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

taller and far fiercer than he did just minutes before. The entire room goes still, save for old Azamat, who continues gnawing on a pigeon bone. “These are bold accusations,” the king mutters.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty.” I march down the table, grab a fistful of Ziva’s fresh Namagaan tunic—how nice, she got to change while the rest of us remain filthy—and tug her out of her chair.

“What are you doing?” She claws at my arm.

I drag her toward the door. “Our travels have been long and difficult,” I plead with King Ihsan. “We’re clearly exhausted and raving. Perhaps we can retire and discuss these matters after we’ve rested?”

He stares at us for a good ten seconds without blinking. Finally he nods and tersely rings a bell. Less than a minute later Ruya arrives with her battalion of grim-faced soldiers.

“Zivana will be staying with me.” Yatindra rises and wrenches Ziva from my grip, but I dig my fingers into Ziva’s dress. I’m not about to let her leave, not when she’s the reason we’re being dismissed.

“Let her go,” Serik murmurs. “It’s better this way. Everyone just needs to calm down.”

“But she can’t keep her mouth shut,” I hiss. It’s bad enough that Ziva broke the news about the situation in Verdenet. If she breathes a word about the Shoniin scout, we’ll be cast out immediately. Or executed.

Ruya bangs the blunt end of her spear against the floor. “Out. All of you.”

“All of us?” Iree cries. “But it isn’t our fault Enebish—”

Ruya bangs her spear again and points us out of the dining hall.

The shepherds moan loudly and shoot me murderous glares as the soldiers escort us through the treetops with even more contempt and suspicion than before. Only now, no one intervenes on our behalf: not the Marsh King and definitely not Yatindra or Murtaugh, who are whispering furiously with Ziva in the corner.

The soldiers herd us across several swaying bridges to a series of barracks that will house us for the night. The wooden floors are hard and the woven palm frond blankets are scratchy, but it’s so much more comfortable than everything we’ve endured the past month, the shepherds eventually settle and stop squawking about the disrupted feast.

Serik huffs down beside me with an exhausted groan. “Well, we were off to a good start. King Ihsan is much more hospitable than I expected.”

“He was hospitable,” I growl, viciously tugging the strings of my boots. “Ziva ruined everything. Like I knew she would.”

Serik reaches over and places a steadying hand atop mine. Then he helps me unknot my laces—my bad arm refuses to cooperate when I’m agitated. “I actually don’t think she ruined anything,” he says.

“Were you in the same banquet hall as the rest of us? It was a disaster! We were dismissed.”

“For now. But surely Ihsan realizes we’re tired and scared and emotions are running high. Once we sit down in a more intimate setting and explain the larger picture, I think Ziva’s fierceness could be seen as a good thing. As long as her father shares her sentiment when he wakes. Who wouldn’t want such passionate allies?”

I let out a disgruntled sigh and lie back on the floor, tugging the itchy blanket over my head. “Passion is only helpful when it’s accompanied by levelheadedness.”

“Would you classify either of us as levelheaded?” Serik asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice. I grumble incoherently, and he laughs. “Don’t give up on Ziva just yet. I think she might surprise us.”

“I’m trying,” I whisper after a beat.

“I know you are.” Serik lies down beside me, close enough for me to see the slightest hint of pink returning beneath his freckles. Close enough I could reach over and gently smooth away the worry lines between his brows. And close enough to feel the balminess of his heat, which he doesn’t have to share with anyone.

For the first time in weeks, he can truly rest.

My heart flutters with tenderness as I watch him settle into sleep.

All around us, the shepherds are drifting off or talking quietly, happily, about the food and accommodations. Praying we get to stay at least a little longer. Overhead, lightning bugs buzz in jars strung from the ceiling, knocking against the glass like drunkards. Every time they do, the night judders away from the flare of light, and my eyes begin to droop as I watch the playful back-and-forth. The sky deepens, darkens, and the tendrils of night dance down from the ceiling, gliding lower and lower until they settle around me like fog.

I’ve nearly drifted off to sleep, wrapped in their inky embrace, when the threads are suddenly, and clumsily, sucked away. Shock seizes my lungs—even more abrupt than having your blanket ripped off on a chilly night—and my eyes snap open. I force my body to hold perfectly still as I scan the room for Ziva, who chose not to return with us—until now.

When the entire group is sleeping.

Tingles ignite my throat, but I resist the urge to yank the darkness out of her hands. Through slitted eyes, I watch her tiptoe between the sleeping shepherds, ducking down every so often. At last, she lifts a parcel, slings it over her shoulder, and makes her way back across the barrack.

The tension knotting my shoulders abates and I finally take a breath. She’s just retrieving her belongings. But if that’s the case, why creep around? She could have easily come while we were awake.

Suspicion hammers my breastbone as she slinks around the shepherds sleeping near the door. The buzzing in my limbs is intense. Overwhelming. Get up, it says. This isn’t right. But my gaze darts over to Serik, resting peacefully beside me, and guilt weighs me down like a soaked wool blanket. I turn away from the door. Close my eyes. Command myself to go back to sleep and ignore Ziva. I don’t care what she’s doing. Following her will only stir up more trouble.

But as the door whispers shut, the churning in