, I twist and squirm as much as I can to bring one closer to my reach.

The cave is empty and unremarkable. Rough gray walls and dripping stalactites. No signs of life except the tiny green crabs skittering across the sand. No breeze except the rush of my own breath.

My only clue to what I’m facing is the broad piece of seaweed coiled around my palm. Cool tingles sink into the blisters underneath, easing the pain of my burn.

An unnecessary mercy, probably meant to soften me. See if they can coax my secrets instead of beating and breaking.

I shudder.

I’ve worked my whole life to protect the Westerly language, but I’ve never been so directly responsible for its safekeeping. I want to believe that I’m strong enough to stay silent. Willing to lay down my life like I was on the beach.

But Raiden’s a master interrogator.

Four years ago, he captured two of the Gales’ best guardians and tortured them for days, weeks—no one knows how long. All we know is that he broke them, finally learning that Vane is still alive.

Am I really stronger than them?

The Westerlies resisted, I remind myself.

But then I think of Vane’s face, pale and tinged with green, ready to vomit or faint or worse. All because I’d told him that he might have to kill. The longing for peace flows so strongly through the Westerlies, it’s involuntary. Giving them an unending supply of courage. Unlimited strength to resist.

I’m an Easterly.

The swift, tricky winds.

Easterlies do whatever it takes to survive. . . .

But I have my bond, I tell myself, wishing I could feel the pull in my chest. Without the wind, the pain has faded. And even though Vane’s still a part of me, I can’t help worrying that our connection won’t be enough. That Raiden will find some weakness and push until I break.

I’ll know soon enough.

The damp air makes me shiver as I watch the sun melt into the ocean. But the hollowness inside me feels far colder. The silence starts to smother me, so I hum one of my father’s favorite songs, letting the low, deep melody fill the air. It’s a sad tale of loss and longing. Chasing things that can never be caught.

I’ve always wondered why my father loved it so much, but sitting here, waiting for my enemy to return, I think I finally see the appeal.

Success isn’t always about triumph.

It’s about carrying on, continuing the battle. Even if the fight can’t be won.

“You didn’t scream,” a raspy, male voice says, making me jump. He has an accent I can’t place—clean and precise. Like each word has sharp edges. “Didn’t you want to call for help?”

His words echo off every inch of the cave, making it impossible to tell where he hides.

I clear my throat. “I’d rather save my voice.”

“It is a lovely voice,” he agrees. “I’ve been very much enjoying it. But do you really think so little of yourself that you believe no one would come to your rescue?”

Yes.

Instead I say, “You left me ungagged for a reason. I decided not to find out what it was.”

He laughs. A creaky, hollow sound that gives me chills. “You are a clever girl, aren’t you? I must admit, I find you incredibly fascinating.”

“Glad to entertain you.”

“Oh, it’s far more than entertainment. Far more.” He falls silent, and I can tell he’s studying me, even though I can’t see him. “So tell me, clever girl. What should I call you?”

“Audra.” I see no point in lying. Plus there’s genuine curiosity in his tone. Maybe even a trace of sincerity. I decide to test my boundaries. “What should I call you?”

“Let’s stick with you for now, shall we?”

“But I’ve answered all your questions. Shouldn’t you have to answer at least one of mine? It’s only fair.”

“Ah, so you still foolishly believe that the world we live in is fair?”

“No. But you eased my pain.” I nod toward my seaweed-wrapped wrist. “So I’m assuming you have some sort of moral compass.”

He’s quiet for so long that I worry I’ve crossed a line. But when he speaks again he says, “Pick a different question and I’ll answer it.”

Hundreds of options swarm my mind, but I pick something easy. Something that might earn me another.

“Where am I?”

“A cave.”

He laughs when I scowl.

“Fine. Fine. Apparently you want questions and quality answers. Such a demanding prisoner. I believe the precise name is the Lost Coast. The groundlings decided it was too difficult for their clunky, land-bound bodies to get to, so they all but abandoned it years ago. Which makes it an excellent place to hide.”

So he’s hiding from someone.

Working alone.

That doesn’t sound like a Stormer.

But he fights like one. . . .

“Your turn,” he says, interrupting my musings. “And since these questions are costing me now, I’m skipping to the more interesting ones. How did the Gales convince you to join the guardians?”

“I volunteered.” At the time I thought I was making amends for causing my father’s death. Plus he’d begged me with his final breaths to take care of Vane.

If I’d kept that promise and stayed to do my job, I wouldn’t be here.

“You volunteered?” he repeats, stepping from the shadows near the entrance. Even though a dark cloak completely covers his face, I can feel his eyes boring into mine. “I thought your kind were supposed to be peaceful. And how did you keep yourself hidden all these years? Last I heard, all we had left was a boy.”

I bite my lip.

He must think I really am a Westerly—which may actually work in my favor. Better that he doesn’t know how much easier I might break.

“It’s supposed to be my turn to ask a question,” I remind him, avoiding all of his.

He grins. “There’s fire in you. Fight. You would’ve run me through on the beach with that pathetic little wind spike if you could have, wouldn’t you?”

I’m still trying to figure out how to respond when a cold wind whips my cheek, stinging like the edge of a blade. I choke down the pain, refusing to let him see that he can hurt me.

“See? Fire. ” He moves closer, his steps so light they don’t leave impressions in the sand. It’s unnatural the way he moves—almost a slither—and when he calls a draft to his side, I can’t understand the words. “You’re different from the others,” he whispers.