I wanted him dead. I wanted to kill him myself. But nothing about his body, limp in my arms, feels gratifying.
It is only a waste.
Kartok doesn’t even blink at his former ally. He comes for me, hands a blur, his curved sword slashing. I was grateful for his inhuman speed during our missions to ferry new recruits to the false Eternal Blue. Now I curse that speed as I struggle to free myself from Temujin’s dead weight. In a breath, Kartok’s blade is poised at the base of my neck, where the moonstone used to sit. Temujin’s warm blood drips from Kartok’s sword, spattering my chest.
“Take me to Them,” Kartok insists.
“I’d rather die,” I spit.
“But would you rather watch him die?” Kartok points his knife to the nearest pathway where Ghoa emerges, dragging Serik behind her. A Zemyan blade pressed against his throat.
CHAPTER THIRTY
GHOA
I AM DRENCHED IN THE ZEMYAN PRINCE’S BLOOD.
A fact that would have pleased me not so long ago.
I’ve imagined killing him ever since I joined the Kalima. Eager to be the commander to put an end to Empress Danashti’s line. But that was before—when he was a faceless, nameless heir. Not Ivandar, my grudging accomplice. Ivandar, my unlikely ally.
Ivandar, my loyal friend.
He didn’t even put up a fight.
One moment I was standing beside him, ready to face down Kartok and his soldiers. Then my mind flared with frosty whiteness and my body was no longer my own. Kartok could still manipulate the ice in my mind, since our link was forged through Zemyan magic, which the First Gods can’t control.
My captive sword arm swung at Ivandar with lethal skill, slashing closer and closer as his energy flagged. When Serik tried to intervene with fire, I dove at the prince’s knees and brought him to the ground.
“It’s okay, Ghoa,” he panted. His strange blue eyes met mine, and I realized for the first time that they were the exact same shade as a newly formed ice dagger. So familiar and safe. Maybe even beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, helpless as my blade tore through him.
Ivandar folded in half with a groan. “Don’t be. It isn’t your choice.”
Hysterical, heaving laughter spilled from my lips as swiftly as his blood. He was right, and I couldn’t decide what was worse: the fact that I wanted to save him, or the fact that I couldn’t.
And now that same bloody knife is jammed against Serik’s throat.
After killing Ivandar, Kartok forced me to turn on my cousin next. But instead of killing him, my hands bound Serik’s palms together, to protect myself from the worst of his heat. My feet marched him into the hedge maze, never making a wrong turn. Leading him toward the sorcerer as obediently as a horse on a lead.
“What are you waiting for?” Serik growls. His throat knocks against the blade as he thrashes, wetting my fingers with even more blood. “We both know you’ve always wanted to kill me, so do it. You even have the perfect justification to murder me in cold blood: Kartok is controlling you.”
“In cold blood?” I spit back at him. He has always been the instigator of our feuds, blaming me for every problem in his life when it’s hardly my fault his father was a weapons dealer sentenced to Gazar. Nor is it my fault his mother fell to pieces in the aftermath. Or that Serik didn’t develop a Kalima power sooner. Or that my parents are caring and influential enough to keep him away from the war front.
Most people in his position would have recognized their good fortune and been overflowing with thanks.
But not Serik.
He has always been ungrateful, unreasonable.
Or have you been uncaring, unseeing? a quiet voice pushes back. A voice I want to blame on Kartok’s hold, but these memories are from long before the sorcerer’s influence. Only now they’re colored with new understanding. Lit from a different angle.
You turned your back on Serik when his power didn’t present. Not on purpose, not at first. You were off on missions. Training. Marching from battle to battle. But that’s not how Serik saw it. You left him, forgot him. Just like the rest of the world. Confirming his greatest fear: if you are powerless, you are nothing.
“Didn’t you hear me?” he growls, leaning into the blade.
I release a long, weary sigh, finally willing to accept my part. Finally ready to let this bitter animosity die. We will never defeat the Zemyans if we’re always wounding each other.
“I don’t want to kill you, Serik,” I say softly.
He, of course, responds with spiteful laughter. “Blazing skies, you’re loving this, aren’t you? Now that I’m asking for death, it’s the one thing you won’t give me.”
With an exhausted groan, I drag him deeper through the hedge maze. Even with the brunt of his power contained, Serik’s skin is too hot to touch. My hands blister, and the pain is so agonizing, all I can focus on is the overwhelming need to pull away. Every time I grow frantic enough to rebel against Kartok’s hold, though, another surge of ice climbs the walls of my mind and my fingers remain clenched.
Holding me captive in my own skin.
Kartok waits for us by a pedestal, on top of which rests a large blue book. Both Enebish and Temujin lie in the grass in front of the pedestal, covered in blood. I can’t tell who it’s coming from, and I tell myself I don’t care, but the rebel leader isn’t moving and Enebish is, and the relief that overwhelms me is enough to steal my breath. I already lost Ivandar. I couldn’t bear to lose her, too. To have their blood staining my clothes and my conscience.
We halt before Kartok, and Enebish scrambles to her feet. “Release Serik,” she says in a low, dangerous growl. I don’t know if she’s talking to me or Kartok; I don’t think it matters either way.
Kartok threads his fingers together in front of his waist and smiles. “Take me to the Lady of the Sky and Father Guzan, and I’ll order the commander to release the boy,” he says to Enebish.
“Don’t lead him anywhere, En,” Serik interjects.
“You do realize there’s only one other option….” Kartok nudges Temujin’s corpse with his toe. “Are you truly willing to die defending gods who overlooked you? Who saw fit to bless you with power only when They needed you?” Kartok clucks his tongue with disapproval. “After so many years of yearning and suffering, I thought you would be wiser. Wouldn’t a fair, predictable goddess better suit both of our people? Removing two underhanded gods is much simpler than leading people to battle. But you already know that, don’t you?”
Serik swallows hard against the edge of the knife. I can feel his heartbeat thundering in his rib cage. I have no doubt he’s entertained these thoughts before—not specifically about supporting Zemya, but wishing there were no First Gods. Wishing everyone was equal so he would have a chance of achieving greatness.
“You’d be willing to die to defend the First Gods?” Enebish’s voice is scratchy, her eyes wet as she blinks up at Serik.
Serik nods after only the slightest hesitation. “I would.”
I want to laugh. Or maybe vomit. I don’t have the slightest idea what he’s decided to believe now that he possesses a Kalima power, but I do know he doesn’t have the same unshakable love and faith in the gods as Enebish. If this were only about Them, he would probably stand aside and let Kartok pass. Let the gods reap the consequences of the injustice They sowed. But there has always been one thing Serik loves more than the allure of power and greatness. One person he’s worshiped in place of a goddess. And if Enebish wants to defend the Lady and Father, my cousin will let me slit his throat before he fails her.
Some would say that’s the highest form of bravery and love. They’d claim his devotion is noble, maybe even endearing. Part of me secretly wishes someone would stand with me so completely. Believe in me so fiercely. But then I remind myself it’s Serik. And this sacrifice, and his baffling new desire to believe, are a waste.
If the Lady of the Sky and Father Guzan are powerful enough to create this realm and the entir
e continent below, and wise enough to instill the power of the sky into worthy warriors, shouldn’t They be strong enough to oust this Zemyan from Their presence? Shouldn’t They know he’s coming and be prepared to face him without our intervention? How am I supposed to worship gods who are too weak to defend Themselves? If They expect me to admit I’m not a god, I need Them to prove They are stronger. Give me a reason to put my faith in something other than myself.
“Make your choice, Night Spinner, or I’ll make it for you,” Kartok barks at Enebish. “Your gods or this boy?”
“The Lady and Father would never force me to make such a choice!” Enebish cries.
“But I would. And since They’ve decided not to grace us with Their presence, my agenda is the only one that matters.” His fingers twist viciously.
So do mine.
A second later Serik cries out as fresh blood wets my hand.
Enebish’s teeth sink into her lower lip. Her gaze flits to the mountains on her left and she tilts her head back, muttering a warbling prayer. Asking her gods what to do while Kartok’s eyes trail her sight line—sharp and hungry.
“Follow me,” she finally says, limping toward the encircling peaks.
“Don’t do this, En,” Serik pleads as we wind through the neatly trimmed hedges—first Enebish, followed by me and Serik, with Kartok taking up the rear. Keeping us all in line. “I am willing to make this sacrifice. I want to make this sacrifice.”
Enebish shakes her head firmly. “The Lady and Father will show us another way.”
“What if They don’t? Or can’t?” Serik squirms against my hold. The harder he struggles, the hotter he becomes. And the hotter he becomes, the more my hands blister. And the sharper the pain, the more I begin to panic. It’s finally in that panic that the icy walls encasing my mind begin to melt and shrink. For a brief moment I’m overwhelmed by clarity and autonomy—almost enough to let go of Serik. But Kartok is right there, hovering over my shoulder, forcing the frost to rise and reform. Starting the process all over again.
As we walk, the sounds of battle fade until I no longer hear fighting at all. Either the Kalima, the little Night Spinner, and the kings were defeated by the Zemyans or this garden is even larger than I realized. I find myself silently hoping for the latter. Not because I agree with their rebellion or their gods, but because the thought of the Kalima and the kings of Verdenet and Namaag falling to the Zemyans is infuriating and insulting.
At last, the garden spits us out onto hard, cracked dirt that’s not quite brown and not quite gray—a wash of rocky desolation that surrounds the garden like a moat. The ground slopes sharply upward to towering mountains that would be adequate fortification for anyone trying to enter from the opposite side. For people less zealous than Kartok, who found a way to bypass the range entirely and battered into the garden itself.
The rocky ground diverges into trails that climb each peak. Enebish shields her eyes and squints up at the fog-shrouded summits. “That one,” she says reverently, even though they all look the same.
Kartok frowns as his eyes follow the switchbacks, rising up, up, up. “Why would your gods be up there when They have this magnificent garden? If you’re purposely leading me astray, girl, I’ll—”
“Perhaps They enjoy the view,” Enebish interrupts, looking fierce and unflinching. Like the warrior who fought by my side in the Kalima. I’d foolishly thought I could weaken and control her by cutting her down at Nariin, but being thrust into the forger’s fire has only made her stronger. “Or maybe They knew you were coming. Maybe They want to watch you suffer and sweat before shoving you from the mountaintop.”
“Enough!” Kartok brings his palms together, and my sword arm jerks in response. Before I can comprehend what’s happening, I’ve cut a gash across Serik’s bicep—deep enough to reveal bone. The knife is back at his throat before he even starts screaming.
“If you refuse to cooperate, the boy will suffer,” Kartok says to Enebish.
“Don’t help him,” Serik sputters through his clenched teeth.
“You picked a terrible time to become so devout,” Enebish says as she marches forward, up the rocky trail.
We climb for hours, sweating in the unbearable heat. Between Serik and the sun, which is far too bright and close in this realm, I’m certain I will never be able to wield the ice again. My frozen core is nothing but a puddle, escaping through my skin and evaporating into the thinning air.
After what feels like days, we ascend into a veil of blush-pink fog—the precise color of the pear trees that blossom in the springtime on my parents’ estate. The mist is heavy and cool on my skin and shields us slightly from the harsh sunlight, which hasn’t faded, even slightly, since our arrival. Though, a crescent moon as risen up from behind the peaks and hangs in the sky beside the sun. Proof that this is the Eternal Blue in the most literal sense.
The fog grows thicker and thicker as we climb until I can hardly see Serik, who’s trapped in my arms. Which means Kartok might not be able to see me. I wiggle my fingers to gauge his awareness, focusing all of my energy into one finger. It feels like I’m lifting a warhorse, but I manage to pry my pinky away from the dagger. I’m straining to lift my ring finger when the fog falls away abruptly and, with it, all thoughts of escape.
It was a fool’s notion anyway. Where would I even escape to? I don’t know how to leave this place. Nor do I have the slightest clue what awaits back in Ashkar. And, most horrifying of all, my mind quails at the thought of leaving Enebish and Serik here with Kartok.
The summit of the mountain is no larger than a common parlor, though far more extravagant, with blue-and-white checkered floors, midnight velvet lounges, and cloud-white chaises arranged around a towering mound of rocks, like the cairn Kartok showed me in his book. Tiny twinkling lights and thick swathes of blue silk drape from the apex of the rock tower and form extravagant tentlike walls that rustle in the breeze.
On the opposite side of the terrace, the fabric is pulled aside to reveal a balcony overlooking an infinite expanse of sky and rock. There two figures sit. I can’t see their faces, but one wears a gown the precise shade of a star-riddled sky and the other a robe of the greenest leaves.
My mouth drops open, and I blink as if They’ll disappear. I’m hallucinating—I have to be. I was so certain we’d find nothing up here but additional gray dirt and scattered rocks. Yet here is undeniable proof of more.
Just as you requested.
Air refuses to fill my lungs. I tell myself it’s the altitude. Or the exertion from the climb.
It’s one thing to consider that your views on life and power and the gods could be wrong. It’s something else entirely to have those fears confirmed—and with all the subtlety of a fist to the jaw.
Enebish falls to her knees. Garbled praises and frantic warnings pour from her lips in an indecipherable stream as she crawls closer to the Lady and Father. Serik is so still in my arms, I can’t even feel him breathing. Behind us, Kartok whispers something in Zemyan, then charges past me and Serik and kicks Enebish aside like a cat underfoot.
“I’ve come on behalf of Zemya! The daughter you so callously forsook!” His voice carries on the wind like a clap of thunder, but the Lady of the Sky and Father Guzan do not acknowledge him. They continue looking out, nodding or pointing occasionally. Absorbed in Their own conversation.
“I tried to warn you!” Enebish cries out. “I wrote in the Book of Whisperings!”
Kartok turns and raises a hand toward Enebish, who immediately falls silent. She thrashes and clutches her face, just as I did when Kartok used his sorcery to twist my tongue.
“It isn’t real!” I try to go to her, but my legs have turned to stone. Frozen—just like my useless arms. I can do nothing but watch as the sorcerer advances across the room, his robes billowing, his white hair whipping. He looks so colorless and out of place in this sumptuous palace. Like a stain that was blotted from existence.
“Your reign of injustice has ended!” he c
ries emphatically. “You can abdicate your power, declare your sins, and give Zemya the glory and birthright She deserves, or I will forcibly remove you.”
Still the First Gods pay him no mind. I can’t tell if it’s intentional. Maybe They simply can’t hear him. Or maybe this is proof of Their supremacy: They do not cower before invaders. They do not shrink. They are omnipotent. Maybe even deserving of my respect.
With a growl that originates in the depths of his chest, Kartok brandishes his curved sword and swings it into the mound of rocks supporting the tent. “Zemya will not be ignored any longer!” he cries as the boulders topple like soldiers cut down in battle.
I gasp, somehow feeling the force of Kartok’s blow in my side. Serik groans as well. And Enebish clutches her stomach, still on her hands and knees. The backlash of Kartok’s attack ripples through all of us—and through the realm itself. The mountain shudders as the stones hit the blue and white tiles.
Finally the Lady of the Sky turns, peering at us through the falling rocks and collapsing walls of satin, and I gasp even louder. An overwhelming ache skewers me like a saber through the heart.
I’ve never had any reason to wonder or imagine what the Lady of the Sky would look like. Even if I had, never in my wildest dreams would I have expected to see the face of my mother staring back at me. The Lady of the Sky is her perfect likeness, down to her bowstring lips, always colored with rose paint, and soft auburn curls. She even has my mother’s eyes—kind but fierce, gazing at me with pride.
“M-Mother?” I stammer.
As soon as I say her name, the Lady’s face changes, morphing into the likeness of Shoshanna, the Ice Herald who mentored me when I first joined the Kalima. She perished during the siege of Verdenet, and I cried silently in my bedroll every night for an entire year after. Yet here she is, her warm eyes smiling, her lips quirked into their signature smirk.
“I don’t understand.” Tears soak my cheeks, but I’m unable to remove my hand from the blade at Serik’s throat to wipe them away. “What do you see?” I ask him.
Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology) Page 33
