Night Spinner (Night Spinner #1) - Addie Thorley Page 0,18

and, as promised, we purchase winterberry pies. Though I haven’t a clue where Serik got the money and I’m afraid to ask because he probably stole it from the alms box at Ikh Zuree. I may not support the Sky King’s religion, but I would never steal from a church. Serik purchases another slice, devours it in two bites, and licks the sticky purple juice from his fingers.

I take my time with my pie, relishing the rich, buttery crust and the explosion of warm, tart berries in my mouth. When I exhale, some of my worries rush away with my breath. A hint of a smile spreads across my lips.

“See? This isn’t so bad.” Serik nudges me.

I nod as my heart slowly slides back down into my chest. He’s right. Everyone’s attention is on the festival and not the scarred wisp of a girl hidden beneath a faded scarf. Shining horses prance toward the fields to ready for the races, and performers dance with ribbons or play lutes. One old woman has trained pygmy goats to do tricks, their tiny hooves fitted with bells. It’s not as grand as celebrations in Verdenet, which continued day and night for nearly a week, with fire dancers and parades featuring towering statues of the Lady and Father. But this is a close second.

The only thing that blemishes the ethereal, dreamlike fantasy are the scores of people fighting against a line of mounted warriors blockading the northern entrance to the square. I tug Serik’s cloak and point in their direction. “Why aren’t they letting them in?”

“Maybe there’s no room? We’re lucky we arrived when we did.”

“They never turn anyone away from Qusbegi….” I squint at the commotion, but it’s a blurred swirl of homespun tunics.

Serik pulls me into the center of the square, where a lively game of tug-of-war is underway, one side teetering dangerously over a deep pit of mud. It’s always one of the most anticipated activities of Qusbegi, and the rowdy spectators sway back and forth with the flow of the game, hollering and exchanging bets. Serik stands on his toes and looks longingly at the men and women straining against the rope, but true to his word, we keep our distance and head back toward the edge, where the crowd is slightly thinner.

“Are you glad we came?” Serik asks, even though it’s obvious. I haven’t smiled this much in years. I didn’t fully appreciate the beauty of Sagaan when I lived here. I’ve grown so used to the monks’ scornful stares and biting remarks, part of me forgot that people were capable of laughter and cheer. The entire city is kin for the day, and I am part of it. A tiny stitch in the corner, but a thread in the tapestry all the same.

Serik points to a small stage where stringed puppets prance across fields of green velvet, but before we can move in that direction, the crowd heaves sideways. Shouts whirl around us and I nearly fall to my knees as a group of men in filthy homespun elbow through the throng. They overturn a cart of candied fruit and nuts, scoop the sweets into their tunics, and jostle past us, the mounted warriors close on their heels. The last thief, a boy no older than I am, glances up when our elbows brush. His eyes widen and he gasps as he dashes away.

My hands fly to the scarf, which is thankfully still in place. But an ominous, bone-deep dread still makes me drop the last bite of my pie. The boy was a warning from the Lady of the Sky. I grip Serik’s wrist with the crushing strength of Orbai’s talons. “We should go.”

“We can’t go now. It was just a few petty thieves. The warriors will catch them. Plus the parade is beginning.” He points to the glittering steps of the Sky Palace, where the eagle hunters strut back and forth, preening like peacocks. The first stage of the competition is a display of costumes to determine which hunter is the best turned out. Though it’s hardly a contest. All the men look fine enough in their ceremonial vests and polished boots, but they’re nothing compared to our illustrious ruler, in his cape of golden eagle feathers and bejeweled crown lined with fox fur.

“The king wins every year,” I say, “and you promised we wouldn’t stay long.”

“But the trials will start any second,” Serik whines. His lips look extra full when he frowns. Not that I