Night Spinner

by Addie Thorley

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE MEMORY DISSIPATES AND I’M BACK IN THE SPIRE SALON, pinned beneath Ghoa, watching her dagger fly toward my chest.

  To cut me down.

  To silence me—like before.

  But this time I’m ready.

  I throw my weight to the side and Ghoa’s dagger slams into the floor instead of my chest.

  “It was you!” I pant. “You killed the caravan of merchants at Nariin. Then you froze my memory and sowed your seeds of deception while I was blinded by pain and reeling from blood loss. And you ensured they stayed that way by implanting that skies-forsaken moonstone in my flesh. But I remember. I remember everything.”

  This stops her dead. Ghoa gapes at me, eyes wide as saucers and lips parted, her silence as damning as a confession.

  Vindication pours through me like cool, spring rain, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. There may be a monster lurking inside of me—there may be something slightly monstrous hidden in all of us—but I have never lost control of it. I have never been a danger to the people.

  Ghoa is. My beloved sister, the woman who raised me, the person who protected me from the cruel outside world. Except that cruel world was a fabrication. Something she invented to conceal her guilt.

  “How could you let me take your fall?” I scuttle back until my shoulders bump against the glass wall.

  “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Enebish.” Ghoa dusts off her armor and schools her features. Her smile is so unnaturally calm, it makes me want to scream. She frees her dagger from the floor, replaces it in her belt, and tightens her ponytail. The peerless leader of the Kalima once more. As if the last five minutes never happened. “The bodies and wagons were consumed by flames, and my Kalima power does not reap such destruction.”

  “But your hands can! Ash covered your arms to the elbow. Your hair was singed,” I babble, clinging to the images.

  Ghoa’s smile is pitying. “You were half dead. Hallucinating or dreaming. You couldn’t remember such things.”

  But I do. I close my eyes and see it all again. I feel the pain of her saber plunging into my flesh and the heat of the starfire rushing away from my palms. “How could you claim to love me, then ruin my life? How could you cut me down, then pretend to be my savior? Has everything you’ve ever said to me been a lie or manipulation?”

  Ghoa’s expression hardens into steel and she switches tactics. “We were both on that mission. We were equally to blame. I did what was necessary to save us both. To protect the empire.”

  “You can’t honestly believe that!” I gawk at Ghoa across the salon. I want to punch her. Kick her. Anything to make her admit her guilt. “How does stripping me of my position and Kalima power and sanity benefit the empire?”

  “The Kalima needed me. And I made sure you were happy at Ikh Zuree. Comfortable. I gave you your eagles, the protection of the abba, and Serik was there to keep you company. I thought that would be enough….”

  “How could that possibly be enough? And how could I ever be happy with that guilt on my conscience? Guilt that didn’t even belong to me! You used me. You framed me for a massacre! The same way you framed Temujin. You killed Serik, didn’t you?”

  Ghoa crosses the room with quick, deliberate strides and fists the front of my tunic. “You will not spew such lies! I had hoped we could settle this civilly. I had faith you would see the error of your judgment and return to your senses once you were free of those rebels. Your future is still entirely up to you, Enebish. If you cooperate and tell me where the Shoniin are hidden, I may be able to convince the Sky King your deviant foray was part of our design. If we apprehend the entire group of traitors, he may be lenient. We can still serve together in the Kalima, as planned. Everything will be as it was before.”

  My laughter is sharp, cynical. “Nothing can be as it was before, since everything before was a lie!” I tear the silver-and-onyx feather bracelet from my wrist and throw it at Ghoa’s feet.

  She stares at me as if seeing me for the very first time.

  And maybe she is.

  I am new. Reborn. Remade—like Temujin said.

  “Very well.” Ghoa hauls me up by my tunic. “If you wish to be difficult, I have other ways of making you cooperate.” She drags me across the salon to the double doors and yanks me onto the balcony. I immediately hiss at the cold. Tiny cyclones of snow whip across the platform and spiral out into the sky where they’re crushed by the gale of darkness.

  It is forceful. Violent. Vicious. And I make a grab for it, focusing on the back of my throat, where the glorious hum of my power is returning.

  With a gasp, Ghoa tackles me. She wrestles me onto my back, unties a waterskin from her belt, and wedges the nozzle between my lips. I jerk and spit as the cold liquid fills my mouth and streams down my chin. “Varren clearly didn’t give you a proper dosage before,” she says in my ear, “but you’ll feel better now. Like your old, obedient self.” She pats my cheek, drags me to the front of the balcony, and lashes my hands to the golden pilasters. The threads of darkness dive at my face. Midnight fists pummel my sides. “Having fun yet?” Ghoa says with a smug grin.

  I let out a long, slow breath and a secret smile lights my eyes. Because the whorls don’t trouble me like they used to. It’s far from comfortable, but after months of practicing in the temple and wielding the darkness on my missions, I know I am the master of the night.

  “Is this the best you can do?” I taunt.

  Ghoa steps on the back of my head, forcing my nose to the ground. There’s nowhere to look but down. My eyes blur and my stomach dips. I thought the roof of the prayer temple at Ikh Zuree was high, but this is ten times higher. We are practically in the clouds. The fall would last an eternity.

  “Where is the Shoniin hideout?” Ghoa roars over the wind.

  “In the land of the First Gods! Where you’ll never be permitted to enter.”

  She kicks me again, and I laugh because her disbelief is so ironic.

  “I don’t think you grasp how serious this is. If you fail to cooperate, you will be executed at sunrise, shortly following your fearless leader.”

  Panic flays me open like a bullwhip. “You’re executing him?”

  “Of course we’re executing him. That’s how traitors are punished.”

  A whimper sneaks past my lips. Sunrise is just a few short hours away. Hardly enough time for Inkar and Chanar to coordinate a rescue.

  “It doesn’t have to end like this, En,” Ghoa says, thinking I’m worried for my own life. “You can still come back. I will always forgive you. Just cooperate….”

  I lift my chin and focus straight ahead, on the howling wind and teeming darkness I cannot call. “I am not the one who needs forgiveness. And I would rather die than tell you where the Shoniin are hidden.”

  “Then I’ll see you on the steps of the Sky Palace.” Ghoa tightens her ponytail and steps back into the salon. “In the meantime, enjoy the view.”

  As soon as Ghoa’s gone, I writhe and twist until blood runs down my arms. I throw my weight forward and back, numb to my howling arm and leg. Nothing hurts as much as my heart. Ghoa framed me for a massacre. She killed Serik. And soon she’ll kill Temujin. The rebellion will die without him, and Ashkar will fall. I tilt my head back and roar my agony to the Lady of the Sky.

  The more I thrash and jerk, the more the whorls of night peck at my brow and snap in my ears—like hungry birds. I scrunch my face and scream because this is how I will lose my mind. Salvation is at my fingertips, but I’m unable to access it.

  Eventually I yell myself hoarse and the weight of my body becomes too much to bear. Exhaustion drags me down, down, into the silence of sleep—the only darkness I can reach.

  The nightmares are unbearable. Not long ago, I had thought the massacre at Nariin would be the most painful memory I could relive, but I was wrong. Now I’m bombarded by images of Ghoa’s traitorous, smiling face. I cringe to feel her hands on mine as she teaches me to hold a bow. Her c
heers stab my eardrums as I best my first opponent in the sparring rings. Memories I once cherished are now tainted. Dripping with lies and deceit.

  Then the nightmares shift, torturing me with horrors I couldn’t stop: I see Serik strapped to a pole while Ghoa mines him for information, his face bruised beyond recognition and his nose dripping blood. I picture him cursing and shouting, fighting to his last breath, even as she carves him up with her dagger. I see Temujin down in the prison pits. Every scar on his chest ripped open and bleeding anew. His screams are high and shrill, like the wind whipping across the balcony.

  I wake up drenched in sweat and shivering, wishing I hadn’t slept. The sky has lightened to the color of granite—dark gray speckled with swirls of pale yellow. I know this hour well. I cursed it every morning atop the temples at Ikh Zuree.

  The sun won’t crest the Ondor Mountains for at least an hour, but already the execution drums beat in the courtyard below. For now the rhythm is slower than the beat of my heart. Duh … dum, duh … dum, duh … dum. But like my heart, they will quicken and race. By the time Ghoa leads Temujin down the steps of the Sky Palace, the drums will pound with fury. Like a hundred eagles taking flight.

  Despite the ungodly hour, spectators pour into the courtyard, summoned by the drums. Already it’s more crowded than the Qusbegi Festival. Though, unlike Qusbegi, the people aren’t crying for blood as they were during my torture. They are crying for justice and begging for mercy. Heaving against the palace guards to free Temujin, their savior.

  My gaze is drawn to a tall wooden gibbet erected at the base of the steps. Ordinarily, a criminal guilty of high treason would be slathered with sheep fat, wrapped in felt, trussed up by their wrists and ankles, and left to hang for weeks beneath the blazing sun, decaying alive until the maggots finished him. But a noose hangs from the post along with the usual trappings. Ghoa cannot risk the Shoniin cutting Temujin down before he’s dead, and she cannot end him quickly with her cold, as it would violate her vows to the people of Ashkar. So Temujin will be hanged by the neck first and then left to molder for the sake of tradition.

  I reach for the night again, begging the few remaining tendrils to answer my plea, but they drift idly past, languid and translucent, weakened by the coming day. I poke and prod the monster in my belly, but it doesn’t stir. Because there is no monster. Only me. Enebish.

  I find I almost miss it.

  The sun rides hard and fast along the horizon, galloping like warriors to battle. Called by the quickening drums. Dum-dum-dum-dum, dum-dum-dum-dum. Streaks of pink and orange paint the underbellies of the clouds, and a crested lark lands on the edge of the balcony, singing its welcome to the day. “Away with you,” I grumble. But it continues its merry strains until a wretched beam of sunlight punches the sky.

  The drums are frantic. The crowd is too: pleading for Temujin’s release. I cannot see it, but I hear the reverberating bang as the Sky Palace doors open. The roar swells even louder. Ghoa appears first, her ponytail perfectly smooth and her leathers shining. She is followed by Varren, who holds the chains attached to Temujin’s wrists and ankles.

  He tugs Temujin down the steps, faster than his shackles allow. I cringe as his knees hit the marble. From up here, I can’t tell how badly he’s been beaten in Gazar, but it must be horrendous if his stooped posture and drooping head are any indication. That isn’t how Temujin would choose to carry himself. Not even to his death.

  I heave and jerk, even though it’s useless. I scream Temujin’s name even though he can’t hear. He cannot die like this. Because of me.

  The rest of the Kalima emerge behind Temujin, followed by the Sky King and his personal guard. They pour into the already packed square, blocking every entrance and filling every crack. There are fewer guards than ordinarily patrol the city, but still more than I expected, given the situation at the war front. Far too many for the Shoniin to reach Temujin.

  Sweat beads down my face and I let out a shuddering moan. I hadn’t realized how desperately I’d been praying for that—counting on it—until the impossibility swims before my eyes.

  Will they still try? Will Chanar and Inkar die alongside Temujin? Will I be forced to witness their slaughter and know I am responsible for it? I swallow a mouthful of bile and blink back tears. If they perish, who will be left to lead the Shoniin? Oyunna and Kartok might be able to carry on for a while, but even they defer to Temujin in all things.

  I buck against my ropes as Ghoa hauls Temujin into position. I choke on my wails as they slather him with the greasy sheep fat and bind him with cords and felt.

  “I’m sorry, I should have listened,” I whisper as Ghoa loops the noose over his head. “I should have committed fully to the Shoniin.”

  Varren and several others take up the rope. I look away before they heave him off the ground. I have no desire to watch Temujin wriggle like a worm on a hook, his cheeks purple and his eyes bursting. That’s not how I wish to remember the whip-smart leader who evaded the Kalima, the amber-eyed boy from my homeland, the only person, other than Serik, who knew I wasn’t a monster before I knew it myself.

  The drums crash like thunder. The crowd howls and roars.

  “Forgive me,” I whimper, but the words are garbled and halting.

  How long will it take?

  They didn’t drop Temujin from any sort of height—his suffering would have ended too quickly—which means his neck will not break. He will dangle until he asphyxiates.

  “I’m sorry!” I cry again, shouting my agony to the heavens.

  But my screams of anguish quickly morph into screams of shock.

  A loud thump rattles the roof, and pieces of golden tile pelt me like hailstones.

  Just like they did when the Shoniin rescued me at Qusbegi.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  A FIGURE CLAD IN GRAY DROPS ONTO THE BALCONY AND lands in a crouch by my face. Another gray blur follows, thudding down on my other side.

  “Don’t be sorry, be angry,” Chanar says as he severs my ropes with two efficient swings of his saber. My arms drop free and I moan with relief. It felt like someone was slowly sawing through my shoulders. When I push up to my knees and see Inkar and Chanar truly standing there, I moan for a different reason and my eyes glaze with tears. They came for me. On purpose. Which would make me happy if the wrongness of their choice wasn’t choking me like a gag. I immediately start shaking my head and pointing to the square below.

  “What are you doing here? You should be down there, freeing Temujin!”

  “We can’t reach him without your help.” Inkar leans over and ties a length of black cord around my waist with an intricate series of knots. Then she attaches it to herself and Chanar. The other end extends across the square, anchored to the bluestone treasury building. “We need darkness, Enebish, and starfire. Now.”

  “I can’t,” I say in a panic. “Ghoa forced me to drink a tincture laced with moonstone.”

  “Bleeding skies!” Chanar smashes his palm to his forehead. “I knew we couldn’t count on her. It’s over. We’re finished.”

  Inkar rounds on him. “We have to try. Temujin wouldn’t give up if we were down there.”

  “I know, but without the cover of darkness, the guards will cut us to ribbons in seconds. There are only three of us against all of that.” He flings his arm at the chaos below.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, through a sob.

  Inkar kneels before me and takes my hands. I try not to focus on how hard hers are trembling. “You have to find a way, En. Everything depends on this.”

  “I’ll try,” I promise as she pulls me to my feet.

  Chanar grumbles something about a death wish, but he vaults over the railing and lands on the balcony’s impossibly narrow ledge. My stomach swoops as he helps me and Inkar over. The palace is so tall, the vendor tents look like tiny ginger candies in colorful wrappers. It’s madness to leap from such a height secured by nothing but this flimsy cord. We will be swinging onto the marble steps. Straight
into Ghoa and the king and his guards. Most likely without the cover of darkness.

  I look down at my palms and will them to prickle. I extend my fingers and snap them shut. Nothing. The sky has lightened to a lustrous pearl gray, which means there are hardly any threads of darkness to grab. Even if my power were at full capacity.

  “I’ll cut Temujin’s rope,” Chanar shouts over the wind, “then we’ll grab him and carry him two blocks east of the square. Oyunna and Kartok are waiting with horses. If it isn’t dark, try to get lost in the crowd. Our supporters outnumber the guards. Ready?”

  I will never be ready, but I tilt my head back, whisper a prayer to the Lady of the Sky, and offer myself fully to the night for the first time since Nariin. This is my chance to prove my Kalima power can be used for good. That I am good. A hero instead of a monster.

  “Help me show them who’s truly monstrous,” I whisper as our toes spring away from the ledge.

  We plummet through the blazing dawn. The cold air slaps my cheeks. The wind rips tears from my eyes. Inkar’s fingers dig into my hip like claws while Chanar murmurs the Shoniin motto like a prayer.

  The faster we fall, the more desperately I grasp for the darkness. It’s been hours since Ghoa doused me with her tincture, and I’ve sweated and cried so much, there can’t be much left inside me. But the tendrils dodge and flap away from my hands like a murder of angry crows.

  The ground screams closer. Closer. We’re going to paint ourselves across the palace steps. I cringe, holding every muscle tight. A second later the rope punches me in the gut and our trajectory shifts, swinging us toward the gibbet. A terrified shriek explodes from my lips and my flailing hands snag on a thread of darkness. The dawn sputters—a fleeting flash of midnight. Not enough to shield us. Just enough to alert everyone to our presence.

  I mutter a curse as daylight slices back through the flimsy curtain of darkness. The people cry and heave in every direction. The guards and warriors brandish their weapons, whipping them this way and that, trying to determine where our attack is coming from.