8
Raiden
Hurry!” he screamed in her mind.
Fear and desperation consumed him as Kordelia lunged, her right arm reaching for the sky.
Barron leered from behind, his twisted face curving as his power spooled, dripping from every pore of his body.
A wave of darkness rose, consuming him and Blake, surrounded by an army of death marching onto the ship.
Raiden frantically tried to grab hold of her.
His own power whipped in the air, thrashing against the atmosphere as his heart plunged.
Barron’s tar-like magic shot forward, latching onto her back, curling around her torso and shoulders like a lost lover.
His soul cried as Kordelia arched, her body nearly snapping in two, her pain reverberating down the bond.
It nearly severed it. The agony so hot Raiden’s power exploded, an array of hailstones shooting from his back, away from the one person he was trying to save.
“Raiden, I can’t—”
Her other arm flung back, pressing into the side of her face as her scar shone with gloomy light, curving around her jaw and neck, caressing that metal collar sinfully.
Aryn grabbed hold of Raiden, his golden eyes blazing so brightly it nearly blinded him.
He dragged Raiden back, as Kordelia’s lips turned blue, her rigid body collapsing at Barron’s feet.
His triumphant smile beamed through the blanket of ungodly darkness, and Raiden saw red.
“We have to go!” Aryn yelled over the rapidly increasing torrents of Raiden’s power. Kordelia . . . she was . . . was she dead? No. She couldn’t be. He’d know if she was.
“No!” Raiden roared, as their bond withered, Kordelia’s presence hovering on the edge of death.
His gut roiled, his body, heart, and soul incapable of being separated from her again.
That lone darkness enclosed on the edges of his mind, the nightmare he’d finally escaped returning to swallow him whole.
“We’ll come back for her!” Aryn raised a hand, blocking the harsh snap of Raiden’s winds. “We’ll die if we don’t leave now!”
Raiden cast his stare back to his siblings. Skylar was paling by the second, her bloodied head dripping into the suddenly calm seas. Aerion lingered on the railing, his usual charm replaced with dreaded shock at the dark magic unfurling, consuming the ship as though it were made of paper.
“Windward!” Barron’s magic pushed against his, and Raiden yelled at the force, his power threatening to submit to the unnatural force. Barron rushed forward, the wall of shadows expanding like a torrential wave, mimicking Kordelia’s beautiful element.
Raiden reluctantly nodded to Aryn, and Aerion leapt into the air, using his power to carry himself and Skylar across the winds.
Raiden grabbed hold of Aryn and spared a glance back.
Barron’s shreds of wispy darkness toyed with Kordelia’s body, probing her flesh, stroking her moonlight hair, before curling around her limbs.
With a crushing yell, he launched into the sky, leaving his heart behind on the deck of his enemy.
With a gasp, Raiden awoke on the ceiling of his shared cabin. He crashed back to the floor, the hammock burning his skin as he toppled over it. Fuck.
He quickly surveyed the room. Skylar’s and Aerion’s hammocks were empty, and sunlight filtered through the portholes lining the far side. Dreary and drab woodwork appeared a faded grey within the daylight, devoid of life.
Thank the gods his siblings hadn’t witnessed that. Since losing Kordelia a second time, nightmares had plagued his dreams, conjuring unwanted memories of how she looked fucking dead when he’d abandoned her on that ship.
And every time he had those dreams, he woke up floating on the ceiling, his power summoned within his sleep. He rubbed his face, wiping sleep from his tired eyes as he stretched out his limbs, wincing at the pain in his shoulder from crashing to the floor.
At least this cabin had intact walls. He dreaded to think what would happen if he floated up into the sky during one of these . . . episodes.
“Rai? Are you awake yet? I heard you thundering around in there.” Aerion opened the door to the cabin and raised a brow at Raiden sitting on the floor. “You slept through breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry,” Raiden mumbled.
Leto’s crew had the best breakfast going in Galen, but food was the last thing on Raiden’s mind.
He stood and cricked his neck, before dressing into their matching flight suits, the supple leather fitting to his muscles like a second skin.
It’d been designed for him, created to match his power, to enhance his skills.
Aerion stepped into the cabin. “You need to eat. We’re worried about you.”
Raiden paused as he glanced to an array of weapons placed on a crate in the centre of the room. It was within reaching distance to all their hammocks . . . just in case.
“I’m fine. Or I’ll be fine once we rescue Kordelia.
” He picked up a short sword, sheathing it into the scabbard attached to his hip.
His fingers brushed the decorative dark hilt of weaving iris flowers, entwined by thorns.
A bespoke piece fashioned for him during his darkest years.
When the Windward family had been torn down the middle.
A jittery energy pulsated from his body, and Raiden continuously picked up and put down weapons, keeping his hands in use to stop his well of power overflowing into this aching cavern inside, and consuming him whole.
“That’s the thing.” Aerion blew out a breath, flexing his tattooed knuckles. “I’m completely on board with rescuing her. I know how much she means to you, what she means to the revolution, but . . .”
Raiden’s stare snapped to his brother. Aerion’s curls were wild, the red strap struggling to contain their mass.
His slender body was a contrast to Raiden’s bulky form, and Aerion’s deer-like eyes saddened.
Raiden’s jaw clenched in response. He was the only one out of his siblings not to possess the deep rich brown irises that were common in the Windward family.
He was an outlier. An outsider. Not worthy of the title of prince.
It’d fallen to Aerion when their father realised Raiden didn’t bear any of the typical Windward traits after what’d happened.
Raiden’s shoulders bunched, and he exhaled slowly, pushing the painful memory away as he braced for one of Aerion’s typically wise comments.
“What if Skylar is right? What if Kordelia is a stranger now, a weapon for the empire?” It was like listening to Zephyr—or Hector.
Continuously paranoid, continuously convinced anything outside of Galen was an enemy, empire or not.
They still had the Mist, for god’s sake. They still had nature’s protection.
What did Kordelia have? Nothing. She was alone. Lost. Left to survive in a world that’d been nothing but cruel to her.
“No. She remembered you. Aryn said so himself, she’s still in there.” Any other possibility was inconceivable. “You may have your love back, but I want mine.”
Aerion winced, his neck reddening. “That’s not fair, Raiden. You don’t know . . . we . . .” Aerion swallowed, looking away as he folded his arms. “He’s not mine.”
Shame struck Raiden and he faltered. What was wrong with him? The closer they sailed to Talmon, the darker his mind became, his tongue sharp and cold, his heart encased in steel.
“I’m sorry, Brother. Fuck, I didn’t mean . . .” Raiden hesitated as Aerion released a long exhale. “Are you okay?”
“We’re having the same fights we had ten years ago.
Aryn hasn’t changed.” Aerion raised his palms up, as if it would release all the tension within him.
His romance with Aryn had always been hidden behind closed doors, their affection non-existent, away from the eyes of Zephyr.
But gods, Aerion had been inconsolable when the Mist appeared, with Aryn stuck on the other side.
Another reason his presence was insufferable to Raiden.
“Even if Kordelia could remember anything . . . would she still be the same person?” Aerion swallowed, his desire to change the subject clear. “Aryn told me some of the things she’s been through . . . for anyone to experience that, it would change them.”
Raiden paused. Had she changed? Their reunion wasn’t exactly what he had pictured, but gods-damned, he loved it when she’d raised her sword at him.
Fighting had always been a form of love language for them.
He needn’t ask Aerion the horrors Kordelia had experienced.
He’d witnessed them first-hand through her eyes.
“Regardless,” Raiden’s voice quietened. “She needs to be saved. She deserves someone to get her out of that wretched place. If I could destroy Barron now, I would.”
“Okay,” Aerion relaxed slightly. “Agreed. Just try to keep a clear head. We don’t want to make any rash decisions, or start an actual war with one ship.”
Raiden nodded once, smothering the cresting nerves as Bone Rattler sailed across the Shaurock Sea.
Aerion excused himself, beckoning Raiden to follow once he was ready.
He inhaled deeply, searching for that familiar scent of sea salt, and placed one hand on the warped wood as he continued sucking in deep breaths.
Since the Mist, anxiety had tormented him. His control over his life, his world, had sifted through his grasp like tiny grains of sand, disappearing into a fathomless black hole that was ever-expanding.
He no longer felt whole. And he would do anything to mend the broken halves of himself back together.
He’d already suffered his father’s disapproval from dragging their fleet of ships to battle Talmon when Skylar had reported seeing Kordelia on the outskirts of the Mist. Fighting to keep that mutt alive.
Raiden gagged, recalling his earthy stench all over her precious body. Blake fucking Marwood had his hooks so deep in her for years. Raiden groaned, wondering why he’d never seen Blake through her eyes. Something had blocked him.
He didn’t want to see anyway. Didn’t want to know how close their bodies had been, whether she had loved him, whether she still did. Fuck. Had he had his way with her? Had he abused her? A small gust of wind blew through the cabin in response, the hammocks creaking and swaying.
Was it the darkness blocking him? His heart thudded unpleasantly as he recalled his power bouncing off the dark-armoured guards that Barron surrounded himself with. They reeked of something worse than death, something unnatural, that didn’t belong in the balance created by the Devani gods.
And magic didn’t work against them.
Raiden had spent the past month devouring Aerion’s personal library.
Everything from dark magic to properties of stones and runes.
Nothing answered the burning questions. How did Barron’s soldiers repel magic?
His chest tightened. The answer may lay in Skybell’s ancient archives, but with his nightly episodes, he’d never make it through the two-day flight without floating away or plummeting to his death.
“Good day!” Mara’s squawk echoed through the door behind Raiden and it swung open. He faced Leto, whose eyes still shimmered with the continuous use of his power shielding them. Fatigue had hardened his face, and a pang of guilt speared through Raiden.
“I know,” Raiden signed. “I’ll stop brooding.”
The Lord of Ghosts shook his head and Mara fluttered on his shoulder, her beady eyes mimicking Leto’s. “Get your butt on deck now,” he signed erratically. “We arrive at Talmon tonight.”