Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology), Addie Thorley [100 books to read in a lifetime txt] 📗

without food or supplies. That’s why I started stealing them from these people. They’re refugees from Ashkar, and they were kind enough to help us. We couldn’t return to Verdenet because an imperial governor has taken the city.”

Tears are running down the woman’s face, smearing her makeup, and she fans herself with her hand. A long moment passes before she can speak. “My brave girl. And my poor brother. You did the right thing, coming here.”

She stands, makes a vain attempt to smooth her rumpled red dress, and finally addresses the rest of us. “I am Yatindra Yimeni, daughter of Verdenet and wife of Namaag. Thank you for aiding my family. You have my deepest thanks and are welcome to stay for a time to recover from your efforts. May I see my brother?”

The shepherds part. Yatindra passes through our ranks and kneels beside the litter. “It’s about time you came to visit me,” she chokes out, touching Minoak’s face. Her fingers continue down his bloody garments, and she gasps into the back of her hand. He stirs at the sound. Not fully waking, but a subtle change of breath. A tiny sign of life, which makes her cry even harder.

“We must tend these wounds at once.” She directs the shepherds responsible for the litter to follow her down one of the swaying bridges, and Ziva trails behind them. Before they disappear into the dense foliage, Yatindra calls back to us, “I’ll return for the rest of you once he’s settled with the healers.”

I want to object. She can’t just leave us here, surrounded by soldiers in an unfamiliar land. But she does.

The soldier who escorted us into the city steps forward, looking even more imposing with her orange-cloaked brigade behind her. They’re armed with reed-thin spears and small, sleek bows fitted to their wrists. Weapons that can zip easily through the trees.

“Follow us,” she barks.

Serik steps forward, his face tight with a forced smile. “Yatindra instructed—”

“I don’t serve Yatindra. I serve King Ihsan, who will want to meet you.” She jabs her spear at the nearest shepherds. As they wail and stumble down the swaying rope bridge, I want to reach for the night, craving that added protection. But I release the tendrils before they blacken the marsh. If we want to make an alliance with the Namagaans, we cannot present as a threat.

We also can’t present as a pitiful group of yowling refugees, but there’s nothing to be done about that right now.

The soldiers prod us deeper and deeper into the canopy. Chattering voices join the cacophony of birdsong and vibrant colors flash behind the leaves. Curious Namagaans trail us. Watching us. But no one emerges to greet us from the homes and shops crowding every branch. And the common areas they’ve constructed by connecting the platforms of close-standing trees are newly deserted. Meals left half finished. Riderless swings swaying.

King Ihsan’s palace is built around a particularly large tree, each level stacked atop the next, clear to the thinnest branches. I have no idea how they can bear the weight and I have no interest in journeying up there. Just looking at the far-off windows puts me back in the spire salon, crashing against the frozen glass. Leaping from the balcony.

All to save a traitor.

I expect the soldiers to herd us into an extravagant throne room that could rival the Sky King’s, but the commander raps on a humble door made of bark with a quaint apple knob. A scrawny man with thinning hair opens it and squints into the morning.

“Ruya? What is the meaning of this?” Sleep lines crisscross the man’s cheeks and his voice is still rough.

I wait for her to snap at the servant to run and fetch the king, but she brings her fist to her forehead and bows.

“Pardon the intrusion, Your Majesty.”

Your Majesty?

Shocked whispers ripple through our company. What sort of king answers his own door? And in his dressing gown! I take in his scruffy robe and drooping socks. The dim light of the room behind him shows a modest fireplace and a simple desk littered with books.

“These refugees arrived unannounced and wish to seek asylum in our city,” Ruya resumes. “I knew you would want to address the issue yourself, since there are so many of them. It seems overtly suspicious.”

“Yes.” The Marsh King eyes us. “Especially when they look so … menacing.” He studies our dirty faces and threadbare clothes and the lambs wriggling in the shepherds’ arms.

“Precisely,” Ruya says.

King Ihsan bites back a smile and pats Ruya’s shoulder. “Excellent work. You may go. I’ll determine what’s to be done with these intruders.”

Ruya hesitates. “Don’t think me impertinent, Your Majesty, but—”

“I’d only think you impertinent if you suggest I cannot handle this matter on my own.”

“Of course not, my liege. Forgive me.” Ruya bows and leads the other soldiers back across the bridge.

King Ihsan leans against the door frame and raises a silver brow at us. “Well?” It’s the least formal, most unkingly action I’ve ever witnessed. “Have you come to lay siege to my kingdom? Or steal my jewels? Or perhaps you plan to attack me with your rabid sheep?” He chuckles at a little lamb, bleating as it totters across a bridge.

Serik steps forward, and a swell of pride fills my chest as he wets his lips and pulls his shoulders back. “We mean you no harm,” he says in a practiced, official tone. “We are humble refugees from Ashkar, simple—”

“Wait, let me guess,” Ihsan cuts in. “Shepherds?”

“How could you tell?” Serik asks, so focused on impressing the king that he seems to have forgotten the frightened animals literally knocking around our feet.

King Ihsan laughs and slaps Serik on the shoulder. “I like you. You’re funny. Come, let’s chat in the dining hall. Minerva will fix you all something to eat. It looks as if you’ve been through a lot.”

More than a few of the shepherds break down with tears, and Serik blurts out, “You’re receiving us, just