Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology)

by Addie Thorley

  It’s during one of these quiet training sessions, on the fifth day of negotiations, that Ziva hikes up the hill to where Serik and I sit, watching Orbai loop overhead. Ziva and Ivandar have kept us informed of plans moving forward: all nations will have open borders and trade contracts and arrangements to send Ashkarians to Namaag and Chotgor and Verdenet for apprenticeships. So they can learn to hunt and fish and cast gold—actual trades by which to make a living, rather than sucking the resources from other nations. It’s a complete reversal; the very people Ashkar set out to “stabilize” are best equipped for success and self-sufficiency. They always have been.

  “The council wants to see you,” Ziva says to me.

  “Why?” I furrow my brow. “I have no place in these negotiations.”

  I don’t want a place, I add silently.

  “You’re obviously going to be punished …” Serik wags his eyebrows. “You led a rogue rebellion and committed dozens of crimes against each country and ruler.”

  Ziva laughs and rolls her eyes at Serik. “They want to see you, too.”

  He hooks his elbow through mine and gives me a surprising peck on the cheek. “Just as well. If they plan to take one of us down, they’ll have to take us down together.”

  The entire council stands when Serik and I enter the small room at the back of a tavern. The space is unremarkable in every way—small and cramped with too many tables and benches, everything soaked in the smell of ale and oiled wood. Which would be pleasant enough if it didn’t make me think of another group that met in the back of a tavern and their tiger-eyed leader who helped me find the strength and confidence to fight, only to become my opponent on the opposite side of the battlefield.

  King Minoak steps forward. Behind him, Ivandar sits between King Ihsan and his orange-clad guards and the Chotgori clan leaders. Varren and the other Kalima warriors round out the group—the closest thing Ashkar has to a ruler at present.

  Minoak waits for Ziva to rejoin him before addressing me and Serik. “We owe you both an incredible debt. Through your bravery and determination, the entire continent is free and united for the first time in centuries. In order to maintain this peace, we have unanimously decided to retain a group of Kalima warriors—”

  “But how—” I interject.

  “You may not be able to wield the sky,” King Minoak speaks over me, “but the need for an elite group of warriors, comprised of members from each country, is undeniable. And we would like you, Enebish, to lead this new battalion with Serik as your second, if you’re willing.”

  Serik’s hands tighten around my arm and he wheezes, “We are willing!”

  But I can’t bring myself to immediately agree. My eyes feel as if they’re bulging out of my skull as I look from face to face. From Ihsan’s craggy complexion, to the golden skin of my rulers from Verdenet, to the blizzard-white Zemyans to the flame-haired Chotgori. All so different, yet not different at all. Not in the ways that truly matter.

  My fingers drift to the traitor’s mark on my face, then down the old, purple scars on my arm. “You want me to serve as commander?”

  The title carries so much weight and responsibility. So much longing and resentment.

  “You’ve proven yourself more than capable,” Minoak says, smiling proudly at me. They’re all smiling proudly. Restoring my honor and position, exactly as I’ve always wanted. More than I could have dreamed.

  But the words of an old Verdenese proverb fill my mind. One my mother used to sing when we were plagued by summer droughts or when Zemyans raided Nashab Marketplace, or when I complained about my chores and the sweltering heat:

  The desert is the cruelest cradle. Sun and sand strip flesh from bone.

  But bone can break and then rebuild, making man as strong as stone.

  There’s no denying that the past few months have broken me. Shattered me into a thousand tiny pieces. And only one place is harsh enough and unforgiving enough to cleanse and harden and reshape me. To knit me back together, joining the dreams and aspirations I’ve always had with this new person I’m becoming.

  “I’m most grateful for the honor,” I say, bowing to each respective ruler. “But I don’t wish to return to the army.”

  “What?” The smallest flicker of heat surges from Serik’s body as he turns to gape at me. I can’t bring myself to look at him. I’ll be tempted to change my mind if I do. Anything to avoid the disappointment and betrayal undoubtedly haunting his eyes. But I can’t disappoint or betray myself either.

  “We can’t give up this chance!” Serik insists. “This is what you’ve always wanted—what we’ve always wanted. Riding into battle side by side.”

  I give a little shrug. “Hopefully there isn’t a battle to ride into—not for a long while. And circumstances change. What I thought I wanted isn’t what I actually need. I hope you can understand that. I’m not asking you to give up anything.”

  Serik sputters and pulls at his hair, long enough to hang in his eyes now. “Don’t be ridiculous! I can’t just run off and join the Kalima without you!”

  “You can and you should. A bird has wings for a reason, Serik. Let them carry you where you need to go, then fly back to me. We can have what we need and each other. It doesn’t have to be a choice. Just as it never had to be a choice for the First Gods.”

  His hazel eyes find mine—hurt but understanding. “What do you want, En?” he asks softly.

  What do I want?

  I don’t know how to vocalize the breadth of it, but when I close my eyes, I picture it so clearly: the sand between my toes and the sun on my cheeks. Sandals cutting into my heels and the sweet scent of a grass roof lulling me to sleep. The sound of my mother’s voice on the wind and the taste of my father’s lentil stew on my tongue.

  I want to return to Verdenet.

  Not to recreate a time that was before. But to charge forward—into the future by way of the past. To continue reviving and fortifying my home and my people.

  And, hopefully, myself.

  EPILOGUE

  ENEBISH SIX MONTHS LATER

  ZIVA DROPS HER WOODEN SWORD FOR THE TENTH TIME IN less than twenty minutes.

  “Focus, Zivana!” I shout across the sandy sparring ring, using her full name to vex her even more. “A queen must always keep her head. Especially under pressure.”

  “I am focusing!” She snatches her sword—much too forcefully. It jabs her leg and her sparring partner, a Zemyan boy named Josaf, chuckles as she yelps. As do the hundred other trainees spaced across the practice field recently erected outside of Nashab Marketplace.

  Any youth across the continent who wishes to hone their skills in self-defense is welcome to attend my training, and I have a good mix of students from each of the five nations. Hopefully the peace between our countries lasts centuries longer than the war and they won’t ever need these skills, but it’s better to be prepared. To ensure that future generations know how to defend themselves and, more important, how to communicate.

  It’s a small way I can give back. Something I surprisingly enjoy—Inkar taught me that. And a way to pay homage to my own mentors—Ghoa and Tuva. And the Lady herself, in a way.

  “Wielding the night was so much easier,” Ziva mutters as she retakes her position.

  “Maybe you should cut her a little slack,” Ivandar suggests from where he leans against the fence beside me. He visits every couple of months to observe the Zemyan students’ progress.

  He spoke quietly enough, but Ziva cuts her eyes at him and points her wooden blade in his direction. “I do not want slack. Do you think your people will cut me slack when I am queen?”

  The group falls silent, tense, awaiting the Zemyan ruler’s reply. At times these newly forged relationships feel like treading across a field of sabers. Bloody wounds seem almost inevitable. But every day that we keep on trudging, our feet grow a little bit tougher.

  Instead of taking offense, Ivandar tilts his head back, pale skin pink and sweaty beneath the desert sun, and la
ughs. “By the time you’re queen of Verdenet, my people will have heard so many tales of you making a complete and utter fool of me, they would never dream of mocking you.”

  The group joins in with Ivandar’s laughter, and eventually even Ziva cracks a smile.

  “You’re making impressive progress, En,” Ivandar says an hour later, when the trainees put up their wooden swords and disperse back into the marketplace.

  “Thanks. They have a long way to go, but they’re eager to learn.”

  “I’m not talking about them. I never doubted for a second that you’d be an excellent teacher. I’m talking about her.” The Zemyan prince nods up at the sky where Orbai circles and swoops. As constant and predictable as the sun.

  After a few slow weeks of reacquaintance, it was like someone pulled a lever in my eagle’s mind and Orbai was suddenly Orbai again. Clicking in my ear and chewing holes in my tunic, looking for treats.

  I cried so hard and hugged her so tightly, she refused to come near me the entire day after. And I spent so long thanking the Lady of the Sky, She probably never wants to hear from me again. But I had to let Her know how grateful I am. How seen I feel. She has thousands of children across the continent, but She takes the time to hear me. To know and bless me.

  Ivandar watches wistfully as Orbai lands on my outstretched glove.

  “I take it there’s been no improvement with your mother?” I ask sympathetically.

  He shakes his head once. “Not yet. But I haven’t lost hope.”

  “You shouldn’t. She was under Kartok’s influence so much longer.”

  “I can’t decide if that’s comforting or terrifying.” His laugh is miserable—and heartbreaking.

  “Have you petitioned Zemya?”

  “Of course I’ve tried to call on Her, but the sacred hot spring is nearly drained….”

  Part of me is surprised to hear Zemya complied with Her parents’ wishes and the other part isn’t at all. “She’ll find other ways to reach you,” I assure the prince.

  He nods again, thoughtfully. “Can I walk you home before I return to my caravan?”

  “I don’t think your entourage will wait that long.”

  Ivandar’s brows lower with confusion. The little shack I rent is just outside the market. But tonight Serik returns from his first tour of duty with the Kalima.

  Which means, tonight, I am finally going home.

  The journey between Lutaar City and the tiny village of Sangatha takes four hours on foot. With my limp, it takes six. Half of the sun has already disappeared beneath the horizon when the first straw huts appear in the distance, but that somehow feels right. My power was born here. It’s only fitting it should die here too.

  I glance up at the fading threads of darkness, churning and looping above me. Every day they merge a little more into one, becoming an inanimate expanse of black, as the Lady and Father recall Their powers. The night, as everyone else sees it.

  Serik waits for me at the outskirts. He’s been stationed with his battalion in Zemya for the past four months, studying their tactics and formations in order to incorporate them into the Kalima’s repertoire, and since my village is so near to the border, it made more sense for him to meet me here. What doesn’t make sense is how he came.

  I have to squint and shake my head to make sure it’s really him. Not because of the polished lamellar armor he wears and how it hugs his broadened shoulders and trim waist—though I definitely notice both. But because he’s sitting astride Ghoa’s massive black warhorse.

  “Is that Tabana?” I call as I limp closer.

  “You haven’t seen me in months and the first thing you ask about is my horse?”

  “Well, is it?” I say with a laugh.

  “I thought I’d do the beast a kindness and use her after everyone else in the Kalima refused,” he explains as he dismounts. “But do you think she’s grateful? No. She punishes my generosity on a daily basis—rearing and biting and dumping me in the dirt. Ghoa’s probably putting her up to it. Laughing at me from the Eternal Blue.” Serik scowls at the horse, but he also reaches out and strokes her neck affectionately. Proudly, even.

  “I think you’re a good match,” I say as I throw myself into Serik’s arms.

  “Not half as good as this match.” He pulls me into him, murmuring into my hair, and I marvel for the hundredth time at how my head fits beneath his chin, as if the space had been chiseled just for me. At how his arms curl around my body, knowing just how to cradle my injuries.

  “I’ve missed you,” I say, fisting his sunburst cloak—the only part of him that still smells faintly of pine ink and prayer scrolls. He was given a new one, of course, as part of his Kalima uniform, but he “lost” it almost immediately.

  “You wouldn’t have to miss me if you changed your mind and decided to rejoin the Kalima….” Serik whispers.

  With a snap of my fingers, Orbai dives through the swiftly encroaching darkness and screeches as she skims over Serik’s head. Close enough that he curses and ducks.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” he calls as she banks around an outcropping of rock to have a second go at him. “I was going to tell you how much I’ve missed you, but it’s clear the feeling isn’t mutual.” He shakes his head ruefully and turns back to me. “Are you ready?”

  I lace my fingers through Serik’s and nod.

  Sangatha has been rebuilt in the ten years since Ghoa took me in—and nearly everyone I knew perished in the fire—but the winding streets are still well-worn paths in my memory. My feet carry me to my first home as if I never left it.

  As we pass, people poke their heads from their huts to stare at us—at Serik, more specifically—and I’m more than happy for the shield. For the blissful anonymity. Between him and the thickening night, I’m hardly more than a shadow.

  A new house has been erected where mine once stood. Thick and sturdy, with a freshly thatched roof. Smoke rises from a vent in the top and candlelight wavers in the windows, but I circle the hut anyway until I find a knob protruding from one of the wooden slats.

  “What are you doing?” Serik demands as I pull myself up.

  “What does it look like I’m doing? Climbing to the roof.”

  “You can’t just climb other people’s houses!”

  “Don’t tell me the army’s making you into a rule follower,” I tease as I heft my leg over the edge.

  Serik mutters curses and fumbles around, looking for somewhere to tie Tabana, before finally joining me. “Is this really necessary?” he demands. “Couldn’t we have just looked at it from the ground?”

  “No,” I say without further explanation.

  Up here, with the darkness and the stars, is where I’ve always felt my parents strongest.

  Serik gives my fingers a squeeze and we slip into silence. In that silence, I hear the screams and snapping flames from the day my village burned. But I also hear an entire childhood’s worth of laughter and heartfelt prayers. So many memories I had all but forgotten.

  “Tell me about them,” Serik urges, even though I’ve told him about my parents a hundred times. But I tell him again.

  Once more.

  And he listens attentively to every word.

  By the end of it, I’m sobbing and shivering and I don’t protest when Serik pulls me against his chest and covers me with his cloak. “Do you want me to scrounge up some heat? Sometimes I can still summon a spark.”

  I shake my head and take a deep, burning breath into my lungs, holding it as long as possible. “I actually prefer a bit of cold these days,” I whisper.

  “Funny, me too,” Serik says, and we look upward, into the infinite expanse of sky.

  It may be my bleary eyes, desperate to find a glimmer of movement in the blackness, but I swear I see the Lady of the Sky and Ghoa looking down on us. Smiling.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  EVEN THOUGH THIS IS MY THIRD BOOK, IT’S THE FIRST SEQUEL I’ve had the opportunity to write (fingers crossed the future holds more!) and it
was a very different beast from my stand-alone novels. The characters and world were already created—which you’d think would make the process easier—but I found myself needing to delve in even deeper and immerse myself more fully in this world, which meant I was much less present and available in the real world.

  With that in mind, it only seems fair to thank my family first.

  A million hugs and kisses to Sam, the world’s most supportive and understanding husband. It nearly broke my heart when you said you feel like you haven’t seen me in a year. I know I have a tendency to be a bit obsessive and hyper-focused, but you never complain. Thank you for encouraging me to defend my writing time and for happily playing with Kaia all weekend so I can squeeze in more words. Thank you for cheering the loudest and insisting I’m the greatest whenever I start to panic and doubt. None of this would be possible without you. I love you so much.

  Kaia, you may not know how to read yet, but you definitely know how to uplift and inspire me. Thank you for sprinting straight to the YA section in every bookstore to find “Mama’s books.” Thank you for telling your friends that your favorite characters are Enebish and Orbai instead of Anna and Elsa. And thank you for insisting that I stop writing so we can read more Fancy Nancy. You keep me focused on what’s most important!

  I’m so thankful to the Hair and Thorley clans for their excitement and support. I seriously have the best family in the world. A special shout-out to my nieces and nephews. There’s nothing better than getting texts from you guys as you read. Thank you for telling me you’d like my books even if we weren’t related—I consider it the highest compliment!

  I know every author claims their agent is the best, but Katelyn Detweiler is truly a cut above the rest. Thank you for being so enthusiastic and supportive and for knowing exactly when I need a push or a pep talk. It’s actually kind of eerie how many times you’ve popped into my inbox at the precise moment I’m having a meltdown. Thank you for easing my worries and bringing me cake pops. You are magic, and I’m so grateful we’re in this together. And a big thank-you to the sub rights agents at JGLM who work so hard on my behalf: Sam, Sophia, and Denise.