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

and howl at the horrendous pain. My body heaves and sweats. It was bad enough having the Zemyan poison searing down my throat and gnawing through my organs. But now it assaults me from the outside as well. Drenching me. Overtaking me.

Enebish once told me how they burned their dead in Verdenet—a crass, disrespectful tradition we eradicated as soon as the Southerners joined the Protected Territories—and I imagine this is how that must have felt. Except even worse, since I’m still alive.

“Where can I find the Kalima?” Kartok demands again.

“Finding them will do no good. Our powers cannot be suppressed or taken. You’d have to stop us from receiving power in the first place.”

I expect my declaration to deflate him. Infuriate him. Because it’s impossible. Our Kalima powers are born within us, like a heart or lungs. It’s not something that can be removed. But a slow grin spreads across Kartok’s face, chilling me so completely, for an instant I feel cold. Even with the hot-spring water dripping off my nose.

“Finally, Commander, you’ve said something useful,” he says, his eyes practically sparkling. Then he turns without another word and vanishes into the tunnel.

I lie in the puddle of hot-spring water, groaning and tossing, unsure what hurts most—the agonizing heat or my pride. The Zemyan has bested me at every turn. Made a complete and utter fool of me.

“Pathetic.” The Sky King’s voice pelts me like shrapnel.

“Nobody asked you!” I snap at him, sitting smugly on his throne. If I have to endure another day with his vengeful ghost, I’ll lose my mind.

“Haven’t you lost it already?”

“Get. Out. Of. My. Head.” I say every word like a threat, but that only makes him laugh harder.

“I can’t ‘get out’ of your head. I’m a projection from your own mind. A personification of your guilt. You’re not angry with me; you despise yourself. You failed yourself, Ghoa.”

I try to push up—I have to get out of here; I’ll fight my way out or die trying—but my arms are so weak, I barely manage to roll over. It isn’t far enough, but at least I don’t have to look at the Sky King anymore. Unfortunately, his poison is already in my head, under my skin. Every bit as painful as the hot-spring water.

Tears pool in the corners of my eyes, and I finally let myself cry. Weep, even.

Which is exactly how that nosy little servant, Hadassah, finds me.

“Merciful seas!” She drops the tin of gruel she’s carrying and hurries to where I lie. She even has the audacity to kneel at my side. As if she cares whether I live or die. I expect her to smell of sweat and foul lye soap like the servants in the Sky Palace, but the rich scents of bergamot and jasmine envelope me as she dabs my face with her filthy skirt.

“What happened? What did he do now?” she asks. “Is that hot-spring water?”

“Get your scorching fingers off me!” I roar. Every brush of fabric stings like embers burrowing into my skin.

“Sorry! Sorry!” She retracts her hands and appraises them for a long moment. Then she flutters back across the room, fetches the tin bowl off the floor, and holds it between her hands. She whispers something in Zemyan and the metal liquifies, spreading into a hovering puddle of silver.

“Do you honestly think you need to forge a weapon right now?” I growl. “I can’t even stand up.”

“Hold still.” She returns to my side, brings the metal to my face, and drapes it gently across my forehead like a wet cloth.

“Get that off me!” I shout, but it’s too late. The metal is already dripping down my face, coursing down my neck and chest, expanding to cover every inch of me until I’m entombed in tin. I pull in a breath to scream, but it quickly becomes a sigh. Somehow the pain and heat are fading. Draining out of my body like blood from a corpse.

“How?” I ask, my voice soft and dreamy. I’ve never felt such overwhelming relief. My eyelids flutter shut and I feel as if I’m floating away. So light and cool and weightless.

“It’s a simple manipulation. Metal conducts heat better than flesh, so given the choice, heat will always choose metal.”

The sound of Hadassah’s voice breaks the spell, and I remember where I am. And what she is. “Why would you help me?” I bark with derision, frantically swiping at the strange metal coating. But it continues to course over me, spilling over the edges of my body and pooling on the ground like syrup.

“Because we can help each other. I need to know what Kartok is doing and—”

“Won’t he punish you?” I interrupt. I want to glower at her, but it’s difficult to do anything but sigh as the pain continues to slough away.

Hadassah gives a little shrug. “He can only punish me if he catches me.”

“Do you truly mistrust the generál enough to risk his wrath? And to strengthen your enemy? I thought he was the lauded hero of your country?”

“He’s been the bane of my existence since the day I was born,” she mutters darkly. “I told you—he’s hurt me, too. And worse, his scheming and power-mongering will hurt Zemya. So if he wants you injured or dead, I want you alive and kicking. If he demands answers, I’m going to ensure your lips remain sealed tight. Whatever it takes to undermine him.”

I appraise her, my eyebrows knitting. Why does it matter to you?

The lowborn servants in Ashkar couldn’t care less about the state of our government or leadership. They’re just trying to survive the great freeze. But I say none of this because Hadassah’s jewel-blue eyes are glittering with animosity. Contempt emanates from her pores the way ice seeps from mine, and it fills me with a frigid rush of hope. It doesn’t matter why she’s angry and desperate. Only that she is.

Hatred is something I can use; desperation makes her someone I can use.

“If