Night Spinner (Night Spinner #1) - Addie Thorley Page 0,55

further than I ever had, hoping he might consider me for the promotion. I didn’t want to take it from Ghoa, of course. But the position wasn’t yet hers. And she was already letting the taste of power go to her head.

“Desperation is never a good look,” I say—the same admonition I gave her back then.

Ghoa’s eyes flare with recognition, then fury. This isn’t something the submissive, obedient Enebish would say. It’s something Enebish the Warrior would say.

My words clang in the space between us like the Gesper Temple bells.

She steps closer, her hair as white as frost. A wash of ice pours across the ground, freezing the snow beneath my feet. “I will ask you once more, Enebish.” Ghoa carefully enunciates each word. “What do you know of Temujin?”

“And if I choose not to tell you?”

“I’ll do what I must to protect my king and country.”

“And I’ll do what I must to protect my family.”

“Am I not part of that family?” Ghoa’s voice breaks on the last word, but it’s too late for her to pretend to care.

“Why don’t you ask Serik?” I bellow.

Ghoa clutches her head and screams, “Enough!” A pulse of frigid air knocks me back and the icicles hanging from the trees fall like harsh, chiming raindrops. But instead of crashing to the ground, the shards hurtle toward me like daggers.

I’m so stunned, I can’t move.

I try to fling myself sideways, but my legs are disconnected from my body.

At the last second, Orbai leaps into the air and veers in front of me.

The tiny blades slam into her chest and shred through her wings. She stops abruptly, as if she slammed into the solid walls of Ikh Zuree, and hangs in the air for a terrible second before she plummets.

Her shriek rends the quiet—a horrific, warbling howl.

She crumples to the snow, thrashing and keening. Gleaming ice protrudes from her chest, along with an oil slick of blood—so dark and thick, it’s nearly black.

I can’t look away from it.

This isn’t real. It can’t be real.

I drop to my knees and scream at the top of my voice. “What have you done?”

My ribs are shrinking. Breaking. I can’t breathe.

Ghoa staggers forward, a wail caged behind her hands. “I’m s-sorry,” she cries. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“What have you done?” I shout again. Blood coats my fingers as I claw at the glistening shards. Tears clog my nose and mouth. I am choking, sobbing, drowning. Sinking, severing, shattering. Until there’s nothing left of me.

Only the monster.

It shudders to life in my belly, and for once, I do not try to tame it. I let its frenzy burn through me like wildfire. I dare it to slash through the paper-thin barrier of my skin.

The moonstone trembles in response, pumping its infuriating, serene vibrations through my chest. The sweat dotting my forehead dries. Exhaustion drags at my arms, as if I’m wearing iron vambraces. Before the moonstone can sing the monster to sleep entirely, I throw myself at Ghoa.

She raises her hands to block my attack, but I’m not coming for her. I need to get Orbai to a healer. And I need to ensure Ghoa can’t stop me or follow me. Which means I need the cover of darkness.

At the last moment, I dive for her boots. Using my good hand, I snatch her dagger, push to my knees, and raise the knife.

Ghoa flexes her fingers and a saber made of ice swirls from her fist. It’s five times the length of my dagger. “Put it down, Enebish. You don’t want to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” I growl. Then I turn the knife on myself, angling the tip of the blade beneath the moonstone. It’s trembling so violently, it feels hot instead of cold. It pumps its poison through me, telling me to drop the knife. To back away from the monster.

I gasp and press harder.

“Stop!” Ghoa roars, but I shove the dagger deeper, carving the poisonous rock from my skin.

White-hot pain lances through me. Rivulets of sticky blood seep down my chest, and I squeal because it feels like I’m cutting out a lethal tumor and an essential organ all at once.

As soon as the moonstone plunks into the snow, a delicious, familiar tingling reignites in the back of my throat. A steady thrum of heat builds in my palms until I thrust them to the side and tilt my face up to the heavens.

The sun has risen over the river, painting the sky a brilliant tangerine, which should make