This isn’t right, a tiny instinctual voice in my brain counters.
What isn’t right is quitting. Allowing traitorous warriors to tarnish your name, sound logic intervenes. Where would you even go? Using the prince is the only way to reclaim your position.
Of course, I’m right—it’s impossible to be wrong when you’re arguing with yourself.
Again, I peer at the shivering prince. I have to do something to shut him up, and since leaving him behind isn’t an option, I close my eyes, place my hands on my ankles, and turn all of my focus to the frozen ground beneath me. It’s hard and sharp, and I silently invite it to join me. Taking it in instead of forcing it out, as I do when I attack.
The frigid mud and frosty air funnel into my body, storing ice inside my flesh the way marmots gather barleynuts for winter. Within minutes my skin is colder than the ground. My eyelashes crystalize with frost. My legs are so numb, I can’t feel the weight of my hands, and it makes me laugh with giddy triumph. Ice cuts most people down to the smallest shivering fragment of themselves, but it chisels me into a saber. Hardens me into a weapon. I haven’t felt this strong, or deadly, since my capture.
It won’t last long. Soon enough, the balance will shift and the ice will overwhelm me. My body will become slow and stiff and heavy—flesh wasn’t meant to hold infinite, raw power—but I intend to revel in every second of limitless strength while I can.
“Why are you laughing?” Ivandar groans through chattering teeth. He cracks one eye open and instantly scrambles to his knees. Pleading and babbling. I can only imagine how I must look—every inch of me covered in frost, like the ice sculptures carved in my honor at the Kalima’s celebratory feasts. “Whatever you’re doing, stop,” he begs. “You still need me!”
“Quit blathering. I’m not going to freeze you to death.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Shutting you up so I can sleep.”
“You can freeze my voice?”
I probably could—I don’t know why I didn’t consider that possibility first—but I don’t have the energy to goad him. My head already feels like a boulder of ice, cleaved in half by a pickax, and my arms are so stiff, I can no longer bend my elbows. “I can ease the chill by siphoning the cold from the air into me.”
Ivandar glowers at me, even as his teeth stop chattering. “Have you always been able to do this?”
“Yes.”
“And you only decided to use it now?”
“Yes,” I say again without a hint of remorse.
“You’re unbelievable!” His face is a smear of angry shadows in the torchlight. He tries to climb to his feet but slips in the mud, which is looser thanks to the pocket of warmth surrounding us. He lands with a splash on his backside. The dark brown sludge spatters his unearthly white skin, which he doesn’t have to disguise belowground. “How could you just sit there and watch me suffer for so many days? After everything I’ve done for you!”
I settle gingerly onto my side, my muscles crackling like a frozen pond, and close my eyes. “First of all, I owe 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 y
ou 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 will make seizing the continent easier for you.”
“I don’t want the continent! And I care because you’re better than this!”
“No. I’m not,” I snap.
“You are! You sacrificed yourself to save your entire battalion. Then you endured Kartok’s torture without betraying the very people who left you to die. You were willing to work with Hadassah—and me! Not only are you leading me across your country, but you kept me from freezing to death.”
The longer his list grows, the more nauseous I become. I clamp my palms over my ears. “Enough! You know that wasn’t for your benefit.”
“I know that you’re fiercely dedicated to your position,” Ivandar counters. “You would do anything for Ashkar.”
“I would do anything to further my standing in Ashkar!” The confession flies from my lips, and I can’t stop myself from flinching when disappointment fills Ivandar’s eyes. Which enrages me more. “Where is this even coming from? Who cares about Chotgor when the gods themselves are in danger?”
When Ivandar says nothing, I step closer. Puff my chest higher, preening with triumph. But it isn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. The prince stares past me, his pale eyes wide and blinking. He points over my shoulder with a thin white finger, which is when I realize his disguise melted away in his agitation.
Mine did too.
“We care about the Chotgori,” a familiar voice pelts me from behind. A voice that hounded me every day in Kartok’s prison. The last voice I heard when I was drowning in the Zemyan Sea.
“Enebish?” I gasp as I turn.
For a moment I see nothing but a flash of blinding white. It isn’t uncommon for my power to flare during battle, but it usually spirals outward, spitting ice at my enemies. It’s never clouded my vision like this. But then, I’ve never crammed myself full of so much additional cold.
As my vision clears, I see Enebish flanked by scores of people, who must be the shepherds she led from the grazing lands. They’re old and young, fierce and fragile. All of them unfamiliar and unimpressive on their own, but oddly unnerving as they pour from the abandoned houses and spread across the road like a massive herd of sheep.
Blocking our path.
Strands of long black hair whip across Enebish’s honey-brown eyes. Her expression teems with loathing. And as she aims her palms at my chest, I know she won’t hesitate to kill me this time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
GHOA
OVER THE COURSE OF MY TRAVELS, I HAD TIME TO PLAN MY revenge, down to the smallest detail. So I’d be prepared and unflinching when I came nose to nose with every traitor who stabbed me in the back. I’ve pictured this reunion with Enebish more times than I can count. I gleefully imagined how terrified and remorseful she would look—and how ardently I wouldn’t care. How I’d crow with delight as I flung blades of ice at her chest. Shooting her down, just like her irritating eagle.
But now that she’s here, her traitor’s mark standing out starkly against her bloodless cheek, I can’t remember a single point of my battle plan. Gritty uncertainty fills the hollows the hot-spring water burned into my heart.
I knew Enebish despised me. She made that abundantly clear when she nearly killed me at Temujin’s execution. I’ve been plagued by phantoms of her snarling face for weeks. But for some reason, seeing the curl of her lips and the ruthlessness of her stare is more painful than I anticipated.
Probably because it’s the opposite of how she looked at me all those years ago when I pulled her from the wreckage of her hut in Verdenet.
Stop being so sentimental. So weak! that firm inner voice commands. Now I’m grateful for its sharp certainty.
“What are you doing here? With one of them?” Enebish growls.
“The better question is, what are you doing here?” I fire back.
“We came to free the Chotgori laborers, who the empire, apparently, enslaved.” Enebish laughs bitterly. “But you knew that, didn’t you? Just as you knew about these shepherds suffering on the winter grazing lands.” She gestures to the filthy people surrounding her, many of whom are bickering. “But you chose to ignore it. Because it didn’t benefit you. It’s always about you. The empire is in shambles, yet here you are, hunting me and a caravan of shepherds for the sake of your pride and reputation. There isn’t a single drop of honor left in your bones, is there? No bottom to the well of your selfish desperation? First you betray me. Now your country.” She waves a trembling hand at Ivandar. “You’re no better than Temujin!”
Frost consumes my hair and continues hungrily down my neck and arms. My fingers twitch, eager to fling the icicles dangling from nearby storefronts at the lies spilling from her lips. “I am nothing like Temujin.”
“Prove it.” Enebish squeezes her fist, and the dim arctic light fades even further, darkening into twilit blues and purples, enough to play tricks on my eyes and throw me off balance.
“I don’t owe you proof of anything, and I certainly don’t owe them.” I gather the snow and ice from the road with a flick of my wrists and send it spiraling around Enebish and her rebels.
The shepherds scream and scatter, but not Enebish. She stands her ground, her dark eyes drilling into mine through the blizzard, flashing with warning. But her bravado is wasted on me. She’s never had the necessary fierceness to be a truly great warrior. Or maybe the problem is, she has too much heart. Either way, that hesitance, that weakness, is how I’ve always managed to stay one step ahead of her. It’s how I claimed the title of Commander of the Kalima warriors and it’s how I’ll reclaim that title too.
“We won’t go without a fight!” Serik appears at Enebish’s side, and his presence is like a saber cleaving into my skull. I knew he would be here, but I forgot how the mere sight of his infuriating face makes me want to scream.
Unlike Enebish, I have no doubt he would kill me—if he could.
“Do your worst, cousin,” I taunt him.
The shepherds yowl even louder. Some fall to their knees, begging for mercy.
“They’re your family?” Ivandar looks at me, completely flabbergasted.
But I keep my eyes on Serik, who deliberately raises his hands. I chuckle. I can’t help it. It’s such a ludicrous fantasy. So Serik. “Still clinging to hope?”
Columns of fire burst from Serik’s palms, snapping the tip of my nose. I stumble back and crash into Ivandar, who catches me. But I’m too horrified and confused to care.
“H-how—” I gawk at Serik.
It shouldn’t be possible. He’s far too old, not to mention too disagreeable, to have proven himself worthy of power. Yet the angry welt on my nose says otherwise.
I laugh even harder. Only now I’m laughing at myself—at the irony of life. The Kalima betrayed me, Serik is a Sun Stoker, and I’m traveling with the Zemyan prince.
The world has truly gone mad.
There’s nothing left to do but join in.
“Well, this is an interesting development.” I crack my knuckles one by one and stretch my head from side to side. Readying for the fight Serik and I have been spoiling for the better half of our lives.
“Stop, Ghoa.” Ivandar grabs my arm and hauls me back for a second time, a
nd I swear on the memory of the Sky King, I’m going to kill him. Slowly.
“Remove your hand!” I growl.
“We didn’t come to fight!” he calls out to the group. “We’re just passing through! We need to reach the Kalima.”
“I’m sure you do,” Serik spits. “You don’t stand a chance against us without them. Not when we have three Kalima warriors.”
Three? I stop straining against Ivandar to squint at their sorry group. Who is the third?
“Varren! Cirina!” Enebish turns a slow circle in the middle of the street, calling for my warriors, as if they’re lying in wait behind the boarded-up homes and shops. “We know you’re here!”
“It’s honestly just the two of us,” I say.
The beginning of another piercing headache is tapping at my temples. Lacy frost edges my vision, and for a moment I consider freezing the entire street. That would simplify everything.
That would also be a terrible waste. Think of your reception at the rendezvous point if you arrive, not only with the Zemyan prince, but with Enebish and Serik. The Kalima will be forced to acknowledge you. No one in the empire will be able to refute your worthiness.
I drop my hands and take a deep breath. Patient. Calm. Whatever it takes. “I’m not hunting you, and I haven’t abandoned or betrayed my country by aligning with Zemya.”
“Then what is he doing here?” Enebish glares at Ivandar. “What are you both doing here?”
“We’ve formed a temporary truce to address a more pressing issue,” I say carefully.
“What could be more pressing than the Zemyans taking the entire empire?” a nameless shepherd calls from the back of Enebish’s sorry group. As if they’re part of this conversation and have any business addressing me.
“Tell your ‘followers’ to stay out of it,” I bark.
Ivandar’s fingers slide around my neck and squeeze. I nearly scream before I realize it’s an illusion. He releases his invisible grip, shoots me a warning look, and steps forward. “While your commander was imprisoned in Zemya, it was revealed, through her torture, that the generál supreme has ambitions far beyond Ashkar and the continent. We believe he’s attempting to infiltrate the land of the First Gods, as some sort of reckoning on behalf of Zemya—to strip the Kalima of their powers and restore our goddess to Her rightful home. Needless to say, the Lady of the Sky and Father Guzan will be in grave danger if he succeeds, so we’re trying to intercede. Kartok seems to think he needs Kalima warriors to access the gateway, so we are determined to reach the Kalima first. You must stand aside and let us pass.”
Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology) Page 25
