Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology) by Addie Thorley (best beach reads .txt) 📗

way of showing it: by throwing herself at the enemy. Defending her battalion as only a commander could.

This in no way excuses the terrible, unforgivable things she did. But if I only remember her crimes, then Kartok wins, because he will have stripped me of the ability to trust and love. To believe that we are, all of us, capable of change.

“Enebish.” Serik tugs my elbow. “I think we’re supposed to follow Him.” He juts his chin across the ruined balcony, where Father Guzan stands amid the scattered stones of the sacred cairn. Alive, because of Ghoa’s sacrifice. The Lady of the Sky, however, droops in the Father’s arms like a lifeless swan, drenched in shimmering blood. Her corpse has already begun withering beneath the rich blue velvet of Her gown, and She still wears Ghoa’s face.

When the Lady first turned to look at us, I saw my mother and grandmother and my mentor, Tuva, in the face of the Goddess as well as Ghoa. But now Her visage is frozen on Ghoa’s freckled cheeks and furrowed brow. Those brown eyes, which sparked with such ambition and vivacity in life, are glassy and still.

Proof they’re both gone.

The ground has stopped shaking, thanks to Father Guzan’s control, but the sky continues to mourn the loss of its master. Rain batters us. Wind assaults us. Lightning strikes the ground directly to our right and left as we follow the Father down the treacherous mountain trail. Above us, darkness continues to drip like paint through the eternal blue sky—slowly changing it to night. I flutter my fingers to see if I can summon the threads, but the blackness is as solid as stone. Because it isn’t darkness at all, I realize. It is nothingness. The absence of a creator.

The Father says nothing as we walk—not a word of thanks or condemnation—but He does sing. All the songs I know by heart. I find myself humming along, taking comfort in the familiarity of His words and the richness of His voice—like the steady gurgle of a stream.

He holds the Lady of the Sky tight against His chest to shield Her from the worst of the storm. Tears drip from Father Guzan’s cheeks and speckle the Lady’s dress, causing swathes of green moss to sprout from the fabric. When His tears happen to find the ground, little clovers and flowers spring up from the mountainside. I don’t know if He’s letting them fall on purpose, but I whisper my thanks regardless because the foliage provides the smallest bit of traction, helping us down the rocky switchbacks.

A crowd waits at the base of the mountain, gathered around a lifeless form at the garden’s edge. I immediately take inventory to see who’s missing. Ziva and both kings are present, as well as the Kalima and most of the shepherds and Chotgori who stayed to fight. The Shoniin and Zemyans stand still, weapons forgotten on the ground. Their prince is glaringly absent, but the body sprawled across the rocks couldn’t be Ivandar’s. Ghoa killed him at the other end of the garden. Which leaves only two options.

The two who fell from the summit.

I reach for Serik’s hand, needing his warmth, which he readily offers, even though he has none left to give. His fingers are cold and trembling. He keeps shutting his eyes and shaking his head. I tighten my grip, lending him some of my strength to repay all the times he’s carried me.

Still singing, Father Guzan steps boldly through the crowd. The shepherds part and bow their heads. Most of the Shoniin fall to their knees. Even the Kalima warriors and the Zemyans stumble back, slack-jawed. Pale as they are, none are as ashen as the Lady of the Sky.

She was the only constant from the beginning of time. The creator of the heavens and earth and everything in between. I don’t know what happens now that She’s gone. Will the Father cast us from the Eternal Blue? Or force us to stay and be flattened as it crumbles? Does it matter? There’s a good chance the entire continent is collapsing in the absence of its maker.

Father Guzan halts in the center of the crowd and looks down. I force myself to look too, expecting to see a mangled heap of blood and limbs. That’s all that could remain of anyone after falling from such a height. But Ghoa rests peacefully on her back, completely whole, her hands folded across her chest and not a hair out of place. Her face is smoothed of every scowl line, making it look as if she’s sleeping—far more peacefully than she ever did in life.

“Did you cast her from your presence for her crimes?” Ziva pops up from her bow to address Father Guzan.

King Minoak reaches over and presses Ziva’s head to the ground, all without lifting his own. Groveling as only the lowliest servants do in Verdenet. “The commander streaked through the sky like a falling star,” he explains. “When she hit the ground, the land shook and the sky darkened and a fierce wind drove us to this spot. We assumed you were angry with her, punishing her.”

Father Guzan kneels beside Ghoa, still silent.

“Was there another body?” Serik asks Minoak.

“Another body?” the Marsh King asks. The lines in his craggy face deepen even further. “Who else fell? Where did they fall from?”

Serik darts a meaningful gaze at the Zemyans and Shoniin, many of whom are trying to retreat as far and as fast as possible without drawing the attention of the Father. A wasted effort. His attention is solely on Ghoa.

Father Guzan lifts Ghoa into His arms alongside the Lady of the Sky before answering. “The assailant will never reach the earth. He’ll spend eternity falling.”

The Zemyans call out questions, but the Father resumes His solemn march, deeper into the garden. It could be my eyes playing tricks on me. Or I could very well be losing all sense of reality in my confusion and grief. Because,