Night Spinner (Night Spinner #1) - Addie Thorley Page 0,36

door and I stand up straighter as it swings open. Candlelight spills across my boots and the sweet smell of curried goat meat wafts past my nose, making my mouth water. A young woman squints at me, her face pinched.

It’s bad luck and incredibly rude to speak across the threshold of a residence, so I wait to be invited in, but the girl’s dark eyes merely flick from me to Orbai. I squirm and attempt to smile from beneath my hood, but still she does not welcome me. Finally I can wait no longer. I must either offend her or freeze to death. “I’m sorry to trouble you at such a late hour, but—”

The girl tumbles outside, waving her hands. “Do you wish to curse us both?” She waits until the door latch clicks before continuing. “What do you want?” She crosses her sinewy arms and her eyes rake up and down my frame.

“I mean no harm,” I say with a bow. “I’m a weary traveler looking for shelter from the cold.”

“We’re already housing a family of five. And next door, they took in two families with small children. It’s the same all down the street. I’m sure you understand.” She retreats toward the door.

“I don’t understand.” I scurry after her. “Why is Salkhi so crowded?”

“The shepherds have nowhere to go. The winter grazing lands are an ice floe.” She taps her toe impatiently.

“What?”

“Have you been living under a rock? The Sun Stokers couldn’t be spared from the war front to warm the fields. The Sky King has sent fewer each year, making for long, hard winters, but this year he withheld them entirely.”

My mind spins like the tail of a kite. Each year thousands of shepherds migrate to the winter grazing lands outside of Sagaan. It’s the only way their flocks are able to survive the great freeze. “The Sky King would never allow that. He cultivated the fields for the express purpose of—”

“Never allow it?” She laughs. “He ordered it. The caravans that arrived first found shelter and boarding for their animals, but the rest are camping on the ice field, brawling for the scanty shelter beneath trees. Go see for yourself if you don’t believe me. There’s an entire city of freezing homeless.”

I try to speak, but my lungs sputter as if choking on a violent gust of wind. Ghoa’s ragged voice echoes in my thoughts: We’re losing.

The girl’s expression softens. She reaches into her apron and presses a small bundle into my hands. I peel back the cloth to reveal three strips of dried goat’s meat.

“It’s all we can spare.” She shrugs apologetically and slips back inside.

Orbai scoots down my arm and snatches a strip of meat while I stare at the smattering of torchlight downriver, where the winter grazing lands begin. The girl was lying. Or exaggerating. Conditions can’t be as dire as she claimed. Ghoa would never allow it. She would send the Sun Stokers immediately if she knew thousands of shepherds were suffering.

An image of her desperate eyes flashes through my thoughts. Her voice cracks over the admission: I’m failing.

A finger of disquiet trails down my spine, and instead of continuing on to the next row house, I stuff the remaining goat’s meat into my pocket and limp down the riverbank toward the grazing lands. As I draw closer to the fields, the usually hard-packed streets become muddy and wheel-riddled, peppered with mounds of animal dung. Shanties made of driftwood and sheepskin are stretched beneath every tree.

The king would never have held his lavish Qusbegi Festival if people were without food and shelter. But then I think of the mounted warriors blockading the entrance to the square. The beggars in rough homespun. The overturned food cart and the wild-eyed boy who barreled into me. I quicken my pace, my fists tightening into rocks.

When I reach the fields that are usually verdant despite the season, I find brown grass crusted with old, filthy snow. Instead of fragrant globeflowers, there are boulders of ice. Sheep and horses bray and whinny, bemoaning the unbearable cold. Even the wisps of night are at the mercy of the frigid temperature, gliding slowly through the sky as if swimming through sap.

The shepherds bustle around their tents, lashing blankets and furs over the felt walls for extra insulation. Their dwellings are made for easy transport, composed of lightweight poles and cloth that provide adequate shelter for the majority of the year, but they will never protect the nomads through the