When Azamat sees us, he rises from his stool and lets us pass with an official wave of his staff. The rations are divided by variety: grain in the far corner, dried meat in the other, and cheese made from goat’s milk along the far wall. “You may each take a parcel of cheese and two strips of meat from the sacks labeled for the coming week,” I say.
The scouts rummage through the supplies and end up clustered around the meat. “There isn’t a bag marked with those dates,” Lalyne says loudly. Loud enough for any shepherd who might have followed us to hear.
“What do you mean there isn’t a bag?” I hurry to the ever-dwindling pile. “I took inventory again just a few hours ago and everything was in order.” I paw through the sacks again, only to discover Lalyne is right. An entire sack of meat is missing.
“Azamat!” I whirl around. “Did a family pick up their allotment early?”
“No one’s entered the chamber since you left,” he says with a lift of his chin.
“Are you certain? You never left to fetch water? Or accidentally fell asleep?”
Or accepted a bribe?
Or joined the plot to sabotage me?
“I don’t fall asleep on watch,” he says with a sniff.
I try to keep my voice level. Calm. “Then did you take the bag of dried meat?”
Azamat’s knobby fingers tighten on the staff and his leather-worn face pinches. His shout rumbles through the cavern. “Why assign me to guard the food if you believe I’m the one who’s stealing it?”
I wince. It shouldn’t be possible for such a thunderous voice to come from such an old, wiry man.
“Enebish didn’t mean to accuse you.” Serik elbows past me, but it’s too late. The cacophony of complaints that only just died down resumes with twice the fervor.
“More food’s gone missing!”
“We won’t last another day!”
The hysteria builds like the pitter-patter of rain, until the shouts are a downpour. The cave is so flooded, I can barely keep my head above water.
“I’m sure the bag has simply been mislabeled. Or misplaced,” I call out. “I’ll take stock again. Then I will guard the rations.”
Azamat protests loudly, as does everyone within earshot, but I grab his staff—which is actually my staff—and use it to press him out of the cavern like a stubborn sheep. Mercifully, the staff takes a large swathe of the clamoring crowd with him.
Once a space is cleared, I position myself in the cavern’s opening, arms and legs extended so my hands and feet are flush with rock on both sides, like a human wall. The shepherds mutter and glower as they disperse, murmuring that I’m the least trustworthy of everyone, but we all know the real reason they don’t want me to guard the rations: they want the food to disappear. Just like they want the scouts to return empty-handed. Any reason to abandon my plans. They’re willing to throw away our only chance at freedom for a smelly tavern and a hunk of bread in Lutaar City.
Serik trudges away last. His steps are slow and he scrubs his hand over his exhausted face. I know I’m not making things easy for him—he’ll spend all night apologizing and giving out extra warmth to appease the shepherds—but we must all make sacrifices.
I certainly am.
And at least they appreciate his efforts.
The hours creep by slower than the pale green snails climbing the cavern walls. No one wanders by to chat with me, as they did with Azamat. But I don’t want visitors. I don’t want to be distracted—purposely or inadvertently. And I have the darkness. The only companion I need.
The tendrils curl around my wrists and twine through my fingers. They coil up my legs and wind around my torso, wrapping me in a velvety embrace. I breathe out and in. Relaxing, re-centering.
It’s impossible to gauge the passage of time without ever seeing the sky, but at least a night and day pass without trouble. By the time the shepherds settle into their tents the following evening, however, my eyes burn and my lids droop as if weighted with stones. My body is so heavy, I slide lower and lower down the wall. Maybe I was harder on Azamat than I should have been. The seductive lull of sleep is almost as irresistible as the night.
I rest my eyes for a second. Just a moment. No one would dare steal the rations while I’m sitting right here….
I don’t know if a minute passes, or if it’s several hours, but from deep within my cocoon of slumber, I feel the slightest nudge. I groan and wave my hand, shooing the pesky mouse or fire gecko. But then the feeling comes again, and this time I realize it’s not a nudge so much as a pull.
A yank.
The threads of night, resting slack in my palms, slide away, burning like rope as they go.
What in the skies?
My eyes fly open and I lurch upright, scanning the ration cavern. It’s barely ten paces across. An intruder would be a mere hand’s breadth away from me.
My muscles tense, prepared to pounce on whoever has the audacity to steal from the entire group. But I force myself to wait as I scan the darkness.
At first I see nothing, but as I gather up a handful of night and tug it back, like the blankets Ghoa hoarded when we shared a bedroll as children, an outline shimmers into focus.
I don’t recognize the thief right away; they’re on the small side, with skinny legs poking out from beneath a tattered hem and a hood pulled over their hair.
My palms prickle with starfire as I watch them sift through the sacks, snatching a bit of this and a handful of that. Taking whatever they’d like, no matter that the rest of us are starving too.
How can you be so selfish?
And even more curious, how can they see?
I sit there, coiled like a banshee viper in the cavern opening, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.
When the thief finishes raiding what little food we have, they heft the sack over their shoulder and creep closer. Closer. I snap my eyes shut as they glance down at me—just a careless guard, overtaken by sleep. But as they hop over my legs, I reach out and grab their ankle.
“Gotcha!”
A deafening scream fills the cavern as the thief falls. The sack of stolen rations hits the ground, and I howl with indignation as our precious food rolls through grimy puddles.
“How dare you!” I roar, leaping onto the thief’s squirming body. My old injuries are a dull buzz compared to my rage. I grab for their arms and try to pin them to the ground. For a second they’re so still, I think I’ve managed it. Then the ribbons of darkness heave and I tumble backward—into a whirl of pitch black, as if they pulled a rug out from beneath me.
I’m so stunned, I lose my grip entirely, and both the thief and the night wiggle free.
The intruder retrieves the mostly empty food sack and they’re already several paces ahead by the time I clamber to my feet. Which is a problem, since I am not a fast runner.
“Stop!” I bellow, sprinting as fast as I can despite the jolting pain. Panicked thoughts whirl around my brain: the Zemyans are here, using my siphoned power. Except why would they bother stealing our food? So there must be another Night Spinner among the shepherds. Except I would have known. I would have felt them sooner. We would have been playing tug-of-war with the threads of darkness all this time.
I fly into the main cavern, where sleepy-eyed shepherds spill from their tents, gaping with horror. All of them yelling at me when they should be yelling at the thief.
“They’re stealing our food!” I point at the hooded figure, who’s already halfway across the cavern, but every eye remains on me.
I try to rip the cloak of darkness off the thief, but they’re too far away and their grip is too strong. My hands are too shaky.
“If you’re not going to help, at least get out of my way!” I shout as I plow through the throng, throwing elbows and ramming shoulders.
I’m nearly to the tunnel the thief slipped down when someone dodges in front of me. “Stop this, En!” Serik looks as mortified as the rest of the group. “There’s no one here. You’re frightening everyo
ne.”
“Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean no one’s here!”
Serik places his hands on my shoulders and holds me tight. “I know you’re desperate, but do you really think this is the best way—”
“This is the only way. Move!”
Still, Serik doesn’t let go. Leaving me no choice. Not only is the thief stealing our food, they’re somehow wielding the darkness. They can’t get away.
I fling the night over myself like a cloak and drive my knee into Serik’s stomach.
“I’m sorry,” I cry as he crumples. Then I dodge through the crowd much more efficiently and charge into the tunnel.
Too late.
There isn’t even a fleeting glimpse of the thief. Only dozens of tunnels branching off in a hundred different directions. Growling with frustration, I slam my good hand into the wall. That’s when I feel it: the push and pull of the darkness. Every time I tighten my grip, the thief pulls back. Connecting us like a tether.
I dart ahead again, following the pull right, then left, then right again. Where in the skies are they going? I’ll never find my way back. A second later, cold air slaps me across the face and the ceiling explodes with stars. My feet sink into the still warm sand, slowing my progress even further.
Why would they leave the caves?
Panic seizes my lungs as a third possibility enters my mind. If the thief isn’t Zemyan or one of our own, they must be from the outside. And if that’s the case, stolen food is the least of our worries. They could reveal our location to the imperial governor in Verdenet. Or sell us out to the Zemyans.
I beg my feet to move faster, but the sand is deep and my bad leg throbs. The thief races up the nearest dune, widening the gap between us. Until the tug of darkness is so faint, I can no longer feel it.
Crashing to my knees, I tilt my face heavenward and cry out to the Lady and Father, screaming at the distant, glinting stars. And that’s when I remember that darkness isn’t the only weapon at my disposal.
Don’t!
My mind dredges up images of the burning Sky Palace, but I don’t have a choice. I have to think of the safety of the group.
The thief is a Night Spinner.
I have always been the only one—other than my mentor Tuva, who died when I was thirteen. Where has this person been hiding? Why haven’t they been recruited by the Kalima? Is this a challenge of some sort?
There’s only one way to find out.
With a desperate shriek, I reach for a dagger of starfire and hurl it at the smear of shadow stealing over the dunes.
CHAPTER THREE
GHOA
THE SPICE TRADERS LOOK LIKE THEY’RE GOING TO WET themselves.
A pathetic man and woman hunch behind their rickety cart, faces pale as sand, hands trembling. Skiffs of yellow turmeric and rusty paprika escape the burlap sacks and float on the breeze. I grin as I inhale the pungent air.
Frightened witnesses are cooperative witnesses.
“Have you passed any caravans along this route?” I demand, gazing down from Tabana’s towering height.
They eye my warhorse—her sleek black coat draped in imperial blue and gold. Then their gazes continue upward, to the saber gleaming through the folds of my cloak, the glint of my lamellar armor in the harsh winter sun, and settle at last on the tinkling strands of my ponytail, singed white with frost.
“W-we’ve seen no one, C-Commander,” the man babbles, dipping into a pathetic bow. “Not a soul.”
“You’re halfway between Verdenet and Sagaan on one of the most heavily trafficked roads in the Unified Empire,” I say quietly. Dangerously.
“Most people choose not to travel this late in the year,” the woman says.
“Which is how I know you couldn’t have missed them.” I slash my arm, and frost ravages the spice bags. “Surely you’ve seen wagon tracks or footprints in the snow? Or heard the braying of sheep? Voices, even, that seem to come from nowhere?”
Just because they haven’t seen my traitorous sister and her ragtag group of rebels doesn’t mean they aren’t here. I know Enebish would have run to Verdenet. I know it as surely as the heady burn of ice overtaking my fists. Yet somehow she and Temujin and his Shoniin, and every skies-forsaken shepherd on the grazing lands, has vanished without leaving a single footprint or wheel mark in the snow. I feel like I’m tracking shadows, chasing phantoms.
Which isn’t far from the truth.
I nudge Tabana forward and the traders scream as her platter-sized hooves nearly sever their toes. “Do you know the punishment for obstructing imperial justice?” I ask, twirling my fingers idly in the air.
The woman screams as intricate patterns of frost climb the wheels of their cart. I nudge a few fractals onto their cloaks, let them nip at their cheeks. The man drops to his knees, babbling incoherently.
“Tell me what you know!” I shout.
Before he can confess, a screech fills the air. My eyes snap up to the sky, and invisible fingers seize my lungs. For one breathless moment I’m convinced it’s her eagle, diving at me with blood-soaked wings, daggers of ice still protruding from her chest. But as the raptor streaks closer, I see it’s too small, too spotted, and too alive to be Orbai.
The imperial falcon glides overhead, releases a scroll of parchment, and climbs back into the low-hanging clouds before I’ve unrolled the missive. The frosty strands of my ponytail harden further, scraping the back of my neck like a blade.
Whoever wrote this letter hasn’t given me an opportunity to reply.
I unfurl the parchment.
Return to Sagaan at once.
The note isn’t signed, but the Sky King’s hand is unmistakable. A flurry of annoyance billows through me as I stare at the ornate loops.
“Find them. By any means necessary,” he’d ordered me from the bowels of the treasury, where I led him to safety during Temujin’s thwarted execution. We sat in prickling silence for hours, listening to Enebish’s starfire ravage the Sky Palace and the Grand Courtyard. Finally he spoke: “I’m giving you complete control. Full confidence. Prove I’m not a fool to continue putting my faith in you.”
But how am I supposed to prove anything if he recalls me before I’ve had the opportunity to search? It’s barely been a week.
A week should have been more than adequate. A competent commander would have found them in days. Hours.
I can’t tell if the voice of censure is coming from myself or the Sky King, but it makes no difference. We are one and the same. His will is my own.
The spice traders scream, which is when I realize I’ve crushed the missive in my fist—though not before freezing it. Brittle shards of parchment escape my fingers and slash around us on the wintry breeze. The woman falls to the ground beside the man and they cover their heads, finally ready to cooperate. But orders are orders. Without a word to either of them, I bring Tabana around and dig my heels into her flanks.
We ride northward for five days, the snow-streaked grasslands blurring past, until the city of Sagaan rises up around me. A fortress of towering spires and impenetrable walls surrounding the glittering splendor of the royal complex. What used to be the royal complex, I correct myself as I gallop into the wreckage. The white façade of the Sky Palace is blacker than crumbling coal, the spires are ensconced in scaffolding, and the acrid tang of smoke still blankets the air.
The rebuilding will take months. Years. An opened wound, left to fester.
No matter how many times I see the devastation, I will never get used to it. And I will never forgive Enebish. Not only did she turn her back on me, but she turned her back on the Sky King. On our empire.
“Welcome home, Commander,” Reza, my page, calls from the front of the blue stone treasury building.
I look past the boy, my eyes narrowing into slits. This smoldering wreckage is not my home. And where in the name of the Sky King is Varren? My second-in-command always greets me to relay messages and reports from the war front. Why am I stuck with this knobby-
boned child who knows nothing? He isn’t even supposed to address me—or leave the barn—and I’m about to remind him of this, but his eyes are so eager and adoring and he pulls his shoulders back in an effort to impress me. This small show of veneration defrosts my anger a fraction.
Until he opens his mouth again.
“Did you make any progress, Commander?” Reza asks hopefully.
My back goes rigid. I dismount and toss the frozen reins at his face.
I would be making progress if they’d let me do my job instead of summoning me back to Sagaan.
“What do you think?” I bark to avoid the question.
Reza beams and gives me the Kalima salute, even though he’s magic-barren, and hurries off to the stables with Tabana.
I march up the steps and slam through the heavy brass doors of the treasury. It’s nearly as cavernous as the Sky Palace, comprised of two wings that intersect like a cross. Silver molding adorns every wall, and a glass dome crowns the center of the spiral staircase. When sunlight streams through the diamond-cut panes, the vivid blue walls glow like lightning bugs on the grasslands.
I used to think it was beautiful. Serene, even. I would sneak over here and sit in the stairwell when I needed a break from the endless bustle of the Sky Palace. It reminded me of slower, more carefree days, when Papá would bring me to his office and teach me to balance ledgers and manage the royal coffers. I always found the steady clink of coins and murmured transactions so comforting. Like a song, in its own way. But ever since the Sky King claimed the treasury as his temporary residence, those soothing sounds have been replaced by the clomp of boots, the rattle of weapons, and, ever more increasingly, the sound of his raging criticism.
“Varren!” I call, my own voice grinding with exasperation when he isn’t waiting in the atrium beneath the glass dome either. And Cirina isn’t ready with towels and a change of clothes. The thin coat of irritation varnishing my skin like sweat hardens into ice. How dare they summon me, then fail to prepare for my arrival!
Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology) Page 3