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

Anything’s fair in war. Whatever it takes to restore my honor.

The trouble is, I’m not entirely sure what constitutes as honorable anymore.

With a terse shake of my head, I lead the rebels to an enormous ice boulder and watch as a dozen men heave it to the side. I could have easily crumbled the boulder, but I won’t expend a drop of my power. I’m saving it for the glorious reunion with my warriors.

The image of their horrified faces as I burst into their stronghold has lulled me to sleep every night for weeks. It’s kept me focused and resilient and hungry. Finally, finally, I’m here.

The entrance to the cave resembles a fox’s den. It requires crawling on hands and knees through a short stretch of tunnel before it opens into a vaulted cavern that’s a gradient swirl of blues. Its grandeur could rival any palace, but I opt not to share this information. I prefer to watch the shepherds balk and cry at the entrance. Half of them choose to stay behind with the sleds and Enebish’s noisy eagle. The Chotgori, on the other hand, crowd closer to the entrance, marveling that the Kalima’s rendezvous point was hidden so close.

Ivandar babbles with excitement beside me, staring into the ice as if it holds the answers to all of his problems. I sneak a glance at his harsh-cut profile. What if all of this has been a ruse: The feud with Kartok? Rescuing me from the sea? His seemingly noble ambitions? The prince and sorcerer could easily be working together. Ivandar could be plotting to access the realm of the gods to carry out the very plans he’s so intent on “stopping.”

You don’t care, I remind myself. The Lady and Father aren’t your gods.

He’ll never succeed anyway. You’re turning him over to the Kalima.

You’re acknowledging them as gods now?

The back-and-forth is enough to give me whiplash.

“Is there a reason we’re waiting?” Serik calls from behind me. “Shall I go first? I know coming here must be difficult after your warriors rejected you….”

“Nothing about this is difficult,” I lie as I wriggle into the tunnel. The deeper I crawl, the more the ice calls to me. Its energy is intense and feverish, whisking away my anger and filling me with a giddy rush of joy. An immediate influx of certainty.

Whatever waits at the tunnel’s end, I am strong enough to face it.

I will emerge victorious.

The group follows me through the twisting blue quartz tunnels, past stalactites so clear, they look like chandeliers, and down slopes of ice as black as the roads in Sagaan. The swift-moving meltwater that carved the tunnels rushes along beside us, providing drinking water and serving as our guide.

As we walk, I run my fingers along the wavy turquoise walls. I stare up at the ceiling, which rolls like the Zemyan Sea. I’ve only been here a handful of times—there was no need when Ashkar had a firm hold on the continent—and I’m immediately overcome by the beauty of this place and the power it stirs in me. This feeling in my chest that’s both warm and cold. Perfect wholeness and stillness, like the arms of my parents wrapping around me.

Welcome home, it whispers.

But where is home: With the Kalima? With these rebels? With the ice? Or whatever created it?

My feet move faster as we round another bend. The frozen walls are too thick to see or hear through, but thanks to my power, I can feel the body heat of the Kalima warriors in the adjacent chamber. So close.

“How do you want to approach this?” someone asks. It could be Serik or Enebish or Ivandar. Or the kings, who are still naysaying. Or one of Enebish’s outcasts. They’re all talking at once, but I hear none of it. Because none of it matters.

I know exactly how I want to approach.

I raise my hands, inhale a frigid breath through my nostrils, and slam every morsel of hate and hurt and frustration against the block of ice in my chest. Frozen spears hurtle from my palms and obliterate the wall separating me from the Kalima.

The ice shatters as it hits the cave floor, throwing prisms of light across the crystalline walls. Everyone behind me screams, but I hardly hear them over the satisfying plink-plink-plink—the final obstacle between me and victory falling away.

I arc my hands overhead to reinforce the walls so that the entire ice cavern doesn’t come crashing down on us. Then I step through the hole I blasted with a vicious grin on my lips.

There are so many things I want to say. So many quips I imagined crowing as I paraded into this den of traitors:

Surprised to see me?

Did you honestly think the Zemyans could hold me?

You knew I would come for my revenge.

But as the debris clears and their wretched faces come into view, I am once again left speechless.

Despite his mountains of muscles, Varren lies with his head in Cirina’s lap, a bloody bandage wrapped around his chest. Cirina drags a wet rag across his forehead, even though she’s in hardly better shape—gaunt and pale and emaciated. They all are. The Kalima warriors who are present, that is. There are less than twenty of them, and right away I notice Iska, Eshwar, and Bastian are nowhere to be seen. They could be out on a mission or procuring food, but judging from the sorry state of the rest of the battalion, none of them are in any condition to go on missions. Or mount any sort of counterattack.

We stare at one another in horrified silence, and the most absurd thought fills my mind: Perhaps it was a blessing to be abandoned at the treasury. Perhaps there is justice in the world after all.

But if this is justice, shouldn’t it fill me with satisfaction?

“Ghoa?” Varren’s voice is a crackle, and it cleaves my rib cage in two. We’ve rarely left each other’s side for eight years,