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

behind my back, we would have caught Enebish and Temujin before they attacked. We wouldn’t have been sitting ducks—”

“Quiet,” Varren says.

“Don’t you dare silence me!” I roar. “How could you betray me like this? After everything? You’re supposed to be my second!”

Varren’s tattooed arm winds around my face and his meaty hand covers my mouth. When I try to scream, nothing comes out.

“Quiet,” he says again in a gruff whisper.

That’s when I hear it. The sound of voices in the courtyard—the rebels undoubtedly discovering their bloody prize. Only the voices sound too smooth and susurrating, the cadence too fluid and lilting, to be Ashkarian.

A new wave of panic dances down my spine.

“Zemyans,” Cirina whispers.

Except that’s impossible. They couldn’t have marched to Sagaan already. And Enebish would never fight with them. They murdered her family and burned her village.

But then I never thought she would align with Temujin, either. Or attempt to kill me. I know nothing about what she would and wouldn’t do. Her starfire is as undeniable as the foreign shouts filling the halls below.

My sweat freezes the moment it leaves my pores and rolls down my face like tiny gouging diamonds.

This changes everything.

Temujin and the rebels taking Sagaan is infuriating but rectifiable—once Enebish’s darkness peters out. The Shoniin hardly have the numbers to hold Sagaan, let alone the empire. And the people weren’t at risk of violence. The Unified Empire wasn’t in danger of collapsing. But if the Zemyans are here—if the Zemyans are taking our capital—there’s no end to the possible devastation. They’ll raze our cities, imprison our people, and if they manage to capture a Kalima warrior—as they’ve been trying to do for decades—they’ll kill us. Or worse: taint our power with their devil magic. Twist it into poison to use against us.

I stumble back, unable to catch my breath. This is all I’ll be remembered for: the death of the Sky King. The fall of the empire. Not my impressive victories at the war front or my legendary march to the beaches of Karekemish. Not my unmatched leadership or the strength of my ice.

My ice.

I look down at my hands, barely visible in the oppressive dark. If I can forge a blade of ice, why not a buttress?

The thought makes my muscles quake. The ice will have to be ten times longer and ten times thicker than a saber to support the weight of a person, and I’ll have to maintain it for several minutes, which could burn through my power.

But it’s the only option.

Our only hope of escape.

If I can lead the Kalima to safety, we can regroup. Retake Sagaan. I’ll be heralded as Ashkar’s greatest warrior, despite all of the obstacles, and people, who stood in my way. I’ll be their savior—the commander who refused to back down after unspeakable tragedy.

“Stand aside!” I cry, fighting my way back to the window. I grip the sill and hiss as the protrusions of glass sink into my palms. My fingers slip as my blood wets the stones, but I close my eyes and envision how the blue marble buttress fit against the wall. A perfect seal. Then I re-create the arch, but instead of an impossibly thin and intricate adornment, I fabricate a rudimentary slab that’s twice as wide as the original. It’s practically a highway. If my warriors can’t make it across, they don’t belong in the Kalima.

Behind me, the angry shouts fall away.

“King of the Skies,” Varren whispers as they watch my creation take shape. The bright bursts of ice slashing through the black are strangely beautiful—like ghosts, dancing across the sky.

“Go,” I croak out. My nose is bleeding. My hands are shaking. The effort of speaking is too much. A small fracture forms in the center of the arch. I have to grit my teeth to smooth it. “Now,” I pant, sweating with effort. But still they hesitate.

Only when the hall door slams open and boots vault up the stairs do the Kalima move.

Bastian looks at the buttress, then at me, his gaze heavy with respect and perhaps a twinge of remorse. Good. He ambles onto the ice and the others follow. With every stomping boot, my energy flags. My vision swirls like blood in water.

Hold on. Just a little longer.

But what if I don’t have longer? The cautionary tales we use to frighten new recruits aren’t entirely false. I watched Enebish’s mentor, Tuva, turn to dust during the Battle of a Hundred Nights, when we conquered Chotgor.

Varren and Weroneka mount the bridge last, just as the Zemyans crash into Papá’s office. Ululating whoops and battle cries fill the room—sounds that have haunted my nightmares for the better part of ten years. I shake my head because I still don’t understand how they marched to Sagaan so quickly. Or why Enebish is aiding them. I watched her rescue Temujin. I know she joined forces with the Shoniin. But the Zemyans are here, attacking us with her night power. Which can only mean one thing:

She’s even more treasonous and deceitful than I realized.

When Varren and Weroneka are halfway across the bridge, I release the windowsill and try to pull myself onto the buttress. But my legs are shaky and my eyes are bleary. When I look down, there are two windows and two buttresses and I can’t tell which is real. The Zemyans surge across the room, smashing Papá’s desk and rending every ribbon and medal.

“Varren!” I shriek. “Help me!”

He turns, his eyes even wider than they were at the sight of the Zemyans—I never ask for help.

“Please!” I cry as I drag myself forward.

From the safety of the adjacent building, the other Kalima warriors yell something I can’t make out.

Weroneka looks back at them, but Varren keeps staring at me.

Crushing hands close around my shoulders and yank me back inside the treasury. I scream and kick and reach for my cold, but there’s nothing left. I gave every drop of ice to the buttress. I grapple for my sword, but my arms