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

the Namagaans allow us to construct pens on the root pathways below the city, to house the goats and sheep. It feels entirely too permanent, but up the makeshift bars go, and the shepherds fall into the routine of this strange forest world. Every morning, a group of shepherds lead the animals from the pens to a clearing of swamp grass, with the help of Namagaan guides. The animals spend the day there grazing, then the shepherds bring them back into the swamp at sunset—so they can keep a close eye on them overnight, to ensure congregations of alligators or yellow-eyed reed panthers don’t attack.

The process is inconvenient and unsustainable, but no matter how many hints I drop, reminding the shepherds of the beauty of the open grasslands and that traveling is their way of life, they wave away my remarks and assure me their animals are resilient. And that they themselves are not averse to change.

“After the suffering we’ve endured these past months, our mindset has shifted,” Bultum explains when he returns from bringing in the sheep. “I finally see the appeal of having a permanent home and putting down roots.” He pats one of the large tree trunks and smiles. As if Namaag is that home and these trees are his roots.

The other shepherds nod their agreement, and it leaves me so flabbergasted, I babble in starts and stops as I follow them back up to the canopy.

“Doesn’t it bother you that the Namagaans plainly don’t want us here?” I ask Emani and Lalyne, along with several other shepherdesses, the next day as they sit at their wheels, spinning wool. “I hate how they stare at us through their windows and spy on us from behind branches but never offer greetings or help. I’ll be relieved when King Minoak recovers and we can return to a more normal existence, somewhere we won’t feel like burdensome outcasts.”

“Where will that be?” Lalyne demands. “Where will we ever be welcome? You may be from Verdenet, but the rest of us aren’t. They may not be any more hospitable.”

I have nothing to say to that.

A week later I’m forced to swallow more complaints when the Namagaans finally venture down from their tree houses and become too friendly: showing us how to make buttonbush pastes and sea oat poultices to dress our wounds, how to mend holes in our tunics and tents with fibrous pondweed that’s stronger than cloth, and how to work the wonderous aqueducts. With the turn of a knob, water streams from above, as if summoned by a Rain Maker, washing away the day’s sweat and grime. With the lift of a lever, you can fill waterskins or wash dishes, accomplishing tasks in one tenth the amount of time it takes in Ashkar.

In return, the shepherds roast lamb each day in the clearing, where it’s safe to build a fire, and the Namagaans happily feast on the new delicacies. They’re equally excited about the balls of raw wool that the weavers “magically” transform into yarn.

I relay it all to King Minoak as I perch outside his window in a cocoon of darkness, praying one of these reports will be troubling enough to wake him. But he remains in a fitful, fevered sleep.

“Doesn’t this concern you?” I finally break down and ask Serik at the close of our second week in the marshlands. We’re sitting on the edge of a platform, legs dangling through the rope railing, watching the marketplace below—where the shepherds are wearing colorful Namagaan head wraps and eagerly gathering chokeberries and hickory nuts. Some even help to prepare tree fowl and alligator for supper—things they will never cook again once we leave Namaag.

Serik chuckles and gives me a puzzled look. “Why would this concern me? It’s exactly what we hoped for—kinship and camaraderie. When the scouts return and verify our claims, the Namagaans will be more likely to stand with us.”

“But we’re getting too comfortable!” I wave at the disturbing scene below. “Just look at them. They practically look Namagaan. They’ll never agree to leave.”

“First off, I think they’ve earned a little comfort after everything they’ve endured. And of course we’ll leave. If we don’t stand up to the Sky King and Zemyans, Namaag will be overtaken too. The shepherds know we can’t stay. We just have to hope the Namagaans will join us when we return to Verdenet. Try to relax and enjoy this small victory. We’ve had so few. Hopefully morale will be high when we do leave.”

I mumble something that could pass for agreement, even though I’m more agitated than ever. Of course Serik doesn’t see the problem; like the shepherds, he’s settled into Namagaan life with frightening ease. He’s either rubbing elbows with their soldiers and groveling before King Ihsan, or down at water level with the fisherman, armed with a double-pronged spear. Turns out, his power is most useful for spotlighting the black speckled manta rays that swim through the water after dark.

I am the only one who doesn’t fit here. The only one who isn’t being lulled into complacency. How many times must I remind them that Kartok and Temujin are coming? They could arrive any day!

I invent an excuse about promising to help Azamat weave a palm-frond mat, but as soon as I’m out of Serik’s view, I head toward Yatindra and Murtaugh’s mansion. Ziva will share my restlessness. She never stops talking about marching to Verdenet—when she’s around. Disquiet dances down my spine when I realize I haven’t seen her in days. Well over a week. It’s almost as unsettling as the shepherds’ contentment. If even Ziva has lost her urgency, I might as well start unpacking.

With twitching hands, I climb the treacherous ladder and practically run to the extravagant mansion. I tug on a braided rope dangling in the entry, so desperate to find Ziva, I foolishly assumed she would answer the door. My smile falters at the sight of Yatindra. Her smile flattens too, and it makes me