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

acknowledgment from his land or people. Almost as if he were as ordinary as any one of these shepherds.

“You’re actually serious,” Serik guffaws, seconds away from laughter.

Enebish, on the other hand, looks skyward, and even though her lips don’t move, I know she’s praying for guidance.

The shepherds murmur and jostle, and it’s all a waste of time.

“Stand aside and let us pass,” I order. “Or … if you truly wish to be heroic … help us warn the gods and defend the continent from Kartok. What good will freeing the Chotgori do if the sorcerer brings the heavens crashing down on all of us?”

Several shepherds actually nod, but then a weak voice rasps from the rear of the group, “They’re lying!”

The low, cocky timbre makes every hair on my body bristle with contempt. But at the same time, it’s music to my ears. Another piece of the puzzle to restore my honor. The final piece.

Temujin.

The crowd of shepherds parts and everyone glances back at him, sitting in the snow. He looks utterly wrecked—hands bound to his feet, bruises mottling his face, and a burn blazing down his neck.

I love it.

I haven’t a clue what created this rift between Enebish and the Shoniin leader—the last time I saw them, she was willing to risk her life and destroy Sagaan to save him—but I’m positive I can use this fracture. Deepen it to suit my purposes. Just as I did with Ivandar and Kartok.

“I’ve been allied with Kartok for years.” Temujin’s voice gains strength now that he has an audience. “And he’s never mentioned anything about infiltrating the actual realm of the Eternal Blue or deposing any gods. Do you think I would have allied with him if any of these lies were true? I am a devout follower of the Lady and Father. Kartok wants equality. Magic for all. Which is in Ashkar’s best interest. There will be no more exploitation of the magic-barren. No reason to send warriors into battle at all…. Don’t forget who helped me raid the supply wagons to deliver you rations. And he was responsible for saving so many young, mistreated soldiers from the war front.”

“Spare us your lies. You’re anything but devout,” Enebish snaps back at him, her voice teeming with even more hatred than when she addressed me. It fills me with the tiniest flicker of satisfaction. Pride, even. She knows I was right about the deserter. “How is that magic he ‘gifted’ you?” she continues, limping back to loom over Temujin. “Why don’t you demonstrate your power? Use it to escape?”

Temujin’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing. It’s Ivandar, beside me, who speaks.

“Kartok offered you our magic?” He sounds amused rather than incensed. “And you actually believed he’d follow through?”

“He did! I drank your hot-spring water! I wielded her siphoned darkness and starfire!” Temujin juts his chin at Enebish. “Kartok vowed to give it to everyone who aligned with him.”

“Except you haven’t been able to access the magic again, have you?” Ivandar asks. Then he waits like a disapproving parent for Temujin to shake his head. “Zemya formulated Her magic to be incompatible with your bodies. It’s toxic to any Ashkarian who possesses Kalima powers and all but useless to the magic-barren. Partaking once doesn’t open the floodgates to Zemya, as it does for Her children. You must continually take it into your system, each time you wish to use Zemya’s power. But Kartok didn’t tell you that, did he?”

Temujin stares ahead at nothing, blinking furiously. “Why don’t you tell everyone the real reason you’re here, Prince Ivandar?” he finally explodes. “You’re not worried about the gods or the continent, are you? You’re here for your throne. Because your mother favors Kartok.”

“He’s the Zemyan prince?” Enebish whips back around and blackness consumes the entire street, broken only by the wavering heat that rises like a fiery blade in Serik’s hands.

His control is impressive for a warrior so new to his power. It feels like something or someone is openly mocking me.

“You’re right. I don’t want my country in Kartok’s hands,” Ivandar begins, but a flood of furious accusations drown him out. The darkness abruptly recedes to reveal Serik, Enebish, and every shepherd on the street surging toward us.

Icy white explodes across my vision, twice as bright as before, and I feel the distinct impression of unseen hands on my back. Shoving me forward.

Fix this. Force them to comply. Get to the Kalima.

Again, I consider reaching for the ice. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve immobilized a group this large. They deserve it for supporting Enebish—a traitor. But as I look into the eyes of the raging, terrified people rushing toward me, my hands refuse to rise. I can’t dredge up even half of the staggering amount of fury I’d need to entomb them all in ice.

I tell myself it’s exhaustion from torture and travel. The strength I recklessly forfeited, taking the ice into myself to ease the cold. I could still obliterate them all, if I wanted to.

But that’s the strangest part: I don’t want to.

And I don’t know what that means.

Serik and several other wild-eyed shepherds are nearly on top of me, spitting war cries, but for the first time in my life, I’m not thirsty for battle. Instead of rushing to meet them, I drop to my knees, pressed down, again, by the weight of unseen hands on my shoulders.

I have never felt so weak—cowering and covering my head. But it’s the last thing they’d expect. The only thing that might work.

“Please, En!” I don’t consciously choose to cry her name. The plea is just there, on my tongue.

Still, my assailants come, blades flashing and arms swinging.

She’s going to let me die. At their hands. After all of the impressive battles I’ve won, Serik and these misfit shepherds will be the ones who finally cut me down.

At the last second my resolve wavers and I make a desperate grab for the cold, but my ice-filled muscles are too slow. My