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

to the Kalima is if you cooperate. Help us free the Chotgori workers, and we’ll take you to the rendezvous point.”

“That’s exactly what I don’t need—a parade of rebels and shepherds and slaves announcing my arrival to the Kalima.” I blurt before I can stop myself.

Serik steps into the pantry, flooding the tiny space with his insufferable heat. “Why don’t you want the Kalima to know you’re coming?”

Bleeding skies.

“It has nothing to do with not wanting them to know I’m coming,” I lie, “and everything to do with counterattacking swiftly to have a prayer of reclaiming our land from the Zemyans. Which will be impossible with such a big unwieldy group. But you wouldn’t know that, since you’ve never had a mind for battle. You’re not a true Kalima warrior. Just a monk with powers you can’t control.”

Fire bursts to life in Serik’s palm and he slashes it past my face. “I’ll happily display my control anytime you wish.”

I will never, ever get used to that.

Ivandar elbows me as we lurch away from the flare of heat. “It’s our best option. And the Chotgori are your people too,” he tacks on. As if I need another reminder.

They’re as much my people as a stray cat that curls up under your porch is a pet. But I groan and nod. There’s no other way that doesn’t involve fighting my way out of this pantry killing hundreds of people. Which, to my embarrassment, I don’t have the stomach for. And maybe arriving with a large group will be of some benefit. It will at least look impressive—from afar.

“Fine. I’ll help you free the workers. Though, it will be an interesting battle if they are my ‘warriors.’ ” I fling a dismissive hand at the roomful of shepherds. “I’ll basically be fighting singlehandedly.”

“Which is why we have a different plan in mind,” Enebish says.

The next morning, I march down the streets of Arisilon City exactly as I did five years ago, clad in gleaming lamellar armor with a pair of twin blades strapped across my back. My objective is even the same: overthrow the current ruler and seize control of the people.

The only difference is the warriors behind me.

Instead of the Kalima, I’m flanked by a battalion of shepherds—though the imperial guards won’t know that thanks to Ivandar’s magic. Their rags have been transformed into perfectly pressed blue-and-gold uniforms. Their staffs and crooks look like sabers and spears. We march loudly down the street, as if we have nothing to fear and no one to answer to, and I send blasts of arctic air at the outbuildings and tents as we near the imperial encampment. So they know precisely who they’re dealing with.

I spot a cluster of imperial warriors leaning against a barn, puffing on long, curled pipes that emit purple smoke. They pass them back and forth, chatting and laughing, until I roll out a slab of chiseled ice that looks like the intricate floor runners in the Sky King’s throne room. When it bumps against their boots, they immediately fall silent.

Temujin isn’t the only one who knows how to make an entrance.

“So, this is what happens in my absence?” I frown at each of the five warriors. Then with a flick of my wrist, I shatter their pipes with cold. Soot covers their faces and two of them scream as plaster shreds their cheeks.

“Commander Ghoa!” several of them cry.

“We heard you were captured by the Zemyans,” another says, gaping as if I’m an apparition.

They scramble forward, then immediately shrink back.

Intimidated. Terrified.

I’ve always reveled in these moments, believed my fierceness was fueled by their panic and fear. But something changed in Kartok’s prison. Maybe it was seeing so much of myself in the sorcerer. Realizing his mocking and threatening didn’t make me respect him at all. I am fierce in my own right—I shattered the walls of that prison. No one else’s perception of me gave me that strength.

“Well, you obviously heard wrong,” I say, holding out my arms and gesturing to myself.

“What happened in Sagaan? Where are the rest of the Kalima? What’s happening at the war front?” Their questions pelt me like hail. Their lack of information almost makes me feel sorry for them—so secluded up here on the steppes, cut off from the rest of the continent—but I lacquer my voice with ice and peer at them with unbridled disgust.

“Why would I share any information with lazy magic-barren warriors?” The jibe comes easily, naturally, only now I feel it leave my tongue—or rather, the grittiness it leaves behind in my mouth.

They all look down and curl into themselves. “You’re right. You owe us nothing.”

“Forgive us.”

“We are honored by your presence.”

Instead of bolstering me like the icy breeze, their words—and this entire pretense—feels exhausting. Beneath me, somehow.

You’re better than this.

I glance back at Ivandar. He didn’t say it out loud this time, but I feel certain he knows it’s haunting me.

“I don’t feel honored. This place looks worse than the grazing lands.” I point to the broken pipes and soot at their feet. “And since when do imperial warriors stand around gossiping? You’re a disgrace.”

“We’re on break. It isn’t our r-rotation,” one of them stammers.

“And it will never be your rotation again,” I respond sharply.

They step back, shaking their heads frantically, as if I’m going to cast them from the army with a dishonorable discharge. Or kill them. Even though I’ve rarely killed anyone for such a small offense.

“This battalion has come to relieve you of your post,” I continue. “Your regiment has been recalled to Sagaan to aid in the fight against the Zemyan invaders. Go, gather your comrades, and return to the bunkhouses to pack your belongings immediately. I’ll explain your orders in detail as you prepare to leave.”

They stare at me, faces paler than the snowdrifts piled almost as high as the roofs.

“Have you been up here so long that your ears froze?” I bellow. “Go! Be ready to march within the hour.”

“Within