Night Spinner (Night Spinner #1) - Addie Thorley Page 0,22
into a sneer. Anger would be better than this cool disregard. Anger would prove she still cares—at least a little.
She’s just protecting her reputation, I tell myself. If she showed me mercy, she would look weak in the eyes of the king. But her sneer is so convincing, I fear she has actually forsaken me this time.
The king arrives last, his deep voice bellowing over the chaos like battle cannons. “You!” He levels a beringed finger at me.
Varren slams his boot onto my back, forcing me even lower. Until my forehead presses against the ground in utter submission. “F-forgive me, Your Majesty. I meant no harm or offense.”
The king grunts and spits on the back of my head—a thick, wet blob that tangles in my hair. Then he raises his hands and turns to the multitude. “Fear not! I shall protect you from this dangerous traitor. Take her to the steps of the Sky Palace.”
The crowd roars their approval, and I let out a warbling cry. Only one thing happens on those infamous steps. They’re made of white marble for two reasons: first, to resemble clouds—a heavenly pathway leading up to the resplendent golden palace. And second, because the blood of traitors stands out stark against the pale, glittering stones.
Fear squeezes my neck like a garrote as the throng heaves toward the steps, racing to obtain the best view of my execution.
I never should have come here. I never should have left Ikh Zuree.
Serik calls my name, but his voice is muffled by the stampede.
As soon as the eyes of the crowd are no longer upon us, the king turns slowly. I hold my breath and brace for a boot to the ribs, but his storm-gray eyes settle on Ghoa. He leans so close, droplets of spittle spray her cheeks. “You swore the girl would be contained, that she wouldn’t be a problem or a danger. But here she is, in my city, ruining my celebration, making a mockery of me when I can’t afford to look weak!”
Tyberion has never forgotten the riots that broke out at the very hour of his father’s death. How the people rejected him, and nearly deposed him, for his lack of a Kalima power.
His feathered mantle quivers and he jabs a finger into Ghoa’s chest. “You have failed me.”
Ghoa’s face shines with sweat and her throat works furiously. She looks seconds away from vomiting as she stutters over an apology. Each choked word slices through my flesh like a blade because I am the guilty one. I should be groveling. Ghoa did nothing wrong; she was only trying to help me and Serik. She is always trying to help me and Serik. We are her one weakness. The chink in her armor. And the king knows it.
I send a silent prayer up to the Lady of the Sky, begging Her to turn the sun’s fiery rays upon me. Burn me to dust and blow me away. Anything to make this better for Ghoa. But even the Goddess must be ashamed, for I remain where I am. Helpless and disgraced.
I lift my head and mouth the words, I’m sorry, but Ghoa keeps her gaze rigidly fixed upon the king.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I assure you this will never happen again,” she says, forcing steel into her voice.
“It certainly won’t. Because we’re going to put this monster down, as we should have two years ago. And you will perform the execution, Commander, since you are the one who failed to keep her in line.”
“No!” As soon as the word is out, Ghoa slaps her hand over her lips. “I mean—”
“Yes,” the king hisses. He motions to Varren and the other Kalima warriors surrounding me. “Bring the girl.”
“Please don’t do this!” I wail. “Have mercy.” I’m not pleading for myself; that’s a lost cause. But I cannot put Ghoa in this terrible position.
The Kalima drag me forward and bursts of pain flare through my mangled arm. I howl and thrash, but that only makes the mob gasp louder. Which makes my captors’ holds tighten. A vicious cycle of torture and humiliation.
Serik pushes up to his elbows and grasps for my boot as they drag me past, but a Breeze Bringer sends a spray of dirt and snow into his face and he crumples once more, motionless in his grimy sunburst cloak.
Better that he doesn’t see. He needn’t shoulder the blame.
The Kalima drag me up the palace steps, flight after excruciating flight, until we reach the final landing.