Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology) by Addie Thorley (best romance ebooks .txt) 📕

“If being trapped in the palace with the imperial governor is fine,” Ziva mutters darkly. “And that’s the best-case scenario.”

“But you were able to save your father. The king! Which is an incredible accomplishment. How did you manage it? Did you use your Night Spinning?”

“My Night Spinning came after we’d escaped. At first I thought the taunting shadows were a curse—punishment sent from the Lady and Father for killing a man.”

“But it’s the opposite. The power was a reward for your bravery.”

“If you consider stabbing a man in the back an act of bravery.” She says it so softly, I almost mistake it for the shifting sand.

“He wasn’t an innocent man. He was an assassin.”

Ziva furrows her brow and looks straight ahead. I want to press her, but I force myself to keep quiet, giving her space to fill the silence.

After almost ten minutes she blurts, “I—I didn’t even mean to kill him. It was the middle of the night. I should have been asleep, but I was thirsty and on my way to the kitchen for a glass of milk when I stumbled upon three dead guards in the hall. I wanted to scream, but I saw a shadow slip into Papa’s chamber, so I grabbed one of the guard’s blades and followed. I’ve had swordsmanship training since I was five, so I felt confident that I could at least frighten them. I figured they were a thief, picking around the royal apartments for gold and jewels. But then I saw them lean over Papa’s bed and raise a knife.

“I don’t remember the rest. I only know that I’ve never moved so fast in all my life, and I’ve never seen so much blood. It was everywhere. Gushing from Papa and the assassin, staining the bedclothes and the carpet and my nightgown. As the assassin hit the ground, I dragged Papa out of bed and into the hall with every intention of taking him to the healers, but the floor below was filled with stomping boots and shouting voices—all of them Ashkarian. So I dragged Papa down the servants’ stairs and to the barn, where I found a cart. I managed to heft him onto it, and then I started running. I was too terrified to think about where we were going, or how strange it was that no one stopped us. Now I know it’s because they couldn’t see us. I called the darkness without even realizing it.”

Silvery tears slide down her cheeks, and she paws at them furiously. I feel a sudden kinship with her—not quite tenderness, but understanding. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“And that’s just the start of it!” she says with a hysterical laugh. “Now these infuriating black ribbons won’t leave me alone, but they won’t cooperate either, and my head is always pounding and my throat is always scratchy. I feel like I’m losing my mind.” She slices her hand through the air and the whorls of darkness scatter and dodge every which way, disrupting my tenuous hold. But I don’t snap or complain as I guide the tendrils back into place.

“Kalima powers can be overwhelming at first, but rest assured that this is the Lady’s will. Saving your father awoke your power, which means you passed your test.”

“So why does it feel like I’ve failed?” She tucks her curls behind her ears and looks over at me, eyes glassy and yearning.

I don’t say a word. I can’t give her what she wants. I can’t teach her to wield the darkness. And she shouldn’t want me to. I’m a failure. The last person on the continent who should be giving lessons or advice.

“Please—” Ziva begs, but I cut her off.

“Please don’t ask me to do something we both know will end disastrously.”

“Do you honestly think I’m that hopeless and incompetent?”

No. I’m the one who’s hopeless and incompetent.

But I lie and say, “Yes.”

Because that will get her off my back.

And that’s what mentors do: lie.

Ziva resumes ignoring and avoiding me, and my conscience resumes pricking. Only now it’s a constant throb, rather than the sharp, fleeting twinge I felt when Serik’s eyes caught mine from the front of the caravan. But I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I tried being nice, and it backfired. She doesn’t want a friend. She wants a teacher. And I will never be that.

As the temperature warms and swathes of swampy wetland begin to intersperse the shrinking sand dunes, the mood of the group improves considerably. The shepherds start to laugh and sing. A few of them even acknowledge me, and not just to complain.

We reach the craggy cypress groves that cover most of Namaag at sunrise on our final day of travel. Space is scarce—we all have to squish onto the tangle of roots that act like a causeway above the mud—but it’s safer if we spend the more dangerous daylight hours hidden in the shade of the trees.

I manage to find a little nook, tucked away from everyone else, and spread out my bedroll. The knobby knees of the trees are far from comfortable, but at least they’re dry. And I’m too tired to care. My hands won’t stop shaking, my nose is dribbling blood, and the blanket of darkness is beginning to fray and tear.

Thank the skies we’ll reach Namaag tonight.

Cradling my head in my hands, I lie back and watch the thick clumps of moss sway in the breeze, so green that they’re almost black against the backdrop of the sandy-white dunes. We’re straddling two different worlds: one foot in Verdenet, the other in Namaag.

“The marshlands clearly suit you,” Serik says, appearing from out of nowhere.

I bolt upright. “What are you doing back here? Who’s managing the front of the caravan? You know how the shepherds are—you can’t leave them alone for a second. And they need your heat!”

“Relax.” Serik spreads his bedroll out beside mine. “The marshes aren’t nearly as cold, if you haven’t noticed,