Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology)

by Addie Thorley

  You can end this now. So easily. If the Zemyans cannot see, they cannot fight.

  My fingers twitch. From the other side of Minoak, I feel Ziva’s fists tighten in response. Ready to charge with me. But I let out a long, steadying breath and uncurl my fingers. If battering the Zemyans with the sky was the will of the First Gods, They would have called the darkness Themselves.

  The Lady of the Sky places a hand on my shoulder, gives me an approving smile, and whisper’s Zemya’s name. Her voice is so soft, I can barely hear it and I’m standing right beside Her. Zemya will never hear from the barren wastes by the sea. But then the Father joins the Lady, chanting Their daughter’s name. After a beat of reluctance, Ashkar adds His voice to His parents’ and the fighting instantly ceases.

  Every Zemyan in the courtyard stands still enough to be frozen—arms raised, daggers slicing, mouths screaming. Tears stream from their eyes and sweat pours down their cheeks. Within seconds they are drenched and dripping, as if caught in a rainstorm, though the sky is perfectly clear. The water gathers into a puddle in the center of the cobblestones, growing wider and deeper.

  “Hot-spring water,” Ivandar wheezes as the droplets seep from his skin as well.

  Once the water is knee-deep, it shoots skyward like a fountain and forms the shape of a woman as it falls. Her hair is silver and white seafoam. Her eyes shimmer with the luster of pearls. And the sound of crashing waves follows Zemya as She weaves through the immovable Zemyan warriors and the equally stunned Ashkarians. When She reaches Her parents and brother, She raises Her chin defiantly. A pointed chin, which She clearly inherited from the Lady of the Sky. And Her mane of hair is undeniably from Father Guzan. And Ashkar’s eyes are sloped slightly upward at the corners, just like Hers.

  Despite the stark outward changes Zemya wrought upon Her body to separate Herself from the First Gods, the family resemblance is irrefutable. It’s impossible for a tree to grow without its roots; Zemya wouldn’t exist without the Lady and Father.

  “I should have known you’d intervene as soon as it became clear I’d defeat you.” Zemya flings Her arms and hot-spring water sprays the Sky Palace steps, burning like embers where it wets my skin. “How do you plan to punish me this time? How else can you weaken and debase me? Whatever it is, it won’t work. I will always recover. I will always return stronger.”

  “We were wrong,” the Lady says, holding out Her hands in capitulation.

  Zemya bristles, crosses Her arms, and says in a spiteful voice, “You are the Lady and Father. Creators of the heavens and earth. You are never wrong.”

  “In this instance, We were.”

  “About what, exactly?” Zemya challenges.

  “Many things: suppressing your drive and innovation, for presuming your magic was evil just because we couldn’t understand or control it, and mostly for pitting you and your brother against each other in the first place, by comparing your abilities.”

  A shiver works through me, dotting my skin with goose bumps. The feud between the First Gods isn’t so different from the feud in my own family: some with power and some without, a constant battle for acknowledgment and supremacy. All of it unnecessary.

  Zemya stares for a long moment, nostrils flared and jaw working as She struggles to maintain a tight hold on Her rage. “Unfortunately, this realization and apology are several centuries too late.”

  “Is it ever, truly, too late?” the Lady presses. “Come home.”

  Zemya laughs and takes a deliberate step back. “My home is with my people.”

  “You are a wise and caring Goddess,” the Lady says with a proud smile. “Your people are lucky to have you. I would never take you from them.”

  “Then why ask me to return to the realm of the Eternal Blue?”

  “Because it doesn’t have to be a choice between your people and your family. It never should have been a choice. You can mend the rift between us and still serve your people. If an Ashkarian commander can give her life for a Zemyan prince, I think we, their gods, should be capable of reaching a similar truce.”

  The swirling and crashing of Zemya’s watery form gradually slows until She resembles a trickling stream rather than a raging river, but Her voice remains fierce and strong. “And what of my magic?”

  “That’s entirely up to you,” the Lady assures Her. “Continue to innovate if you wish, but I, for one, have grown weary of watching mortals abuse the power of the sky.”

  “As have I,” the Father agrees.

  They stare at Ashkar, who grudgingly adds, “And I.”

  “And if there’s no quarrel between us, there’s no reason they need the sky to defend themselves,” the Lady explains.

  Zemya looks skeptically at each of them. “What exactly are you saying?”

  “As a show of our commitment, and as retribution for our mistakes, we will withdraw our powers from Ashkar.”

  My throat constricts around a gasp of utter shock. The other Kalima warriors cry out with even more outrage—Serik loudest of all. In the Eternal Blue, they all briefly experienced how it feels to be powerless. Ordinary. Weak.

  A state I was forced to endure for two years at Ikh Zuree. A state I learned to survive. Thrive in, even, once I silenced my oppressors and started trusting myself.

  Serik too. He was brave and fierce and battle-ready long before he could wield the sun’s fiery rays. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe none of us have ever truly needed power beyond our own faith and fortitude and determination.

  “Without the sky, your people will be nothing,” Zemya exclaims, making the Kalima shout even louder.

  The Lady of the Sky gives a little shrug. “Or perhaps they’ll be forced to find themselves—to innovate and discover their own strengths—as you once did….”

  The Lady of the Sky extends Her hand to Zemya.

  She stares at the Lady’s offering, then turns to gaze at Her people, suspended in battle. Winning, but for how long? And at what cost? Laying down weapons and grudges doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve lost the war. Sometimes it achieves the boldest victory.

  Ghoa taught me that.

  After another scowl and an exasperated shake of Her head—as if She’ll instantly regret it—Zemya takes Her mother’s hand.

  The sky explodes with darkness and light, with wind and rain and stars. We drop onto our stomachs and cover our heads as hail gouges the obliterated palace and sleet washes the blood from the Grand Courtyard. It reminds me of the howling surge of darkness that whipped around me every time I called the night inside the Temple of Serenity in Kartok’s false Eternal Blue. An explosion of wild, unbridled power. But unlike that deception, this is both cleansing and punishing. A show of power and restraint. A final reminder of who rules the skies.

  The storm lashes us for what feels like hours, growing steadily stronger, until it clears just as fast as it came. As if swept away by a wave of the Lady’s hand, to reveal a lustrous, clear blue sky. Everyone in the courtyard peels themselves off the ground and looks to the palace steps.

  But the First Gods have vanished.

  And so have our reasons to fight.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  ENEBISH

  THE GATHERING OF THE FIVE NATIONS IS SCHEDULED TO TAKE place in Sagaan exactly two weeks after the ceasefire. The warriors conscripted from the territories and the Zemyans wanted to rush home immediately, but everyone agreed we must lay careful groundwork. So the foundation of our new alliance is as immovable as the peaks of the Eternal Blue. We owe it to the thousands of people who perished fighting this endless war. And we owe it to ourselves, too.

  The Chotgori clans, Namagaan soldiers, and shepherds who fled the ice caves arrive first, a mere four days after our summons. Readily flocking to join us, now that the danger has passed.

  Almost all of Ashkar takes to the streets to welcome the clan leaders as they trudge in from the snowy grasslands, but I remain in the treasury. Inside Ghoa’s father’s office, where I find myself more and more often—when I�
��m not tasked with keeping the fragile peace between so many opinionated kings, that is. Or helping to rebuild the homes and shops that were destroyed by the Zemyans.

  The rest of Sagaan is slowly beginning to unbury from the rubble, but this room remains untouched—utterly wrecked from the siege. Books and ledgers lie ripped and strewn across the floor, the furniture is hacked to pieces, and the broken window is covered with a tacked-up blanket. It’s cold and filthy and Serik and Ziva keep dropping less than subtle hints that my coming here is odd. Eerie. It’s where the Kalima betrayed Ghoa and where the Sky King perished.

  But it’s also where Ghoa was reborn. If I kneel in the broken glass, still stained with blood, I can imagine how her ice bridge must have looked—white crystals spanning the blackness of the siege.

  Sometimes I still don’t believe she sacrificed herself to save the First Gods. And sometimes I wish she hadn’t. It muddled everything. Colored the entire world in maddening shades of gray instead of stark black and white. I miss her and resent her. Love her and loathe her. The balance shifts by the day, sometimes by the hour—depending on how difficult the kings and Zemyans are being.

  Serik stomps up the stairs and pokes his head through the door. “You’ve got to stop hiding out in here. Morbid obsession aside, it’s freezing. And it smells.”

  I shrug. “I don’t mind the smell. And it’s easier than all of that.” I wave in the direction of the main thoroughfare, teeming with Ashkarians and Chotgori, with Namagaans and Zemyans. They all came together—exactly as I wanted—but not in the way I planned or expected. They were supposed to stand with me against Kartok and the Zemyans.

  Not Ghoa.

  “Since when do you make your decisions based on what’s easiest?” Serik asks. “And do you truly blame them for fleeing the ice caves?”

  “No,” I groan as I gain my feet, knowing my resentment is unfair. My expectations were too high. It was naïve to think the Chotgori would charge into battle against Zemyan sorcerers when they were weak and traumatized from the ore mines. When they hardly knew us and had no reason to believe we would succeed. It’s a moot point besides; we still managed to save the gods without them. And if the Lady of the Sky can forgive them, I should do the same. I’m trying to do the same. I don’t want to reconstruct the fortress around my heart. I don’t want to let Kartok wound me anymore than he already has. Which is why I stitch a smile on my lips and plod across the room to join Serik, hoping I look contented. And hoping, even more, that I truly feel that way in time.

  “Would it help if I told you the Chotgori brought you a gift?” Ziva appears behind Serik. I don’t know if she’s been there the entire time, hidden in the wisps of darkness that still respond to our call—though, they grow fewer by the day—or if she just bounded up the steps to join us.

  I chuff out a laugh. “What could they possibly bring me?”

  “If I tell you, it will ruin the surprise. Come on.” Ziva takes my hand and practically drags me down the stairs. Bouncing and giddy, even as her bandaged wounds continue to seep and dark exhausted circles hang beneath her eyes. She’s no longer a girl but not yet a queen. Caught between worlds, like so many of us. Hopefully, now that the war is over, she has time to find herself in both.

  When we burst out into the courtyard, I squint skeptically at the long line of travelers until my gaze lands on a cart in the middle of the procession, on top of which sits a crude cage that holds the world’s most beautiful golden eagle.

  “Orbai.” I choke on her name. I hadn’t let myself hope. I presumed the Chotgori would kill her after we disappeared into the realm of the Eternal Blue, the way Kartok was forcing her to behave. But she’s here, rumbling into the city, and I don’t know what’s flying faster, my legs or my heart.

  I wrap my arms around Ziva and hug her tight. Then I elbow through the crowd, gaze fixed on my eagle’s flashing yellow eyes. Ears attuned to nothing but her high-pitched shriek as the cart clatters over ruts in the road.

  Keep your head. Temper your expectations. Prepare for the worst, the logical part of me insists. But love cares little for logic. And faith cannot exist without hope. It’s probably wrong to beg for more after all of the miracles the First Gods have already performed, but I send a silent plea up to the Lady of the Sky anyway. Because this is the only thing I’ve ever asked for that’s wholly for myself. And because I know She cares about these seemingly small requests. She’s my mother and sister in every sense of the word.

  I throw myself against the crude bars of Orbai’s cage, crying her name, wishing I could squeeze myself through the slats and bury my face in her feathers. Orbai lets out a deafening shriek, and the man pulling the cart trips and curses me. I ignore him. No one exists beyond me and my eagle.

  “Skies, I’ve missed you,” I gush. I slip my fingers through the cracks and burst into jubilant tears when she doesn’t attempt to bite them off. But my joyous cries morph gradually into heartbreak because she also doesn’t hop closer or click her beak. She doesn’t gnaw on the bars of the cage, trying to reach me. She stands there, as aloof and guarded as the day the trappers brought her in off the grasslands and committed her to my care at Ikh Zuree.

  Tears slide down my face. I don’t know if they’re happy or sad. I never seem to know what I’m feeling anymore. Orbai is alive. And no longer under Kartok’s influence. But she’s no longer mine, either.

  I walk alongside the cart until the caravan comes to a halt in the center of the square. The travelers scatter to procure food and baths, but I remain there, beside my eagle. I can’t bring myself to part from her. As I sit there, speaking in soft tones and letting her smell my fingers, watching her eye me curiously, I decide to focus on gratitude, rather than bitterness. This isn’t the reunion I wanted, but it’s better than the worst I feared. It’s a starting point. A new beginning. And like the city of Sagaan and the Protected Territories, and even Zemya, all will be rebuilt with time.

  Serik and I aren’t invited to take part in the official peace negotiations—something he can’t stop grumbling about, but I’ve never been so relieved. Let the kings argue and angst over how to manage their unruly people. I’d much rather hide away in the treasury or fly off to the stables, where I’ve converted an empty stall into a makeshift mews for Orbai.

  “You’ll prefer this,” I tell Serik as I slide the barn door open. “It’s so quiet and peaceful.”

  Except the barn is neither quiet nor peaceful at the moment.

  Ivandar paces the center aisle, muttering and pulling at the crown of seagrass resting atop his white-blond curls. He jolts when he spots us, as if we caught him pilfering the royal coffers. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” Serik asks with a mischievous smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to be counseling with the other leaders?”

  Ivandar groans and leans against the nearest stall door, soiling his seafoam green suit.

  “I thought you wanted these responsibilities …” I say, venturing closer.

  “I do.” The prince sighs. “But I didn’t want them immediately. And not at my mother’s expense. She isn’t coming—she isn’t strong enough to journey from Zemya. According to our healers, she collapsed at the time of Kartok’s demise and didn’t rise for five days. And she has no memory of the past eight years. Her attendants say she mumbles and talks to walls. They say she sings strange songs and strokes her neck and laughs at nothing.”

  “Honestly, you’re lucky if that’s the worst of it,” Serik says with an exaggerated shake of his head. “Can you imagine Kartok sifting around in your mind for eight years?”

  I shoot Serik a glare, tempted to pinch his ear and drag him away like the abba used to at Ikh Zuree. “I’m sure your mother will return to herself soon,” I tell Ivandar, even though I’m sure of no such thing. But I refuse to accept anything else.

  Danashti will come back to Ivandar because I need Orbai to come back to me.

  “But what if she doesn’t?” Ivandar presses as he squ
ints through the barn door, trying to hide the wetness pooling in his eyes.

  “Then you’ll lead your people,” I say simply. “You’re more than capable.”

  “But am I ready?”

  “Stop dithering and focus on what you can control.” Serik presses his palms against the prince’s back and shoves him out the door. “If you want to honor your mother and those who suffered and sacrificed, do it by becoming the best damn emperor Zemya has ever known.”

  Ivandar peers over at Serik, a bemused expression crinkling his usually harsh features.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Serik demands.

  “Because you sounded just like Ghoa.”

  Serik wheezes and starts to argue. But then he bites his lip and looks down at his feet. A small grin tugs his lips. “For the first time in my life, I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  After Ivandar plods across the debris-littered courtyard to the tavern where the negotiations are taking place, I collect my eagle from her perch and take her into the abandoned gardens behind the scorched Sky Palace. Serik follows, settling beneath the larch trees to watch.

  I’ve spent as much time as possible with Orbai, reforging our bond. In a way, it’s like time has unraveled and I’m reliving our early days together—except even better. Without the Sky King’s other birds, I can focus solely on Orbai and appreciate every little milestone.

  Last week, I burst into happy tears when she flew to my glove for the first time. And every time she inches up my shoulder and clicks her beak in my ear, I can’t help but coo and praise her in a ridiculous, high-pitched voice.

  I wait for Serik to tease me, but he doesn’t say a word. He just watches, a small grin on his lips. So much quieter than before. More introspective.

  “What are you thinking about?” I often find myself asking him.

  “What do you think I’m thinking about, in the face of such beauty?” He winks and points deliberately at Orbai instead of me. Though, I catch him staring at his palms when he thinks I’m not looking. Two nights ago, I spied him trying to start a fire by rubbing sticks—like the rest of us. Praying for divine help, for power that continues to lessen every day.