Night Spinner (Night Spinner #1) - Addie Thorley Page 0,17
imagine every bad scenario, all the thousands of ways this could go wrong, but all I can see are Orbai’s brilliant brown feathers winging across the cerulean sky.
“Okay,” I whisper, adjusting the scarf to hide my scars.
Serik tilts his head back and whoops. “You won’t regret this, En. Even if we’re trapped for the rest of our lives, we’ll always have today.”
He crinkles his eyes, takes my hand, and we steal down the road to Sagaan.
CHAPTER FOUR
I HAD FORGOTTEN WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE AMONG SO MANY people. The Grand Courtyard—comprised of the white-and-gold marbled Sky Palace on one side, the bluestone treasury on another, and hundreds of colorful vendor stalls twisting like a serpent’s tail to enclose the remaining two borders—is nearly as large as the entire compound of Ikh Zuree. But even at the edges, we are crammed shoulder to shoulder with festivalgoers. We thrash and fight like fish in a net. Squeeze and sweat like grapes in a press.
I dig my nails into Serik’s wrist, pressing harder and harder until he yelps and looks back. “‘We’ll keep to the shadows, far from the crowds and noise,’” I hiss his words back to him.
He shrugs and mouths the word sorry, though it’s clear he isn’t. His face glows brighter than the marigold lanterns bobbing overhead, and his movements are as frenzied as the blue-and-gold imperial banners snapping in the breeze.
We weave around the edges of the cobbled square. In the center, the crowd throngs around Kalima warriors displaying various powers. Rain Makers create a mist so fine and sparkling, the festivalgoers look to be dusted in crystals. Hail Forgers bring rainbow-colored stones floating to the ground like bubbles, and Sun Stokers juggle blinding orbs of light that are hot enough to melt iron. Beside them, the two most illustrious magic-barren warriors, Toko the Thrasher and Gupta the Brutal, sign leaflets and give weapons demonstrations, all while herding hordes of eager children toward the recruitment tables.
Nearly every child in Ashkar enlists at the age of eleven. Not because they’re forced to, but because they dream of wielding the sky. And if a Kalima power doesn’t present, no matter. They’ll happily claim the fame and adoration won by fearsome warriors like Toko and Gupta. The king is clever, I’ll give him that. The war with Zemya has raged so long, and acquiring the Protected Territories required such a massive effort, he could have easily made conscription mandatory. Instead he painted banners with his warriors’ faces and named holidays in their honor. He made the upcoming generations want to enlist and give their lives to Ashkar.
Bitter bile stings my throat and I turn my back on the warriors, but the rest of the festival offers little comfort. Men in polished leather vests tower above me, readying for the eagle competition—an event I spend the entire year training for but will never compete in. Beautiful women twirl lacy parasols and trail the cloyingly sweet scent of rose and citrus. I choke and cough on the perfume, hating the admiring eyes that follow their every movement. Hating that I will never look like them. Hating that I want to look like them.
People knock into my shoulder and brush against my back. Hands graze mine, and I recoil with a gasp. I can’t remember the last time someone touched me, other than Serik and Ghoa, and it feels so foreign, so slippery and hot and wrong. I shove my hands inside my cloak and bite my lips together to keep from shouting a warning:
Keep back. It’s dangerous. I am dangerous.
“You look like you swallowed a handful of rocks.” Serik laughs and slings his arm around me. He smells of incense and pine ink and old prayer scrolls. Smells I thought I despised, but now they feel so familiar. So safe. I nestle into the crook of his arm and scrunch my eyes. “Relax, En. The chaos is a good thing. We’re specks in the crowd.”
This isn’t just a crowd. It’s a stampede, a swarm. We’re ants on a teeming hill, surrounded by thousands of other ants all vying for the same crumb. I tug furiously at my collar, suddenly hot. How did I ever feel comfortable here? A few short years ago I plowed through these masses like a charging bull. Now I’m a squeaking mouse. If it weren’t for Serik holding me up and pulling me forward, I’d be trampled.
“Maybe something warm will calm your nerves.” Serik steers me toward a vendor cart,