Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology)

by Addie Thorley

  “Like what?”

  “With that disturbing smile.”

  A dozen snappy remarks dance on the tip of my tongue, but I blow them out on a long, weary breath. This will only work if he doesn’t suspect my motives. Which means I can’t change my tune too quickly. The shift must feel natural, logical, and, most of all, like his doing.

  “You’re right. I don’t want to sit here.” I stand, brush off my tunic, and shield my eyes from the sun. I survey the coarse pink sand and craggy cliffs as if deciding which way to go. Zemya truly is an inhospitable wasteland. All rough edges and prickly briars.

  Without another word to Ivandar, I turn and march up the beach. Where I’m going, I haven’t a clue. The only thing that matters is that the prince follows me.

  Which he does.

  “You can’t leave without telling me what you know!” He scrambles to his feet and gives chase.

  I walk faster.

  “You don’t know your way out of Zemya, and you look nothing like us. Without my help, you’ll be recaptured in half a day. Probably less. You’ll still die disgraced and forgotten in a Zemyan prison. Is that what you want?”

  No. But I rub the prickles assaulting my arms and screw on a determined, stalwart face.

  “Why are you being so stubborn?” he cries. “We can help each other. I’ll guide you to Ashkar—even though, technically, you’re indebted to me since I already saved your life—but I’m willing to overlook that.”

  I study him, tapping my finger against the side of my face. “Aren’t you worried I’ll kill you the moment we reach Ashkar?”

  Ivandar snorts and steps closer so we’re nose to nose. “You’re welcome to try to kill me anytime you’d like, Commander, but I don’t think you’re battle ready….”

  “You’ll regret making that challenge.”

  “And you’ll regret not taking my offer.”

  I frown and grind my teeth. As if the prospect of this arrangement is galling rather than exactly what I want. “I’ll reveal a piece of information at the end of each day’s travel,” I finally say.

  “But that could take—”

  “Weeks?” I give him my most winning grin. “That’s the point. Like you said, this arrangement only works if we need each other.”

  In theory, traipsing across Zemya while gaslighting the prince seemed like a simple operation. But I failed to take into consideration the hellish landscape. And Ivandar himself.

  “Everything in this country is barbed and sadistic,” I announce as the sun finally sets on our first day of travel. We’ve spent the entire day hacking through the bramble between the beach and the mountain, and my arms are riddled with more holes than a sieve.

  “You are choosing to trudge through the gauntlet.” Ivandar holds out his own arms, which are free from a single scratch. He uses his devil magic to rearrange the branches into an archway, which he ducks through.

  Before I can follow, the branches snap back and drag their thorny claws across my face. But I don’t give in. It’s a matter of principle. I won’t willingly use the magic I’ve spent my life fighting against. I won’t be further indebted to him.

  “This spot looks as good as any.” Ivandar stops in a tiny break in the undergrowth. It can’t be more than a length or two across, but he sweeps away the twigs and rocks with his boots and plunks down.

  “You expect us both to sleep here?” I demand, eyeing the miniscule space. If either of us rolls over, we’ll be touching.

  “We won’t find a larger space, not in a thicket this tight, but you’re welcome to find your own clearing. Though, the thorn-nosed demons are more likely to attack a lone camper. Easier prey.”

  I haven’t a clue what a thorn-nosed demon is, but my skin crawls at the mere thought of unseen eyes and scales and claws. It seems unfathomable, but the prince is the lesser evil. So I ease down, putting as much distance between us as possible.

  “Well?” He looks at me expectantly.

  “You’re not even going to give me a moment to catch my breath?”

  “You’re not out of breath.”

  I heave an exaggerated sigh as I slowly untie my boots. “Fine. Kartok showed me drawings of stone mounds in that ancient book and asked if I had ever seen them in Ashkar. And if I know what they’re used for.”

  “Well, have you? Do you?”

  “Skies, I’m exhausted.” I stretch my arms overhead and pretend to yawn as I curl into a ball on my side. It takes everything within me not to laugh while he sputters.

  “That’s really all you’re going to give me? The security of my country depends on this information. I swear I’ll see you safely to the border—you have my word.”

  Little does he know he’ll be joining me well beyond the border. Once he knows the full extent of Kartok’s plans, he’ll be begging to tag along. “First of all, there is no we,” I say gruffly. “And the word of a Zemyan, especially Danashti’s heir, means nothing to me.”

  “But—”

  “If our roles were reversed, would you reveal your hand so soon?”

  He grumbles something indecipherable and rolls to face the other direction.

  I let him stew for a good ten minutes, listening to the foreign croaks and chitters playing around us like a symphony, trying not to imagine the horrid creatures they must belong to. Then I finally put him out of his misery and take the first step toward my miraculous “change of heart.”

  “The stone mounds were monuments to the First Gods,” I murmur into the quiet.

  Ivandar sucks in a breath and holds it, as if afraid I won’t continue if I remember he’s listening.

  I smile. “Several generations ago they populated the plains of Ashkar like globeflowers. Travelers would stop to pray and pay tribute to them—until the Sky King denounced the old gods and destroyed the mounds.”

  Ivandar hmms and mumbles, then says, “If the monuments have already been eradicated, why would Kartok ask about them? We know he wanted to nullify your Kalima power. Did he plan on using a prayer mound to ask the Lady of the Sky and Father Guzan to strip Their own children of power? They would never listen.”

  Because they don’t exist. I grunt and hum a few times, so I appear cooperative.

  When we resume our trek the next morning, Ivandar is still lost in thought, puzzling over what little information I gave him. Apparently, it was enough to curry favor, because he holds a few branches aside for me with his hands instead of his magic. He also plucks hard green berries from the vines and offers me a handful, even showing me how to peel them.

  We make camp that night in another miniscule clearing, even smaller than the first, and as we’re sweeping the ground of debris, I toss him another bread crumb: “Kartok had a rather shocking theory about the stone mounds….”

  Ivandar whirls around, dropping a rock on his foot. We both laugh as he kicks it away. He thinks I am laughing with him, but I am most definitely laughing at him. I could say anything, make up all sorts of lies, and he’d hungrily devour them. But the best deceptions parallel the truth—like two paths winding through a forest, so similar, it’s easy to mistake one for the other, until you’re lost.

  “He thought the mounds were gateways to the land of the First Gods,” I offer, shaking my head as if the theory is ridiculous. Because it is.

  Ivandar’s icy blue eyes widen. I swear I can feel him trembling as he settles on the ground, quietly repeating the word gateway. “Do you think it’s possible?” he finally asks, lying on his side so he’s facing me instead of the briars.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never worshiped the First Gods, so I’ve never had any desire to reach them. Kartok shouldn’t either, by the same logic. Your goddess doesn’t dwell with the Lady and Father, right?”

  “No, but She used to. Maybe he feels Zemya’s entitled to a portion of the sky, since it’s Her homeland too. Maybe he sees reclaiming it as a sort of recompense for casting Her out? He’s always been zealous in his devotion.”

  “How do you think the L
ady and Father would feel about relinquishing part of their kingdom to Zemya?” I ask, tempted to pat the poor, witless prince on the head. “After hundreds of years of war and animosity, do you honestly think they could live together peaceably?”

  “Well, no …” Ivandar’s brow furrows.

  “So Kartok would have to wage war against the Lady and Father and depose them.”

  “That’s absurd!” Ivandar cries. “And undoubtedly impossible. They’re gods.”

  I shrug and lie down. “You’re probably right. I don’t worship any of your fool gods, so I haven’t a clue what’s possible. I’ve just been ruminating, from the viewpoint of a fellow commander. But it doesn’t matter. All of the stone mounds have been demolished.”

  “You’re certain they’re all gone?”

  “I haven’t scoured the continent, if that’s what you’re asking.” I close my eyes, as if settling into sleep. I wait ten seconds before saying, “Don’t think me insolent, but why would you care if Kartok infiltrated the realm of the gods and waged war against the Lady and Father? They betrayed your goddess. Shouldn’t you want to see Zemya restored and exalted?”

  Ivandar stares at me across the dark, the pale blue of his irises blending into the whites, making his eyes look too large, too empty. “Of course I want that. But I also want my kingdom and my birthright. Who do you think my people would choose to follow? The prince whose own mother doubts and overlooks him? Or the generál supreme, who defeated the First Gods and restored all glory to Zemya? If this is truly Kartok’s aim and he succeeds, I might as well never return to Karekemish. There may not be anything to return to, depending on the consequences of his actions. Waging war against the gods could break the sky itself.”

  “What do you mean ‘break the sky’?”

  “Exactly that. Zemya was born of the Lady and Father. They created all things. There’s no telling what would happen to us, and everything under the sun, if the Lady and Father were overthrown or killed.”

  Ivandar’s looking at me as if he expects a horrified reaction, but it’s difficult to fear fallout from the death of gods you’ve never believed in. For the sake of my plans, I manage to purse my lips in concern. “Surely Kartok would have considered such things? He may be grasping for your throne, but he couldn’t be desperate enough to shatter the sky. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.” I smile gently, knowing my misplaced certainty will make him doubt the sorcerer more than ever.

  The higher we climb up the mountain, the thinner the trees become until we finally break free of the briars. After which, we spend the better part of three days trudging back and forth across the narrow switchbacks leading up the mountainside. My feet ache and the thin air refuses to fill my lungs. When at last we reach the pass and begin our descent down the other side, I want to skip with joy. It can only be easier. But I quickly discover the leeward side is even steeper and more difficult to navigate. The path is hardly wider than my foot and it gives way to sheer cliffs that vanish into thick curls of fog.

  About halfway down the switchbacks, buildings appear through the mist, built on plateaus carved into the mountainside. The houses and shops cling inexplicably to ledges like lichen, following the shape of the rocks from one level to the next.

  “We have to pass through the village—it’s the only way down,” Ivandar announces. “Which means I’ll need to disguise us.”

  “That is not a village!” I point to the impressive watchtowers and the fine houses made of gleaming orange and yellow stone. Delicate, arced staircases cascade from one plateau to the next like a fountain. It’s expansive. And breathtaking. And, once again, nothing like the Zemya I remember from our siege. “Why would you hide such an impressive city in the mountains? The cities I saw when we invaded three years ago—”

  “Torinth is smaller than most of our cities, so yes, it’s a village. And all of our villages and cities are impressive if you truly look at them. We are masters of illusion, remember? Things are rarely as they seem.” He lets his words hang in the air, rife with deeper meaning—his people and their magic aren’t what they seem. “It’s safer if our enemies think our land is barbaric and not worth conquering.”

  Ivandar pauses before we round the final bend, then passes a hand over himself from top to bottom. His royal visage ripples, like a blurred reflection in a pond, and transforms into a gangly, pig-nosed messenger boy.

  When he raises his hand toward me, I shield my face with my arms and lurch back. “Under no circumstances will you touch me with your devil magic.”

  “You do realize you look nothing like us?” He glares specifically at my chestnut hair and sun-freckled cheeks.

  “I’ll turn my hair white with frost. And conceal my freckles with ice,” I announce. But when I reach into my core, there isn’t enough cold to cover a fingernail, let alone make myself look even partially Zemyan. “I don’t understand why you need to be disguised at all,” I say, preferring to argue over accepting the inevitable.

  Ivandar peers around the bend at the guards in the watchtowers. “Kartok will have sent soldiers to look for me. He’ll pretend it’s out of concern, of course. But I have no doubt he’s instructed them to push me off a cliff and never breathe a word of it to my mother.”

  “Why are you in this position?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Why would your mother side with an advisor over her own son when you’re seemingly capable and devoted to your country? I can understand why Kartok would be jealous and wish to undermine you, but I don’t understand why Danashti would allow it.”

  Ivandar pulls his fingers through hair that’s now chopped short and in the shape of a bowl. “Kartok saved my mother’s life eight years ago, and she’s bowed to his whims ever since. She was gravely ill with the sweating sickness, and none of the royal healers could do a thing. The entire nation was prepared to enter mourning, and I, at twelve years old, was being whisked to council meetings and tugged down dark corridors by members of the nobility. All of them trying to prey on my youth and inexperience.

  “But then Kartok appeared. He was one of the many royal sorcerers serving at the war front, creating illusions and enchanting weapons. But he claimed his father had been a healer, and asked for a chance to see if there was anything he could do for my mother. The royal healers agreed—there was no reason to object at that point. Kartok entered her chambers alone, and when he emerged not an hour later, she was sitting up in bed, groggy and weak but considerably better. He told us he had bled her and administered poultices, things the other healers had attempted a thousand times.

  “The entire country celebrated his astonishing work, and my mother named him Generál Supreme for his efforts. Then she never looked my way again.”

  My hand jumps to my throat, where Kartok carved me open and erased the scar entirely. Disquiet settles on my skin like the heavy mountain mist. I don’t know if it’s because I experienced Kartok’s unnatural healing firsthand. Or if it’s because I can’t imagine having your own parent cast you aside like that. As horrible as it is to imagine my parents’ horror and disappointment when they learn of my disgrace, at least I had their pride and adoration to begin with. I can’t fathom losing it without reason. Especially so young. I would have been completely unmoored. Not to mention jaded. How exhausting must it be, and how resilient must Ivandar be, to continue striving to prove himself, year after year, when it’s obviously fruitless?

  “That must have been difficult,” I say without meaning to.

  He looks at me askance. “Don’t mock me.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “We need to be through Torinth before nightfall. I’m not strong enough to hold both of our illusions longer than that. Are you ready to cooperate?”

  He raises his hand again and I start to shake my head, but the stern voice of reason I first heard at the beach reprimands me again. Put your arrogance and prejudice aside and do what you must. Focus on the greater goal. Get to the Kalima.

  The thoughts feel so visceral—like finge
rs clamping around my shoulders, shoving me forward—that I reach out to steady myself against the rocks, even though I haven’t actually moved. My thoughts have never been so adamant. But then I’ve also never been on the run with a Zemyan prince.

  Of course my subconscious is screaming.

  I take three deep breaths and crack my neck from side to side. “Fine. Do it.” I hold out my arms and squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t want to see the color leach from my skin. I don’t want to feel my bones fracture and reform.

  Ivandar’s hand passes over me, and I brace for the bone-wrenching pain of the hot-spring water, for fire to ignite in my belly and melt what little of my power has returned. But I feel tingling instead. A slow, steady trickle that seeps into my bones and gently expands. Almost like water transforming into ice.

  “Oh!” I gasp as coolness floods me.

  “Not what you expected?” Ivandar asks with a bemused chuckle.

  Ignoring him, I open my eyes and survey my body. My tanned, muscular arms are thinner and paler. My legs feel withered and wobbly inside scratchy wool tights. In place of my shredded tunic, I’m wearing a brown messenger’s uniform, like Ivandar’s, and platinum hair pokes out from my cap.

  “How is this possible?”

  Ivandar clutches his chest. “The commander of the Kalima warriors wants to learn about our magic?”

  “I want to ensure it isn’t permanent.”

  “Why? Zemyan skin suits you.”

  I swat at the prince, but he catches my wrist and turns my hand over. His finger traces up the inside of my forearm, following the vivid blue veins beneath this skin. “It’s like a coat,” he explains as the illusion bunches up toward my elbows, revealing my freckled complexion beneath. “I rearrange the weave of the world, bending the colors and textures to conceal what I want to hide and create what I want to be seen instead. Satisfied?” The sleeve of Zemyan skin falls back into place.

  I nod numbly, holding my arms away from my body as I follow him around the bend. As if I can somehow keep from touching myself.