“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 the hour?” one of them squeals.
“We’ll perish if we cross the grasslands now,” another says.
“We somehow managed the trek.” I wave at the disguised shepherds behind me.
“Please, Commander. There’s no need to punish us. We’ve done our duty. The Chotgori miners know nothing about the Sky King or Sagaan—”
“I will be the one who judges whether or not you’ve done your duty.” With a slash of my hand, gleaming spears of ice burst from the snowdrifts and fly toward the inane warriors. The ice isn’t all that sharp, or terribly quick, but the soldiers dash off toward the other outbuildings, screaming with absolute terror.
As soon as they’re out of sight, I release a long breath and lean against the very wall I chastised them for slouching against.
Being myself has never been this draining.
“You can’t be tired already, oh great Commander,” Serik jeers from his place in the ranks. “You’re just getting started.”
“Do you honestly treat people like that?” Ivandar asks softly.
Enebish laughs. “That was Ghoa being kind….”
“It’s what my position requires,” I grumble. “I don’t have a choice.” But my voice fades away completely. Because I do have a choice. “Enough chitter-chatter,” I snap. “You’re the ones who wanted me to lead you as the commander. Now keep up. And keep quiet.”
I lead my battalion of “warriors” into the center of the outbuildings, where we watch the actual imperial warriors hustle between barracks, collecting their belongings and supplies. Every few seconds, they steal anxious glances at me, which I make sure to answer with stern scowls of disapproval.
“You’re supposed to be prepared to march at a moment’s notice!” I yell. “What if the Zemyans had arrived before I did? You’d be dead. We would have ceded even more ground to the enemy. Hurry!”
“We have to pack in turns.” A panting warrior points to the mines. “To ensure the workers remain compliant.”
“What do you think this entire battalion is for?” I shoot a furtive look at Enebish and wave them on. She starts to march ahead, but Serik grabs her arm and holds her back, glowering at me as if he’s not going to cooperate, even though this song and dance was his idea.
I can’t hear him, but I don’t need to. The words are as plain as day on his lips: She could betray us.
The very same thought has been circling my mind like a prowling wolf. It would be so easy to turn on them. Once they’re down in the mines “freeing” the Chotgori, I could join with the imperial warriors. Tell them everything. They would happily help me entrap these rebels alongside the Chotgori. I could storm into the Kalima’s stronghold flanked by actual soldiers, rather than shepherds.
Enebish glances back at me. Her dark eyes search mine—desperate, imploring.
I stare back, freezing my face into an expressionless mask, giving nothing away because there’s nothing to give away—not yet.
After a long second, Enebish starts toward the mines and the others follow, marching in swift straight lines, as instructed. A few minutes later, streams of actual soldiers pour into the encampment from the mines. I fold my arms and watch them scramble to pack.
Cold. Aloof. Without a speck of compassion.
But on the inside, another wave of exhaustion pummels me.
“What is the meaning of this, Commander?” A lined and graying warrior storms up to me, face livid. I should definitely know his name, as he’s one of the highest-ranking magic-barren generals, but I never bothered to learn it. “You can’t just cast us into the tundra in the middle of winter!”
The bustle of packing slows. Frost varnishes the hairs on my arms as the other warriors turn to watch, gauging my reaction, as if it never occurred to them to question me.
Part of me wants to react how I would have a few short months ago—to let ice consume my hair and cascade down my arms to my fingertips. To chisel a dagger, hold it against his throat, and ask him in a dangerous whisper if he’s certain he wants to go down this path.
But I set my teeth into what I hope looks like a smile and say, “I’m not casting you into the tundra. You’ve done such an impressive job up here, holding Arisilon City, we need your battalions’ strength in the capital. We need your leadership and experience. I know the journey won’t be easy, but I have every confidence your warriors will manage it.”
The man furrows his brow even lower, trying to hide the pleased smile tugging at his lips, but it has already crept into his eyes. “I just didn’t expect to see you up here, Commander. There are rumors—”
“You know better than to believe rumors,” I cut him off.
“I assume you’ll be leading us back?” he asks.
Tell him everything. Now is your chance.
But the words don’t come. They won’t come. My lips part, but my mind is slow and sluggish, almost as if it’s frozen. Patterns of frost embroider my vision.
Stay the course. It will serve you better in the end.
As improbable as that seems, I decide to trust myself. Trust my instincts. They’re the only thing that hasn’t abandoned or betrayed me.
“You assume incorrectly,” I finally answer. “I’m not returning to Sagaan quite yet.”
That makes the old man’s frown return. “Where will you go? If the capital is in such dire straits, shouldn’t you—”
“Do everything in my power to defend it. I assure you, I am. In the absence of the Sky King, I must coordinate the many arms of this war. I go where I’m needed most, which is everywhere at present. If you do not wish to accept this honor and promotion, I’ll find another general who’s more loyal to Ashkar. General Akiba would already be halfway across the steppes by now.”
General Akiba is the only magic-barren general whose name I do remember, and I only remember it because he’s a fool. Always bumbling and smiling merrily, as if he’s leading a dance troupe rather than a cadre of warriors. The idea that someone like Akiba could be more competent and dedicated to Ashkar rankles this grizzled warrior precisely as much as I hoped it would.
“We’ll be ready to march in ten minutes,” he barks.
That gives me ten minutes to change my mind. Ten minutes to slip over to the mines and assess the strength and numbers of the Chotgori. There are enough of them to outnumber these imperial warriors; Enebish was right about that. What I don’t know is how many miners and shepherds are equal to one trained warrior. At what point would the balance tip in their favor? I’m not about to start a battle I can’t w
in.
I nod at the general and raise my fist in the Kalima salute. “For the Sky King.”
“For the Sky King,” he repeats with a thump of his chest.
The ore mines are as quiet as I’ve ever seen them. Instead of the slow, thick trudge of Chotgori workers—staggering beneath the weight of their loads like the world’s slowest mudslide—only a trickle of people remain. They shuffle back down into the pit, where I assume Enebish and the others have taken up their “posts.”
I duck behind the refinery and smear the orange soot and dust all over my hair and face and chest to blend in. So I can see what my “new allies” are saying about me when they think I’m not there. And so I can slip away to rejoin the imperial warriors if that’s my best option.
The mine looks like an arena of sorts—crude steps made of red dirt and rock that narrow toward a bottomless central shaft. Like a sunken bull’s-eye, the size of a battlefield. I fall in line behind the workers, the air growing colder and wetter and the light growing dimmer and dimmer as we descend. Enebish and her little fledgling Night Spinner must be loving this.
The mine is twice as sprawling as the last time I visited, and the Chotgori workers are twice as slow. It takes us an eternity to spiral down one revolution. Long enough that I have no choice but to look at the people ahead of me—backs hunched and broken, arms and legs mottled with bruises. A little girl who can’t be much older than Enebish when I rescued her in Verdenet drags a mutilated foot behind her. She can hardly walk, yet the leather boulder straps are still fastened tight around her scrawny body.
It’s their contribution to the Unified Empire, I tell myself. We all must sacrifice. If they would have cooperated when we initially proposed an alliance, things wouldn’t be like this. But now these perfectly reasonable explanations leave me cold—and not in a good way. The maddening voice of the Zemyan prince won’t stop whispering in my ear, telling me the Chotgori were always going to be used like this, whether they resisted or not.
It doesn’t matter. They’re in no shape to retaliate. Not even if they outnumber the actual imperial warriors ten to one. Go back. You’ve seen what you needed to.
Before I can turn, Enebish’s voice echoes up from the depths of the pit. I don’t want to listen, but I have no choice. It’s like a splinter you can’t stop picking, even though you know you’re only driving the shard in deeper. How can she always sound so noble and impassioned? It makes my skin crawl with irritation—and jealousy, if I’m honest. People have always flocked to her earnestness. They happily followed her unassuming lead. She’s never had to resort to threats and coercion and terror to command respect, so she doesn’t know how hard it is for the rest of us. For those of us who have never been seen as anything but hard and heartless for simply going after what we want. For being ambitious.
“You can trust us,” she continues, her voice filled with certainty and hope. “We are citizens of the empire who were used and exploited like you. We’ve come to free you—from the mines and from Ashkar. We just have to wait for the actual warriors to leave Chotgor.”
“Spare us your lies. We’ll never be free!”
“The Sky King is dead. Sagaan has fallen!” Serik’s voice joins Enebish’s. “There’s nothing keeping you here anymore.”
Voices ping around the massive pit, and I don’t understand most of them. Chotgor was the last territory to join the Unified Empire, so fewer of them speak Ashkarian, but there are enough who understand. Judging by their tone, they’re not buying Enebish and Serik’s claims.
I chuff out a laugh. They were daft to think the Chotgori would drop their tools, cry tears of relief, and pledge their allegiance.
But then gasps sound like battle horns. Followed by a few actual screams—of shock, not fear. And I know what’s happening. What Ivandar is doing—peeling away their imperial disguises to reveal the true faces of the shepherds.
I reach the lowest level of the mine in time to behold the end of Enebish’s speech.
“You’re free to leave the mines and return to your homes. Or you can join in our fight. We’re headed north, to the Kalima’s rendezvous point, to warn the First Gods of the Zemyan threat. Then we’ll continue on—”
“The threat isn’t from Zemya!” Ivandar takes a bold step forward. “It’s from the generál supreme, Kartok, who doesn’t represent our entire country. Most of us want what you want—to retake our land and reclaim our lives. We are capable of working together—I used my Zemyan magic to free you. Let’s free the rest of the continent together!”
The whoops and tearful shouts start gradually, but soon it’s as deafening as one of Varren’s downpours. Everyone is hugging and kissing and praising the First Gods.
I could easily slip away. Sprint up the shaft and inform the imperial warriors. Lead them back to stifle this nonsense. Instead I retreat into the shadows and lean against the wall, hands pressed to my thumping chest. My eyes won’t look away from the celebration—this group of people who never should have come together but did—and I can’t fathom betraying them. Even if it would be in my best interest.
I don’t know what that says about my loyalty.
Or my heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ENEBISH
GHOA DID EXACTLY WHAT SHE SAID SHE WOULD. SHE SENT the imperial warriors marching off into the tundra, and I don’t know who’s more shocked: me, Serik, or Ghoa herself.
I spotted her, watching me deliver my speech. Her face was pale, despite a thick smearing of dirt. Her jaw was rigid and her eyes were pinched into slits. For a second I assumed the worst—the imperial warriors would appear from behind her and come crashing down on us. But then she leaned heavily against the wall, like a satchel held together by a thread.
She let me finish speaking. She watched, expressionless, as the Chotgori miners celebrated. And now she’s unnervingly quiet as we help the jubilant and tearful workers climb out of the ore mines. She even carries an armful of picks and doesn’t issue a single command as she plods along in the middle of the pack.
She always makes a point to lead. Always.
“I don’t like it,” Serik mutters in my ear. “It isn’t right. Look at her.” He waves at Ghoa, a good twenty paces ahead of us. Her face and hair are so caked with red-orange dirt, she must have rolled around in it. Or purposely smeared it all over herself.
“Maybe she’s trying to blend in? Maybe she didn’t want to frighten or intimidate the workers and make our task more difficult?” I say.
Serik’s frown is immediate. And incredulous. “Ghoa has known about their suffering for years. She obviously doesn’t care about upsetting them. And intimidating people is her primary goal in life.”
“I know, but she’s been through a lot these past months—” I start to say.
“No amount of torture could change her nature,” Serik cuts me off. “Selfishness is the foundation of who she is.”
I bite my lip and take several silent steps. “I just know how discouraging it is … to fight and struggle to free yourself from the past, only to have everyone sneer at your efforts and insist it’s impossible.”
“Except there’s one teeny, tiny difference between you and Ghoa: You never did any of the things you were imprisoned for. Ghoa did. Then she blamed you. You should doubt and despise her more than anyone.”
“I know,” I mumble again, kicking a rock. “It just feels wrong to be so critical when she actually upheld her end of our compromise.”
Serik stares at his cousin’s back, grinding his teeth as the Zemyan prince sidles up beside her. “Or maybe she has a secret agenda and we’re helping it along.”
“What could she possibly gain from taking in another horde of weak, traumatized people? Or by helping the Zemyan prince warn the First Gods? None of it benefits her.”
“Everything benefits her.” Serik stops and grips my shoulders tight, prompting curious looks from the Chotgori workers who stream around us. “Every choice she makes is for herself and no one else. Ne
ver forget that. She wants you to question and doubt and hope. Just enough to keep you clinging, so she can string you along and use you.”
Ziva appears out of nowhere, like she always seems to these days. My little shadow. She motions toward Ghoa and Ivandar and reaches for a swathe of darkness. “I can sneak up there and listen to their conversation, if you’d like?”
“Yes,” Serik insists.
But I reach out and disrupt Ziva’s grip on the shadows. “Not yet.” Serik may think Ghoa hasn’t changed, but something about her expression and demeanor feel so familiar to me.
It isn’t until we ascend into the frigid wind and the shepherds immediately resume moaning that I realize Ghoa reminds me of myself. When I first arrived in the winter grazing lands outside of Sagaan—the day I began to wonder if everything I’d stood for and fought for was a lie.
The temperature plummets with the setting sun. By the time the moon rises, the tendrils of night are the stillest I’ve ever seen them. Entombed in ice. It would take every Sun Stoker in the Kalima to make conditions even somewhat comfortable, and we’re headed even farther north. Beyond the shelter of the city.
Thankfully, the Chotgori are far more capable and prepared to withstand the cold. They raid the imperial barracks—or reclaim them, I should say, since the empire did the raiding. The buildings and everything inside them were the Chotgori’s to begin with. Methodically, they hand out jackets and hats and cloaks and load blankets and furs and sacks of salted cod and seal meat onto a fleet of sleds recovered from a nearby barn.
We lend our help, even Ghoa, and as the supplies dwindle, the gnawing in my stomach threatens to devour me. What if none of it’s for us? The Chotgori could be grateful for their freedom but too exhausted to aid us. I said they were under no obligation to join our cause, but I obviously didn’t mean it.
Once each sled is packed, seven women make their way to the front of the crowd. Most are gray and stooped with age, but two are tall and broad-shouldered with copper hair down to their waists and faces that look no older than mine.
Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology) Page 28
