Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology)

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Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology) Page 8

by Addie Thorley


  “Believe it or not, I know a thing or two about being hurt and betrayed,” Ziva says after a long silence. “Your empire—our supposed protectors—tried to kill my father.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. And I mean it. “That’s never what I fought for.”

  She nods and we’re quiet again, gazing out at the midwinter desert. The shepherds see nothing beyond the tunnel of blackness, only the path ahead, where I want them to go. Like blinders on a horse. But Ziva can see everything: the dunes, tinged purple in the moonlight; the frost dusting the tiny cactus blossoms; and the fox slinking through the brush and pouncing on an unseen quarry.

  “When did your power present?” I ask, trying to sound friendly.

  “Why do you want to know?” Ziva eyes me like I’m trying to trick her. “When did your power present?”

  “At the stroke of midnight, on my eleventh birthday.”

  She snorts. “Of course it did. You must have done something quite heroic.”

  I know she’s mocking me, but I shrug and answer truthfully. “Not really. Zemyan raiders sacked my village, Sangatha, when I was eight, and set fire to our hut. My mother pushed me out the window to save me, but I fought my way back inside. I refused to leave them to die. But it was too late. The roof collapsed. I only survived because I was barely through the door and avoided the worst of it. I guess the Lady of the Sky appreciated my effort.”

  “Both of your parents perished?”

  I nod. “Along with most of my village.”

  “I don’t know if my mother is alive,” Ziva admits, voice choked. “I couldn’t save them both. There wasn’t time. Papa was bleeding, and I didn’t know if there were more assassins lying in wait. So I ran.”

  “I’m sure your mother’s fine,” I say, though I’m sure of no such thing.

  “If being trapped in the palace with the imperial governor is fine,” Ziva mutters darkly. “And that’s the best-case scenario.”

  “But you were able to save your father. The king! Which is an incredible accomplishment. How did you manage it? Did you use your Night Spinning?”

  “My Night Spinning came after we’d escaped. At first I thought the taunting shadows were a curse—punishment sent from the Lady and Father for killing a man.”

  “But it’s the opposite. The power was a reward for your bravery.”

  “If you consider stabbing a man in the back an act of bravery.” She says it so softly, I almost mistake it for the shifting sand.

  “He wasn’t an innocent man. He was an assassin.”

  Ziva furrows her brow and looks straight ahead. I want to press her, but I force myself to keep quiet, giving her space to fill the silence.

  After almost ten minutes she blurts, “I—I didn’t even mean to kill him. It was the middle of the night. I should have been asleep, but I was thirsty and on my way to the kitchen for a glass of milk when I stumbled upon three dead guards in the hall. I wanted to scream, but I saw a shadow slip into Papa’s chamber, so I grabbed one of the guard’s blades and followed. I’ve had swordsmanship training since I was five, so I felt confident that I could at least frighten them. I figured they were a thief, picking around the royal apartments for gold and jewels. But then I saw them lean over Papa’s bed and raise a knife.

  “I don’t remember the rest. I only know that I’ve never moved so fast in all my life, and I’ve never seen so much blood. It was everywhere. Gushing from Papa and the assassin, staining the bedclothes and the carpet and my nightgown. As the assassin hit the ground, I dragged Papa out of bed and into the hall with every intention of taking him to the healers, but the floor below was filled with stomping boots and shouting voices—all of them Ashkarian. So I dragged Papa down the servants’ stairs and to the barn, where I found a cart. I managed to heft him onto it, and then I started running. I was too terrified to think about where we were going, or how strange it was that no one stopped us. Now I know it’s because they couldn’t see us. I called the darkness without even realizing it.”

  Silvery tears slide down her cheeks, and she paws at them furiously. I feel a sudden kinship with her—not quite tenderness, but understanding. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  “And that’s just the start of it!” she says with a hysterical laugh. “Now these infuriating black ribbons won’t leave me alone, but they won’t cooperate either, and my head is always pounding and my throat is always scratchy. I feel like I’m losing my mind.” She slices her hand through the air and the whorls of darkness scatter and dodge every which way, disrupting my tenuous hold. But I don’t snap or complain as I guide the tendrils back into place.

  “Kalima powers can be overwhelming at first, but rest assured that this is the Lady’s will. Saving your father awoke your power, which means you passed your test.”

  “So why does it feel like I’ve failed?” She tucks her curls behind her ears and looks over at me, eyes glassy and yearning.

  I don’t say a word. I can’t give her what she wants. I can’t teach her to wield the darkness. And she shouldn’t want me to. I’m a failure. The last person on the continent who should be giving lessons or advice.

  “Please—” Ziva begs, but I cut her off.

  “Please don’t ask me to do something we both know will end disastrously.”

  “Do you honestly think I’m that hopeless and incompetent?”

  No. I’m the one who’s hopeless and incompetent.

  But I lie and say, “Yes.”

  Because that will get her off my back.

  And that’s what mentors do: lie.

  Ziva resumes ignoring and avoiding me, and my conscience resumes pricking. Only now it’s a constant throb, rather than the sharp, fleeting twinge I felt when Serik’s eyes caught mine from the front of the caravan. But I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I tried being nice, and it backfired. She doesn’t want a friend. She wants a teacher. And I will never be that.

  As the temperature warms and swathes of swampy wetland begin to intersperse the shrinking sand dunes, the mood of the group improves considerably. The shepherds start to laugh and sing. A few of them even acknowledge me, and not just to complain.

  We reach the craggy cypress groves that cover most of Namaag at sunrise on our final day of travel. Space is scarce—we all have to squish onto the tangle of roots that act like a causeway above the mud—but it’s safer if we spend the more dangerous daylight hours hidden in the shade of the trees.

  I manage to find a little nook, tucked away from everyone else, and spread out my bedroll. The knobby knees of the trees are far from comfortable, but at least they’re dry. And I’m too tired to care. My hands won’t stop shaking, my nose is dribbling blood, and the blanket of darkness is beginning to fray and tear.

  Thank the skies we’ll reach Namaag tonight.

  Cradling my head in my hands, I lie back and watch the thick clumps of moss sway in the breeze, so green that they’re almost black against the backdrop of the sandy-white dunes. We’re straddling two different worlds: one foot in Verdenet, the other in Namaag.

  “The marshlands clearly suit you,” Serik says, appearing from out of nowhere.

  I bolt upright. “What are you doing back here? Who’s managing the front of the caravan? You know how the shepherds are—you can’t leave them alone for a second. And they need your heat!”

  “Relax.” Serik spreads his bedroll out beside mine. “The marshes aren’t nearly as cold, if you haven’t noticed, and I left Azamat in charge.”

  “Azamat!” I attempt to lurch to my feet, but Serik catches my arm and laughs.

  “Yes, Azamat. They’ll be fine for a few minutes. Besides, it’s practically a straight shot from here to Uzul, and all of it on raised root paths. They’d have to try to get lost.”

  “You give them too much credit,” I grumble.

  “Maybe because you never give them enough …” Serik’s voice is soft, far from accusatory, but it still itches like a crusted scab.

  “They haven’
t earned it.”

  “Haven’t they? When you step back and look at how far they’ve come—how much they’ve endured—it’s pretty remarkable.”

  “Spoken like a true ‘hero of the people.’ ” I shake my head and tweak his freckled nose. “Did you come back here just to make me feel bad?”

  “That, and it’s cold sleeping alone.” He shoots me a cheeky grin as he burrows into his blankets, pressing as close to me as possible without actually climbing into my bedroll.

  “You’re never cold. And what about Azamat? Sounds like you two are getting close….”

  Serik barks out a laugh. “Azamat is too bony to cuddle with—and have you smelled his breath?”

  “It’s impossible not to smell his breath.” I chuckle. “I catch whiffs of it all the way back here.”

  Serik’s arms snake around me, and I let myself melt into his warmth, press my face against his chest. “I’ve missed you, En,” he murmurs into my hair.

  “You’ve done an excellent job leading the caravan,” I say.

  He waves a dismissive hand, but his hazel eyes twinkle with satisfaction. “No one’s gotten lost, and the shepherds haven’t killed one another—and I haven’t killed any of them—so I suppose it’s a success. You’ve done well too, shielding us.” He turns on his side so we’re face-to-face. His freckles blend together—a swipe of gleaming bronze across his nose—and I want to trace my finger over the dots. “But I still worry it’s too much, En. I see how your hands shake, how pale and hollow you look. How the darkness occasionally falters …” he adds, his voice gentle but his expression piercing. “Even the strongest warriors need help sometimes. And you have help. Right there.”

  He nods over my shoulder, to where Ziva’s sitting on a low-hanging limb, trying for the thousandth time to fill her hands with darkness. When she inevitably fails, she tosses her hands up with a curse and nearly knocks herself into the murky water.

  “Honestly?” I deadpan.

  “I know you’re not keen on training her,” Serik says, “but I think it would be good for you both.”

  “How would that be good for me? Look at her! I’m already exhausted, and that will make it even worse.”

  “Perhaps initially, but it’ll ease your burden in the long run.”

  I hope to the skies I’m not stuck with Ziva for the long run, but I know better than to say this out loud.

  “And it would be good for the group,” Serik continues. “The shepherds may be more inclined to trust you if they see you trusting her.”

  “It won’t make a difference,” I grumble. “They’ll despise me no matter what.”

  “But they’ve never deliberately gone against your judgment….” Serik is quiet for a minute, his finger tracing tiny circles up my arm. “Why do they have to earn your trust, En? You’ve always looked for the best in people and given your trust freely—until circumstances proved they were undeserving.”

  I push away from Serik, shaking my head in disbelief because he knows why. He was there! That naïve, idealistic version of myself died when Ghoa and Temujin and Kartok rammed their knives into my back.

  I stagger to my feet, ready to remind him of this, but before I can let my verbal daggers fly, a familiar screech fills the air.

  My heart slams to a halt and I look skyward—at the streak of golden feathers diving into the trees.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ENEBISH

  “ORBAI!”

  Her name rips from the depths of my belly—as natural and instinctive as breathing.

  Tears flood my eyes as I watch her weave gracefully through the trees. I’ve felt her absence like a missing limb. Like she tore out my heart and carried it away in her talons. But now it’s back. She’s back. And I’m whole.

  I call her name again and run toward her, arm raised. So deliriously happy, I forget she could pose a threat—until she dives at King Minoak, resting quietly on his litter. Her talons rake across his chest, ripping off a wide strip of tunic—and skin—which she takes with her as she ascends back into the canopy.

  For a second the only sound is Minoak’s groan.

  Then Ziva starts screaming and the shepherds follow suit. They run in a hundred different directions while I watch numbly, detached from my body, as my eagle soars to the edge of the thicket and lands on the shoulder of a figure dressed in Shoniin gray. Orbai places the bloody scrap in their outstretched hand, and they wave it overhead like a flag.

  I can’t breathe. I can do nothing but stare at my best friend, perched on the shoulder of one of them. I didn’t expect to see her again until we killed Kartok and severed the Loridium bond. But of course he would send Orbai to taunt me.

  To weaken me.

  “Enebish!” Serik’s so red in the face, he’s probably shouted my name at least ten times. “Why in the skies is Orbai with them? Attacking us? Do something!”

  I blow out a breath and glance up at the wispy shadows lurking beneath the canopy. Such little darkness remains. The few lingering threads are desperate to avoid the rising daylight, but I make a frantic grab for them. If the scout makes it back to Kartok and Temujin, the combined Zemyan and Shoniin armies will return to slaughter us.

  It feels like I’m scraping the bottom of my well of power, but I manage to catch hold and slam the tendrils to the ground.

  For a second nothing happens. The shock hits me like a punch to the stomach. I’ve gone too far—pushed my power too hard for too long. This is how it feels to be magic-barren. Then something tightens deep within me and the night billows outward, rolling over the sandy waterway between the marshlands and dunes. Swallowing the rosy-pink morning—and the scout.

  “We have to stop them!” I take off running and trip immediately. My body is weak and woozy. The cypress roots entangle my bad leg.

  Serik appears at my right, breathing heavily. At least a dozen other shepherds flank my left. Lalyne and Azamat and Iree and Bultum. All united for the first time since leaving the grazing lands.

  “Throw your starfire at them!” Azamat shouts.

  The scout’s still in range, stumbling through the last of the flute reeds. If they reach the sand dunes, they’ll run for leagues, unhindered by the marshland’s rocks and trees. We’ll never catch them. Not even with the darkness.

  “Finish them!” Iree cries.

  “Quickly!” Bultum agrees.

  I choke on an agonized wail. They’re right. I should bring the stars down on the scout. But I can’t because Orbai flies directly over their head, trailing the scout how she used to trail me.

  “What are you waiting for?” Lalyne demands.

  They don’t know what Orbai means to me. They won’t understand. “We’re still in the marshlands.” I grasp for an excuse. “Do you think King Ihsan will join our cause if I lay fire to his kingdom?”

  “Enebish.” Serik whirls around, his face drained of color, his expression grief-stricken. “Orbai would understand—”

  “No!” I sob. I can’t kill my bird. I can’t.

  And Kartok knows it.

  Help me. I fall to my knees, begging the Lady of the Sky to intervene.

  “I’ll do it.” Ziva emerges from the back of the group, her hand already thrust heavenward.

  A bout of nausea grips me. “You can’t even fill your palms with darkness! There’s no way you can—”

  Ziva smashes her fist into the sand with an earsplitting scream. Above us, a blinding crimson star streaks across the golden morning, speeding toward the scout.

  And Orbai.

  My heart thrashes. The world blurs, as if trapped behind a pane of ice. I don’t consciously choose to summon another star, but suddenly it’s there, scorching my hand, and I throw it.

  Not at the scout, but at Ziva’s volatile strike.

  “What are you doing?” The shepherds cry and cover their heads as the bolts of starfire collide.

  The explosion is more violent than anything I’ve ever experienced. Even more devastating than when I laid fire to the Sky
Palace. The sky bursts with light, a hundred times brighter than the sun. White fire and popping sparks shred through the blanket of blackness. A second later a boom shakes the earth, bringing everyone else to their knees. I half expect the ground to fall away completely. It feels like the world is splitting in two. Devouring itself.

  As torrents of ash fall, the ground settles with a groan and the brightness fades. My vision returns just in time to watch the Shoniin scout reach the crest of the dune. They turn, wave their bloody memento from King Minoak, and vanish into the desert, Orbai screeching behind them.

  I cough and droop back to the boggy ground. It feels like handfuls of wool have been shoved in my ears. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to block out the shepherds’ rage.

  “You’re completely out of control!” Lalyne rants.

  “They’ll come for us now.” Iree tries, and fails, to gain his feet. “You’ve condemned our families to death!”

  “Ziva’s starfire was unstable,” I say desperately. “It could have obliterated us. I had to counteract the threat….”

  My voice trails off as the words register: I had to counteract the threat.

  It’s exactly what Ghoa said to me at Nariin.

  I press my cheek into the wet sand and take big, gasping breaths.

  “Her starfire didn’t look any more unstable than yours,” Bultum says.

  “I can’t believe you’d rather sacrifice these innocent people than give me a chance,” Ziva spits out, her voice razor-sharp.

  “That isn’t it….” I drape my arm over my face, as if blocking out the horrors will change what happened. “It had nothing to do with you, Ziva, and everything to do with my eagle.”

  It’s the truth. And the exact wrong thing to say.

  Iree’s eyes do that bulging thing again, coming even closer to bursting than they did over the stolen rations. Which seems like such a trivial squabble now. “The eagle?” He points at the empty morning sky. “You sacrificed us all for a bird?”

  “No, that came out wrong.” I cast Serik a pleading look, begging him to step in and defend me like he always has, but he continues staring off into the desert, his brow furrowed and jaw tight. As if he’s angry. Or disappointed. But how can he be? He’s the only one who knows what Orbai means to me. And it truly was the safest option. Ziva’s dangerous and untrained.

 

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