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

can hear the jangle of her silver anklets. My captor extends his cape and performs a sweeping, melodramatic bow that would get him laughed out of the Sky Palace. The other Zemyan soldiers do the same.

“Your Most Noble Excellency,” he says in Ashkarian, wanting me to understand. I’ve refused to debase myself by learning their barbaric language.

The ruler of Zemya glances at me and responds in Ashkarian as well, her voice heavily accented. “What have you brought me now, Kartok? You know gifts are unnecessary—you’re already Generál Supreme.”

“I assure you, my empress, you’ll want this gift.” He grabs me by the collar, twisting a chunk of my hair in his fist. I yelp as he throws me at the empress’s feet. Coarse black sand sticks to my lips and cheeks. “The Sky King is dead. And I’ve captured the commander of the Kalima warriors.”

Danashti peers down at me with a cocked brow. I’m a filthy, bloodstained mess. I don’t look like a commander. I don’t even look like a warrior. But an exultant smile breaks across her face. “A very desirable gift, indeed. You’ve outdone yourself, Kartok.”

“Which is always my aim, Your Excellence.”

Empress Danashti swivels to address the crowd, points at me, and switches to Zemyan. She doesn’t shout, but somehow her voice carries. I only understand a handful of words: Sky King. Dead. Captured. Commander.

The crowd roars with riotous approval.

Empress Danashti speaks again, and I surmise her question based on the mobs’ ferocious answer.

“Kill her!” they scream.

I swallow hard but jut my chin. Refusing to cower.

Empress Danashti waits for her people to settle, then she turns to me and switches back to Ashkarian. “A wise suggestion. But I, being the magnanimous ruler that I am—as different from your grasping king as the ocean is the sky—have another offer, Commander. Admit defeat, proclaim your disgrace before my people, swear allegiance to Zemya, and help us dismantle your empire. Then I will spare your—”

“I’d rather die,” I growl before she’s finished.

Empress Danashti nods. “And so you shall. But not until we’ve wrung every drop of usefulness from your carcass. You may take her to your laboratory, Generál Supreme.”

Kartok flings himself into another ridiculous bow, but before he can rise, one of the men standing behind the empress steps forward. I’d assumed they were all guards and servants. Most are wearing plain smocks or sea-green uniforms. But this man wears an ocean-blue suit embellished with silver braids, and a wreath of sea grass rests atop his ash-white hair—similar to the one the empress wears. He isn’t handsome—nothing that so closely resembles a night-crawling worm could be attractive—but the Zemyan girls hoot and call his name: Ivandar. Along with another word: Prince.

He touches his mother’s arm and murmurs something in Zemyan.

The empress whirls on him, staring at his hand on her sleeve.

He doesn’t let go. “Please.”

That’s a word I know well from interrogating hundreds of Zemyan prisoners.

Danashti barks something at him and points to the water chariot. He scowls but stomps in that direction like a pouting child, though he must be as old as I am. The empress follows. Kartok kicks my backside and forces me to crawl after them on my hands and knees.

The Zemyan throng crows with delight. Every time I attempt to stand, Kartok knocks me down again. I drag myself through the rough sand and broken shells, leaving a trail of blood.

He shoves me into the belly of the water chariot and steps in behind me, purposely grinding his boots on my fingers as we skim toward the coral palace.

The ride is short, and no one says a word.

The moment we dock on the opposite side of the palace, away from the crowd, Kartok grabs my manacles, hefts me onto the landing, and drags me toward a door hidden in the protrusions of coral.

The prince is right on our heels, shouting and gesticulating. He’s speaking too quickly for me to pick out many words, but again, only a few are necessary. “Enemy. Suspicion. Plans.”

They’re arguing over who gets the pleasure of torturing me. How nice.

Kartok growls something over his shoulder. The prince tosses his hands and turns to his mother. Empress Danashti looks between the men for a silent minute before nodding at Kartok.

With a smug grin, the Zemyan general propels me through the hidden door. I can still hear the prince shouting after it bangs shut. Muttering under his breath, Kartok yanks me down a narrow staircase, though I don’t understand how we’re descending. As far as I could see, there’s nothing below the palace but water, which is bad news for me.

I can’t swim.

No Ashkarian can. There’s no need and nowhere to learn; the Amereti is the only river, and it barely reaches my hips.

My heart drums and my breaths rasp when the stairs empty into a room surrounded entirely by water. Nothing but flimsy walls of glass to hold back the crashing, crushing blue. Water doesn’t appear to be seeping in through the walls, but I still hunch inward and step carefully, listening for a crack. A drip.

“Afraid of the water, Commander?” Kartok asks with a chuckle. “I’ll remember that.” An invisible door slides open and he motions me down an even smaller, more suffocating tunnel. I trip through it as fast as my bonds allow and gasp when I emerge on the other end.

It’s worse than a prison cell or even another room of glass.

I am standing in the center of the throne room at the Sky Palace.

I gape down the long, vaulted hall. Shake my head at the gradient blue walls and hand-painted clouds. Run a finger along the empty golden throne, and shudder beneath the face molds of our country’s greatest warriors, dangling from the ceiling on invisible strings. I always used to think the masks looked down on me with pride. Kinship. Inviting me to one day join their ranks.

Now their eyes are slitted with condemnation. Snarling with hatred.

You failed the Sky King.

I lean over and vomit.

“You don’t like it?” Kartok