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

you nothing. I don’t know how many times I have to remind you of this. Second, Kartok made it nearly impossible for me to wield the ice at all. And third, taking the cold into my body requires even more energy than pushing it out. I’ve never even helped my own warriors this way, so I don’t know why I’d do it for you.”

“Why are you then?”

“I’m not,” I say, refusing to open my eyes, even though I can feel his gaze boring into my face. “I couldn’t care less about you. It’s for me. To shut you up—like I said.”

“Well, I’m grateful, no matter the reason,” he says after a long pause.

I groan so he knows exactly what I think of his gratitude, then I pull the cold around me like a blanket and command myself to sleep.

But the hours pass, and rest refuses to come. And I can’t even blame the prince and his whimpering anymore. I tell myself it must be the increased ice flooding my bones or the anticipation of what awaits when we reach the Kalima’s rendezvous point. My restlessness has nothing to do with the prince or his softly murmured thanks.

“Stay close and stay silent,” I instruct Ivandar as we edge around the icy boulders concealing the tunnel’s entrance. Daylight filters through the cracks, making my eyes squint and my pulse pound. I haven’t a clue what to expect in Chotgor—if the imperial warriors abandoned their posts when they heard news of the Sky King’s death, or if the Chotgori workers caught wind and rose up in rebellion. Or maybe the Zemyans have already claimed this territory?

Thankfully, the state of Chotgor makes little difference to me, so long as the prince and I can pass through Arisilon City and into the ice fields without being seen.

I flex my fingers, press them against the craggy surface of the nearest boulder, and channel its unyielding cold. My ice is always strongest in winter, and stronger still in Chotgor.

The entrance to the smugglers’ tunnel is in the animal market, concealed behind a stall that sells muskox pelts—or used to sell muskox pelts. No one’s sold much of anything since the Chotgori refused to enter the Protected Territories peaceably. I don’t come to Chotgor very often anymore, but the markets haven’t been open the last few times I visited, so I don’t expect them to be now. Still, I peer carefully around the dirty boulder of ice—just in case.

“Where is everyone?” Ivandar’s voice is right in my ear, his breath hot on my cheek, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Get back!” I stab my elbow into his ribs. “I told you to stay behind me!”

“No, you told me to stay close,” he wheezes.

“Not that close! Instead of poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, make yourself useful and clothe us in blue and gold. We need to blend in with the imperial warriors.” I look expectantly at Ivandar.

He grumbles under his breath but complies, manipulating the colors and textures to change his face and to conceal our filthy tunics with spotless Ashkarian uniforms. “Happy?”

“It isn’t so fun when you have to dress like the enemy, is it?” I taunt, smoothing my fingers down the pressed uniform. I wait for relief to wash over me, but the fabric doesn’t feel as crisp as I remember. Nor does it fill me with the same pride and confidence.

That’s because it’s an illusion. The fault is with the prince’s magic.

Shaking my head, I emerge from the tunnel and strike out into the hazy orange light. The sun never rises high in Chotgor, circling the horizon like a ruby-studded belt, even at midday. Normally, I despise the dim half dark and perpetual gloom—and Arisilon City seems even darker than I recall from previous visits—but today I thank the shroud for the added cover.

I jog through the silent, shadowed market. The prince follows, his breath heavy, though he doesn’t seem to be struggling to keep up. “Where is everyone?” he asks again. “The streets and stalls are so snow-covered. There isn’t a single footprint….”

I ignore him and dart into a residential neighborhood, where doors hang lopsided on their hinges, slamming open and closed with every gust of snow. Broken carts spill decaying goods across the road, but I vault over them with ease. Focused on the ice fields waiting on the other side of this quarter.

“Nearly there,” I whisper.

But as I hurdle a low stone wall, Ivandar’s bony fingers close around my elbow. His grip is so tight and unexpected, my body jerks to a halt and I crash into the wall. A long, piercing cry explodes from my lips and rattles through the empty homes and shops.

“Are you trying to get us caught?” I whip around and fling the prince off. My eyes dart up and down the road and I drop into a crouch, waiting for a storm of imperial warriors.

“What happened here?” Ivandar demands. “Where are the people? Aren’t you perturbed by these abysmal conditions?” His face is crumpled with an expression that looks like concern. Which is ridiculous.

“Don’t act as if you give a piss about Chotgor.”

“What about you, Ghoa? Do you give a piss? You don’t seem the slightest bit disturbed. Almost as if you knew …” Ivandar buries his hands in his hair, and the dark brown illusion trickles down his face—like paint smeared in the rain.

I should ignore him. I don’t owe him any sort of explanation. But for some inexplicable reason, I feel compelled to defend myself and my empire: “The Chotgori chose this. We tried to negotiate with the clans, but they attacked us.”

“Maybe because you invaded their land …”

“Just as your people are invading our land?” I shove my palms into his chest. Forcing him away. Commanding him to stop.

“These are your people, Ghoa…. At least they’re supposed to be. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“What bothers me is being harangued by a Zemyan! Why do you care? Chotgor’s weakness