Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology)

by Addie Thorley

  “Varren!” I yell again as I storm toward the vault—our newly minted war room. It’s the only place prying ears and treacherous arrows won’t breech. When my second still hasn’t appeared by the time I reach the hidden door, covered in oak paneling to match the rest of the hall, I vow to demote him.

  I spin the lock.

  Right, left, right.

  “There had better be a damn good reason for disrupting my search,” I say as the door swings inward. “What could possibly be so important?”

  My voice trails off and my boots freeze in the threshold. Arctic flurries whip around my wrists as my arms slap against my sides. There, seated at the long ebony table we dragged in from the assembly hall, is every Kalima warrior. Including Varren. And at the head of the table sits the Sky King.

  “What’s this?” I look from face to face, trying to keep my voice level, but it pitches higher with each word. “What are you doing here?” I point at Iska and Eshwar. “You’re supposed to be patrolling the highway between Sagaan and Lingosk.” I turn to Karwani and Vanesh, who stare at the table as if it’s inlaid with gold. “And you’re assigned to watch the fish market a day’s ride from Chotgor.” They all look down and away. My heart pounds so wildly, it echoes off the steel walls. Filling the tiny room.

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. If everyone has been recalled, it must be for a good reason. “You’ve found them?” I ask hopefully.

  Still no answer.

  The ticking of the clock has never been so deafening.

  I spit out a hysterical laugh. “What sort of conspiracy is this? It isn’t any wonder we haven’t captured the traitors. You’re not even looking for them!”

  The Sky King rises with maddening slowness. “Just because they’re not following your orders doesn’t mean we aren’t hunting the traitors.”

  I try to make sense of his words. “Whose orders are they following if not mine? You gave me complete control. Full confidence. Find them. By any means necessary…. Is that not what you said?” I think back to his command, how he stared at me inside this very vault with such pride and conviction. What about all the routes and rotations I’ve mapped? All the missives I’ve written? All the detailed reports I’ve received?

  Did they carry out any of it?

  My hand instinctively goes to my saber. “I don’t understand.”

  The Sky King casts me a look that’s both pitying and condescending. “You’ve been erratic and unreliable, so we did what was necessary to keep you out of the way.”

  “Erratic and unreliable?” The words drill into my flesh like Zemyan arrows. My pulse throbs wildly in my throat. “What are you talking about? I’m neither of those things!”

  “You put your feelings for that monstrous sister of yours above your duty and the well-being of Ashkar,” the Sky King accuses.

  “I never—”

  “You helped her sneak out of Ikh Zuree to complete an unsanctioned mission.” He raises a finger and counts off my crimes. “Then you lost track of her in Sagaan, allowing her to join forces with the Shoniin. When you finally recaptured her, you were unable to extract any useful information, and instead of killing her, you let her thwart Temujin’s execution and escape. Again.”

  With every word, the walls press closer. At least half of the Kalima exchange small, lurid grins. “I didn’t let her get away!” I shout. “I ran to you, my lord. To protect you and guide you to safety. As any good warrior would.”

  “And by so doing, you ran away from her.”

  I blink at him, my eyelashes crusting with frost. “You can’t possibly think I would defend Enebish after she tried to kill me!”

  “Perhaps not consciously. But familial bonds run deep. Sometimes deeper, even, than love for one’s country … and king.”

  “These accusations are absurd!” I cry. “Varren, tell him! You were with me every moment. You know I would never …”

  Betray my king and country. I can’t bring myself to utter the horrible words.

  I lean across the table, staring desperately into my second’s eyes. We’ve rarely left each other’s sides since we were fifteen, when neither of us could best the other in the sparring ring. He was strong but I was fast, and no matter how many times we fought, it ended in a draw. Until, one day, it didn’t. His eyes met mine and, with an unspoken nod of agreement, he let my fist crash against his temple.

  I generally despise quitters, but this was different. Varren’s surrender was a message. A vow. He would defer to me. He would put my needs above his own. And it solidified his place at my side. He’s been as steady and immovable as the Ondor Mountains ever since. A quiet, towering presence. My rock.

  “Varren, please,” I beg, hating the waver in my voice.

  Our eyes lock, just as they did that day in the sparring ring, but instead of yielding, he straightens in his chair and his face twists into a scowl. It makes the dragon tattoo prowling down his cheek look like it’s baring its teeth.

  “A more competent commander would have spirited me to safety and captured the traitors,” the Sky King continues. “There’s no room for error during these tumultuous times. Certainly not if you wish to lead my most elite regiment.”

  A cannonball of outrage slams into my chest. Blowing me to bits as my mind fits together the pieces of their treachery. “You planned this from the beginning.” I laugh bitterly as I point at each of them, coming to rest on the king. “I haven’t had your trust or confidence since the attack, have I? That’s why you allowed me to ride out on so many scouting missions—so you could sharpen the knife to stab in my back.”

  “We had no choice,” the Sky King says, calm as ever. “We knew you wouldn’t go quietly, and now is hardly the time for infighting. You can tell people you chose to step down, if you wish,” he adds as if he’s doing me some great favor.

  Anger howls through me. My hair grows heavy with frost and my cheeks crackle like ice. I let out a guttural scream because I have given this country everything. Everything! I can’t just tell people I stepped down. I refuse to be removed at all. Never, in the history of Ashkar, has a commander of the Kalima warriors relinquished their title for any reason other than death. I would be the only one. The embodiment of disgrace and failure. I wouldn’t be able to show my face anywhere in the empire. Not even at my parents’ estate.

  Especially not there.

  Memories rise before me—their smiling, tearstained faces on the day I was sworn in as Commander; their pride so tangible, I could reach out and clutch it to my armored chest.

  I refuse to have that ripped away.

  With a growl, I unsheathe my saber and hold it out in front of me. “If you wish to remove me, you’ll have to kill me.” Then I extend my left arm and push the frost and fury swirling in my core out through my fingertips, forming a glittering blade identical to the one in my right hand. I swing the twin sabers in front of me and stare my warriors down, daring them to attack.

  More than half of the Kalima shoot to their feet, and that deliberate act of betrayal hurts so much, I nearly whimper in pain.

  But I bite back my screams. Sever my emotions.

  I don’t need these traitors.

  And I don’t want them.

  I stomp my boot into the floor and a thick coating of ice sweeps beneath the table and chairs, slicker than the Amereti in winter. I lower my head and bare my teeth, but before I can charge into the room, an earth-shattering rumble shakes the walls of the treasury. The steel vault groans. Books and quills clatter from the shelves and slide across the ice.

  “Earthquake!” Cirina yells, ducking beneath the table for cover. But this doesn’t feel like any earthquake I’ve experienced. The shudders come in waves. Almost like detonating cannons. Only harsher. Stronger.

  “What in the name of the Sky King …” I turn and squint down the hall. A second later, the massive glass dome over the stairs splinters. The cowards behind me scream as shards of colored glass fall like rain—even though we’re in no danger of b
eing hit.

  I remain silent. Still.

  Listening. Watching.

  It’s almost as if we’re under attack, but from whom? The Zemyans are advancing, but they couldn’t have reached Sagaan this quickly. They only just captured Ivolga. And Temujin and his pitiful rebels don’t have this kind of firepower. They’re all magic-barren deserters.

  Save for one.

  Enebish’s scarred face fills my mind: twisted with outrage during our argument in the spire salon. As if I did something unforgivable at Nariin rather than what was necessary to defend our country and fortify the Kalima. We needed a strong leader after Chinua’s death. Someone seasoned and dependable. It would have been disastrous if I’d been removed. Plus, the merchants could have easily been Zemyans. I had to counteract the threat.

  Another boom shakes the walls, and my muscles stiffen with ice—harden with certainty.

  “Don’t you have a scrap of honor?” I scream for my sister as I jog toward the shattered dome. “How can you turn your back on your family and country like this?”

  How can you?

  I don’t know if she actually spoke, or if it’s the ghost of her voice spitting the accusation back at me, but Enebish’s face fills my mind again, bristling with fury and snarling for revenge. She looks just as she did before she flung her starfire at my chest—like an executioner wielding her blade.

  There’s a moment of eerie quiet. Like the deep gasp of breath before a scream.

  Then every shred of light is sucked out of the treasury.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ENEBISH

  THE DESERT SKYLINE FLARES WITH LIGHT. A SECOND LATER, vicious heat sears past me as the starfire I summoned slams into the crest of the nearest dune. Sand sprays into the air, even higher than the explosion Serik created to destroy the Shoniin’s encampment in the Eternal Blue. The debris blots out the stars and bitten moon. It strangles the cactus wrens as they fill the dusty sky.

  I hold my breath and wait. The thief was well ahead of me. Almost out of range. But after five long seconds, the night rebounds with a snap. The stolen tendrils slingshot back to my hands and a shrill cry rends the night. An intense, visceral shudder works through me—the feeling of a thousand scorpions scuttling down my limbs.

  If you’re not Enebish the Destroyer, why do screams still follow you?

  It takes me much longer than I’d like to reach the wreckage. Long enough that my impressive attack will have lost most of its impact, but I eventually catch up with the thief. They’re dragging themselves through the sand on hands and knees. The ravaged ball of starfire smolders behind them, churning noxious white smoke into the air.

  I don’t bother shrouding myself in darkness. There’s no point.

  “I can’t believe you thought you could steal from us without consequence,” I say, my voice cold and hard. “Or beat me at my own game.”

  The thief glances back and squeals. They hoist themselves to their feet and try to run, but the starfire grazed their left calf, leaving a long strip of shiny red skin. Burned to the bone.

  “Stay back!” they yell, reaching skyward.

  I freeze, bracing for a return volley of starfire. But the pricks of light above us barely quiver. “You don’t know how to call them, do you?” A twinge of laughter creeps into my voice.

  The thief grumbles and surges forward, but thanks to their newly inflicted injuries, they’re no longer faster than I am. We limp on and on and on through the desert. My thighs burn and sand collects in the corners of my lips, but with every excruciating step, I manage to close the distance. I’m so focused on catching them, I don’t realize we’ve scaled a series of switchbacks and crossed a flat stretch of rock, until the thief drops into a square hole cut into the earth.

  My heart stutters with disbelief as I peer over the edge—at the long colonnades and sandstone altar. At the ornate mosaic walls and hand-carved columns. A place our scouts swore they couldn’t find. A place they claimed doesn’t exist.

  Sawtooth Mesa.

  “Wait!” I cry, my mind scrambling.

  The thief limps on.

  I leap into the temple without considering the drop, and land in a painful crouch. Zaps of electricity climb my injured leg like wasps, but they’re easy to ignore. My entire body is tingling. Buzzing with newfound energy. I take off after the thief’s retreating shadow, more determined than ever to catch them.

  They knew the way to the temple of the kings, which means they are Verdenese. And of high rank. They could know something about King Minoak.

  The sandstone altar, on which every king of Verdenet has been tattooed, dominates the center of the space. The thief ducks under it and streaks into the colonnades beyond, which are made of intricately patterned orange and white tiles. When standing close, they depict small scenes of life in Verdenet. But when viewed as a whole, they turn into an impressive mural of the Lady and Father. Down the length of each wall, there are at least twenty doors that undoubtedly lead to twice as many halls. It could take weeks to find the thief once they disappear inside—if I ever do.

  “Wait! I just want to talk to you!” I gasp.

  Labored, breathy laughter trails from the thief. “You nearly took off my leg! I’m not interested in talking to you.”

  Their voice is higher than I anticipated. Softer too. It makes me pause for half a second before spitting, “If you don’t stop, I’ll obliterate the temple!” I thrust my hand skyward, praying they can’t see how much my arm is trembling. I don’t want to destroy this sacred place—not to mention throw away the only lead we’ve had in weeks—but they’ve seen too much. They’re plainly up to something.

  They halt, eyes popped wide in the darkness. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  Their heavy breath fills the quiet.

  “Answer my questions, and I’ll be merciful.”

  Still no response.

  “This isn’t an invitation; it’s a demand!” I yell, tugging a bolt of starfire closer.

  The thief remains silent, but behind us, a second voice calls, “Ziva, is that you?”

  This voice is deeper and accompanied by the shuffle of much heavier feet. I whip around, looking for a second assailant, but to my surprise, the thief—Ziva—shouts, “Stay hidden!”

  That only makes the pounding footsteps quicken. “Why? What’s wrong?” The questions are cut off by a grating cough.

  “Run!” Ziva screams. “As deep into the temple as you can! I’ll find you when it’s safe.”

  “You won’t be finding anyone if you’re dead,” I cut in—loud enough for her accomplice to hear.

  “Ziva!” the unseen voice cries again, closer. I widen my stance, spread my fingers, and stare down each bejeweled doorway as if a lion might leap out.

  It turns out to be a fairly accurate prediction.

  A dark shape emerges from a door to my right—large and broad with filthy sand-crusted furs draped over bare shoulders and bloodshot eyes peering through a tangle of hair. They even roar as they charge at me.

  Tingles ignite my throat and my palm sizzles as I grip the starfire tighter.

  Ziva tries to erect a protective wall of night around the man, but it doesn’t affect my vision in the slightest. He, however, trips in the sudden dark and crashes into a pillar. As he crumples to the ground, moaning and clutching his side, Ziva throws herself in front of him. Though, it’s a needless sacrifice.

  The starfire is already slipping through my slackened fingers, drifting back up to the heavens as I squint at the mewling figure.

  The man might be wearing the rags of a beggar, but he has long gray hair the color of storm clouds and thick-muscled legs that are covered in tattoos from knee to ankle, and the golden rings climbing the ridge of his left ear are almost too numerous to count, especially as he thrashes in pain.

  But I do count. All the way to seventeen. A number only one man in my country is permitted to wear.

  “King Minoak?” I gasp.

  “Don�
�t be ridiculous,” the girl spits at me. She hovers in front of the king of Verdenet, scrawny arms outstretched. “We’re homeless outcasts. I’m sorry I stole your food; we’re just desperately hungry.” From beneath her hood, I catch a glimpse of a round face, unmarked by a single wrinkle or line. Dark curls escape around her full cheeks. She can’t be older than twelve. Maybe thirteen.

  What is a child doing with King Minoak? I assumed if he survived, he would be with guards. Or warriors. Not a young girl.

  Yet, it’s clear she isn’t just any girl.

  Ignoring Ziva’s request, I edge closer. “I—I never doubted you were alive,” I stutter, suddenly tongue-tied and bumbling as I gaze down at my king. “And I knew you’d come here.”

  Irritation at the scouts’ pathetic efforts rankle me. I found the missing king on my very first attempt. Proof that they’ve been trying to undermine and sabotage me.

  Except they wouldn’t have been able to see Minoak or the girl, I realize as the pane of blackness Ziva erected between us crumbles. They probably couldn’t see the mesa at all….

  “How long have you been hiding here?” I ask. “And how long have you been able to do that little trick with the darkness?” I nod at Ziva’s hands.

  “We’re just passing through. And I don’t know what trick you’re talking about,” she retorts. She lifts King Minoak under the arms and tries to drag him back into the colonnade, but her burned leg gives out and they hit the ground hard.

  The king clutches his side with a moan. Dark crimson stains bloom through his filthy tunic—the kind of wound made by a dagger, not the result of a nasty fall or starvation. And judging by the amount and pattern of the blood, the dagger was at least the length of my hand, and the attack came from behind. Uncontested.

  Which means Temujin’s tales about the assassination attempt were true—for once.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” the girl barks at me. “That wound had nearly closed.”

  I ignore her accusatory scowl and rush to help. “He needs stitches and poultices to stave off infection.” I reach for the corner of Minoak’s tunic to inspect the wound closer, but the hiss that flies from Ziva’s mouth is fiercer than the growl of a banded leopard.