Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology) Addie Thorley (best english books to read for beginners .TXT) 📖

to look away. He can say nothing in my defense. I can say nothing in my defense. The shepherds have been with us for weeks: they’ve seen me lash out and sneak around and ignore so many of Serik’s pleaded instructions.

“If you want to forgive her because you’re in love with her, that’s your prerogative,” Lalyne sneers. “But the rest of us are under no obligation to do the same. Stand aside, Serik. We must do what’s best for those who are left, and if that means eliminating Enebish to be readmitted into King Ihsan’s good graces, so be it.”

Serik looks from one hostile face to the next, then he drops to his knees between me and the shepherds, closes his eyes, and stretches his hands skyward. It’s the epitome of helplessness, of vulnerability, and it feels so much braver, and so much more powerful, than drawing a sword. If you’d told me a few short months ago that this would be Serik’s reaction—the final stand in the fight for my life—I would have laughed myself hoarse. But there he is, swinging at our assailants with patience and faith rather than fists.

“Please,” he says in a small voice, “after everything we’ve been through, do you honestly think I’d endanger you? If I truly believed Enebish was to blame, I’d let justice take its course. But I’m asking you to believe me, to trust me. I’ve given you everything—all I could possibly give and more. All I ask is this one thing in return.”

The shepherds are quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that leaves no room for deliberation.

Iree takes a decisive step backward. Away from us. Bultum and Lalyne and Azamat and at least twenty others do the same, spreading out to encircle us.

Serik raises his hands and fire pours from his fingers, streaming skyward. The blazing pillars almost remind me of the gateway to Kartok’s false Eternal Blue. “You’re certain you want to do this?” he asks, trying to mask the quaver in his voice.

The shepherds don’t answer, but the air is charged with the hair-raising buzz before a lightning storm. I reach for the night, prepared to fight alongside Serik, but before we unleash the sky, a voice drifts through the reeds, shocking in its high pitch but ferocious in its conviction.

“If you refuse to believe Serik, perhaps you’ll believe me!”

The tension shatters, and the shepherds part, sweeping to either side like window curtains. Sandals slosh into view, and dark, slender hands reach down and take my chin, forcing me to look up.

“You were right,” Ziva proclaims.

I gape at her for several seconds, waiting for her to wash away like the runoff from the water cannons. “What are you doing here?” I finally say. “Isn’t it enough that we were cast from the city? That innocent people lost their lives? Do you also have to gloat? Do you expect me to congratulate you and Yatindra on your little trick?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? You. Were. Right.” Ziva enunciates each word. “I had nothing to do with that fiasco. I didn’t even know Yatindra had invited you to ‘pray.’ Yes, I was resistant to your claims, but in this case, they were justified. Yatindra was conspiring against our alliance. She wrote to the Zemyans, telling them to come for you, instead of sending missives to our soldiers at the war front. I found their correspondences when she locked me and my father in her powder room as soon as the confrontation began—‘to protect us,’ she said. But I’m not interested in cowering in a closet while my country crumbles. Nor will I waste time trying to convince King Ihsan to change his mind about marching to Verdenet. Not if there are people who are willing to act now.”

Shock ties my tongue. I can’t remember how to form a single word. If the shepherds had fallen on my feet and showered them with kisses, I wouldn’t have been more astonished.

“Well?” Ziva crosses her arms and looks around the group. “Aren’t you going to say something? I made a rather horrifying scene in Uzul and trudged all the way out here. I’ll be furious if it was for nothing.”

I shake my head and laugh. Because, in that moment, I have no trouble picturing her as a queen.

As my queen.

“From the moment you arrived in the caves, I knew you were the key to everything!” Serik crows and slaps Ziva on the back.

The shepherds slowly nod. A few even clap.

“Did your father come as well?” Serik leans around the princess, scanning the marsh for King Minoak, but Ziva shakes her head.

The group falls instantly silent.

Ziva squirms, but only for a moment. “My father still thinks this is a misunderstanding. He doesn’t wish to sever ties with King Ihsan by joining you. But maybe it’s for the best. He’s too weak to travel or invade Lutaar City anyway. He would only slow us down.”

Bultum chokes with surprise. “But he allowed you to come to us?”

“He doesn’t allow me to do anything,” Ziva retorts. “I am perfectly capable of making my own choices. My father encourages it, in fact. I will be queen someday.”

Serik’s nod is slow and shallow. “So we proceed with our initial plan, then, and march on the imperial governor in Lutaar City?” It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself along with the rest of us.

“I hate to be the naysayer,” Azamat interjects, which is laughable because he loves to be the naysayer, “and I mean no offense, Your Highness”—he sketches a little bow at Ziva—“but we can’t invade Verdenet and expect to unseat the imperial governor when led by a princess who’s hardly more than a child. It won’t rally the citizens of Lutaar City. Plus, we have no food. Or supplies. Or weapons.”

Ziva glares at Azamat, and I feel the darkness shiver as her fists tighten. My fingers tense—ready to step in—but Ziva blows out a breath and rearranges her sneer into a saccharine smile. “No need