The Sky Weaver

by Kristen Ciccarelli

  Most of all, though: he would fail Roa. And that was unacceptable.

  It broke Safire’s heart—because she understood it. She didn’t want him to fail the scrublanders. She wanted him to save them. And in order to do that, he couldn’t side with her. He had to side with Leandra.

  “Dax,” she said softly. “When you made me your commandant, you made it my duty to uphold the law. You made it my mission to always choose what is right and good and just.” She held his gaze. “I’m sorry I can’t prove it to you; I wish I could. But I know in my heart that to hand Eris over to the empress is to deliver an innocent into the hands of a fiend. And if that means I have to go against you, and Roa, and even the kingdom, then that is what I must do.”

  Dax stared at her, his hands clenching and unclenching, as if facing down a terrible choice. “I can’t stand against her without proof,” he said, as if to himself. “But if I return to the citadel with this news, she’ll send her soldiers to arrest you. You’ll be imprisoned for aiding an enemy of the Skyweaver. There’s nothing I can do to stop it.” She could see in his eyes that his heart was breaking. “There’s only one way I can save both you and the scrublands.”

  Safire frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sorry, Safire,” he whispered. “But seeing as I can no longer trust you, I hereby strip you of your title.”

  She fell back, the breath rushing out of her. “What?”

  “You’re no longer my commandant.”

  Those words hollowed her out. “But . . . my place is by your side.”

  Dax wasn’t just her dearest friend. He was her family. She and Dax defended each other, always.

  He shook his head. “I won’t sabotage the alliance—Roa’s people need it too much. But nor will I watch them put you in a prison cell.”

  “Dax, please.” Safire stepped toward him, wondering if it was too late to take it all back. To change her mind and do as he requested. But to do so was to go against her own conscience. “Where am I supposed to go?”

  More important: what if he needed her? He would be walking into that citadel alone, delivering news the empress didn’t want to hear. What if she punished him instead of Safire?

  “Dax, it’s too dangerous . . .”

  Ignoring her, he grabbed his flight jacket from where it hung on the back of a chair, then swung it on.

  “Get as far away from here as you can,” he said, heading for the door. “Leave these islands, Safire. That’s a command from your king.”

  Thirty-Seven

  When Eris stepped back across, silence greeted her. The ghost was gone. The summoner, she assumed, had reported to Jemsin.

  In the dim light of the labyrinth, Eris leaned against one of its stained-glass walls and sank down to the floor. She pressed her palms to her eyes, willing herself to go numb. To not think about the choice ahead of her.

  Because it wasn’t a choice. It was what she must do if she wanted to survive: wait for Safire to return to the citadel, then follow her there. She was sure, now that Safire knew Eris wouldn’t give up hunting her cousin, that she would go to warn Asha. In doing so, Safire would lead Eris straight to the Namsara.

  But as Eris waited, the emotions swirling within her grew into a maelstrom. She thought of the look in Safire’s eyes when she realized nothing had changed. That Eris was still the same petty thief she’d always been—one who would endanger the life of someone she loved by delivering her into the hands of the enemy.

  Eris steeled herself against this. Who cares what she thinks of me?

  But from the day she first set foot in Firgaard and ran straight into the king’s commandant, Eris cared.

  She pushed the thought from her mind. If she stayed here, there was a chance she would talk herself out of this. She couldn’t afford that. She needed to act now. Needed to get this over with.

  Forcing herself to her feet, Eris went to fetch her scarp thistle darts and her dart shooter, then stood facing down a door the same shade of blue as Safire’s eyes. The one that reminded Eris of the sand on her skin and Safire’s legs tangled up with hers and that moment when she remembered—for the first time in seven years—what happiness felt like.

  Don’t think about it. Just do your job.

  Reaching for the knob, she pulled the door open and stepped through.

  When the mist cleared and the world came back into view, it wasn’t the grand halls of the citadel around her, but worn clapboard walls that smelled strongly of fish. The air here was different, too. Dry and warm and slightly smoky.

  Eris looked up to find an open window letting in the salt air. In the distance, beyond a garden full of red and yellow poppies, she could see the sea.

  The sound of raised voices in the room at the end of this hall made her go quiet and still.

  She heard heavy footsteps, then the shutting of a door, followed by silence. Careful not to make a sound, Eris crept to where the hall ended, then peered around the corner just in time to see Safire—still wearing the blue dress—collapse into a wooden chair. Eris watched as she pressed her face into her hands and began to shake with silent sobs.

  The effect on Eris was instantaneous. She immediately forgot about Jemsin. And Kadenze. And the empress. The sound of Safire weeping made Eris want to step into that room and make whatever had broken her heart better.

  Before she could, the door opened . . . and in stepped the key to Eris’s freedom.

  The Namsara.

  The first thing Eris noticed was the burn scar that took up nearly half of Asha’s face and neck. Her dark hair was woven into a braid down her back and a knife glinted at her hip. The moment she entered the house, Asha’s black eyes found her cousin and she crossed the room in three steps, dropping to her knees before Safire. “What happened?”

  Eris ducked back down the hall, waiting for her chance as Safire told Asha everything: how soldiers had seen her and Eris on the beach. How Dax had come to offer her clemency if she handed Eris in. How she’d refused to do it, forcing Dax to strip her of her title. He’d told her to leave the islands, because Lumina soldiers would be coming to arrest her.

  Eris listened to all of it, her heart pounding in her chest, as she kept her cheek pressed against the clapboard facing the open window.

  Safire had chosen Eris—chosen to protect her—over everything she held dear: her family, her loyalty, her kingdom.

  “What if I’ve ruined everything?” Safire asked her cousin.

  Suddenly, a blue-black raven flew to the windowsill, stretching its wings as it perched there, its bloodred eyes fixing Eris with a stare.

  She would know those eyes anywhere.

  Kadenze. Come to ensure she did her job.

  Eris grew cold, remembering the way it lunged at Safire in the labyrinth. There was no ghost to intervene and protect Safire this time. Eris knew the price she’d pay if she didn’t see this through.

  “Stay here,” Asha said from the room beyond. “I’ll fetch Torwin. We’ll figure out what to do.”

  Eris heard the floorboards creak.

  “Everything will be all right.”

  When the door clicked closed, Eris knew this was her chance. Gripping her dart, she listened as Asha’s footsteps led away from the house.

  But her thoughts weren’t on the Namsara. They were on the girl in the room beyond this hall. Safire had protected Eris and was suffering as a result.

  Why?

  You won’t endanger the life of someone I love, Safire had told her in the labyrinth. That’s not who you are.

  Kadenze stared from the windowsill, watching her. If Eris didn’t act, she not only wouldn’t be free, she would be dead. And, from the look in the summoner’s eyes, Safire along with her.

  Eris forced her feet to take her to the window. The blue-black raven flew from the sill to the roof. Eris climbed out. Dropping into the bed of poppies, she turned in the direction of the Namsara, who was already disappearing down the path through the tuckamores.

  With the su
mmoner circling above, Eris forced Safire from her thoughts. Gripping her scarp dart, she followed the girl into the woods.

  Because Safire was wrong. This was what Eris was: someone who would do anything to survive, to escape those who hunted her. She wasn’t noble and soft and respectable like Safire.

  The sooner you get this over with, she thought, her heart heavy as a stone in her chest, the sooner you’ll be free.

  Eris caught up to the Namsara, her footsteps silent as the wind. She could see Asha was alone and unarmed, except for the knife at her hip.

  But despite her efforts to remain unheard and unseen, Asha felt her.

  When the path widened, the girl stopped. Turning her face slightly, she called out: “Who’s there?”

  It was now or never.

  Eris lifted her dart shooter to her lips. She sucked in a breath, about to blow a scarp dart into the soft part of Asha’s shoulder, when the trees rustled up ahead and a man stepped out.

  “Dagan,” Asha breathed his name. “You scared me.”

  At the sight of the newcomer, Eris froze.

  The man on the other side of Asha was older than she remembered. His face was lined by years at sea and his hair was almost entirely white with age. But she knew him. A sudden memory struck her, of running down the scrin’s wharf at the sight of his boat’s sails. Of the smile that greeted her when he’d cast anchor. Of the weathered hands that passed her baskets of fish.

  Dagan.

  A lump formed in her throat at the sight of her old friend. And in that moment, she forgot to keep herself concealed.

  The old fisherman looked up, over Asha’s shoulder, and saw her.

  His forehead folded in a frown. And then his eyes shone with recognition as he whispered her name.

  “Eris?”

  It was the way he said it that undid her. He was speaking to the girl she used to be. Not the girl she was. He was seeing the child she’d been before everyone and everything she loved was torn away from her.

  Eris stepped back, not wanting him to get close. Not wanting him to realize what she was about to do.

  Because above them, Kadenze flew in slow circles. Watching her.

  “Is that really you?” Dagan said, taking a step toward her.

  Asha had turned around now. Her eyes narrowed on the dart shooter in Eris’s hand.

  A caw! broke the moment—a warning about the cost of not coming through on her deal.

  If she didn’t act now, she would lose everything all over again.

  Eris faced down the Namsara—the cousin Safire loved, and who loved her back. Eris had known that kind of love once. Lifting the shooter once more to her lips, Eris sucked in a breath. Only this time, as she blew with all the force in her, she tilted it skyward.

  The dart flew.

  Straight at Kadenze.

  The raven writhed as it hit, then quickly regained its balance. She could almost feel its shock . . . which quickly turned to rage as it swooped back, its red eyes on her.

  Eris stepped back. It hadn’t worked and now Kadenze was coming for her.

  It must be immune. . . .

  Kadenze stumbled, dipping, then recovering.

  Eris stopped her retreat.

  It dipped again, losing control, then dropped into the forest.

  Eris looked back to Asha and Dagan, then exchanged her dart shooter for her spindle.

  “Wait,” said Asha, stepping closer.

  “The empress made Jemsin a deal,” said Eris, already crouching down. “I don’t know why Leandra wants you, but I suggest you stay far away from her.”

  Her hands trembled as she drew a silver line in the earth. It glowed faintly as the mist poured out.

  What have I done? The question beat in her brain. She needed to run. Needed to head for the furthest port from here and stow away aboard a ship. . . .

  Once the poison wears off, Kadenze will come for me. It always does.

  She shook off the thought.

  I have to try. . . .

  “Eris,” said Asha, taking another step.

  “That raven,” she interrupted. “It’s not a raven. I don’t know how long you’ll have before it wakes, but once it does, if Safire’s nearby . . .” She shook her head, her heart aching at the thought. “Please, get her away from here. As quickly as you can.”

  The mist was rising. Eris glanced up once more, to Dagan this time.

  “I’m not the girl you knew,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  Just before she stepped across, the knife at Asha’s hip gleamed in the setting sun, catching her eye. Those designs etched into the hilt . . . she’d seen them before.

  Eris didn’t have time to figure it out, because once the scarp poison wore off, Kadenze would wake. She needed to go—now.

  So Eris stepped into the mist, leaving them all behind. Praying that Asha would do as she said and get Safire somewhere safe. Praying that Dagan would remember the girl she’d once been instead of seeing the one she was.

  It was only after she walked the path through the mist and stars, only after the walls of the labyrinth solidified around her, that she remembered.

  The knife Asha carried at her hip . . . it was Day’s knife. The one she’d sold on the night the scrin burned, buying her and Jemsin passage aboard a ship. A knife Day had given her for cutting scarp thistles.

  What was the Namsara doing with it?

  A Dangerous Liaison

  After the defeat of the Shadow God, the people of the Star Isles took Leandra as their sovereign. Under her reign, the Star Isles prospered and, with peace returned, Skyweaver turned back to her weaving.

  Centuries passed. The Star Isles forgot the Shadow God and the misery he’d caused.

  But Skyweaver didn’t.

  Sometimes, on the darkest nights, she heard him calling. In the beginning, she ignored it. But he was insistent, summoning her until his voice became a haunting.

  Unable to bear it, Skyweaver rose from her loom one night, banished her servants, and went to him.

  “What do you want?” she asked, careful to keep her distance from the web she’d ensnared him in.

  “Someone to talk to,” he said, never taking those burning eyes off her.

  “You’re a horror,” she told him. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “I wasn’t always a horror.”

  Skyweaver doubted that. But she listened.

  He spoke of a little cove beneath the cliffs, where he used to walk, long ago. He told her about the dirt paths through the junipers, the howl of the north wind, the taste of the salt of the sea.

  Skyweaver might be merciful, but she wasn’t a fool. The Shadow God could tell her all the tender tales he wanted. She knew what he was. She’d seen the terrible things he was capable of. If he hoped to gain her sympathy and trick her into freeing him, he was deluding himself.

  When he finished his stories, she excused herself and left.

  He didn’t call again until several years later. Skyweaver ignored him this time, too. But he was her responsibility. She had lied to Leandra. She had kept him alive instead of killing him.

  So Skyweaver rose from her loom, once again banished her servants, and went to him.

  This time, he didn’t tell her of his beloved cove but of the girl who lived there. A fisherman’s daughter. A girl who’d been born too early, and as a result, was too small. So small and so mortal and yet she had tamed the god of shadows. Had taught him to be human.

  “I didn’t know how lonely I was until I met her,” he said.

  After that, Skyweaver sat at her loom, night after night, century after century. Waiting for the rest of the story. But the Shadow God didn’t call for her again.

  Lonely, she thought as she wove. Is that what I am?

  This time, he didn’t summon her. But Skyweaver went.

  “Tell me what it feels like,” she said.

  So he told her all of it: the ache of hunger, the glow of joy, the bitterness of grief, the swell of rage. This time,
when he looked at her, his eyes weren’t ravenous flames. This time, they were soft as the morning dew.

  “You remind me of her.”

  Those words unraveled the last of her resolve. Skyweaver heard the longing in his voice. She felt it echoed in her own heart. She might know who he was and what he’d done, but her curiosity outweighed her caution. She wanted more.

  So when the monster reached to touch her, she let him. More than let him.

  Night after night, she went to him. Over and over, he showed her. He was kind and gentle and tender—all of the things that monsters weren’t.

  And then one day, Skyweaver felt herself changed. Surprised, she looked down to find her belly swollen and something growing within her.

  His child.

  Thirty-Eight

  The first thing she did when she got across was destroy Safire’s door.

  Just in case she was tempted.

  The second thing she did was pack: her spindle, her dart shooter, and some dried scarp thistles in a jar by the bed. She kept a small stash of coins in the chest full of clothes and just as she was lifting the lid to take them, the ghost arrived.

  “I can help you.”

  Eris dug below the layers of woven cloth and found the leather purse.

  “Trust me,” she said, pulling it out and shoving it in her pack. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the shadowy shape of him. “No one can help me.”

  The ghost moved closer, closing the gap.

  “You will never be safe, no matter how fast or far you run. You know this.”

  Eris’s eyes prickled. “I have to try,” she whispered. She was out of options. Shouldering the pack, she turned and found the dark shadow before her, its chilling gaze on her face. “Please. Move out of my way.”

  He was shifting again, from shadow to man. “They took something from both of us.”

  Eris frowned at him. “What did they take from you?”

  “Something precious.”

  It was no longer the ghost standing before her now, but Crow. Human again: strong jaw, black hair, gray eyes staring down into hers.

  “Your enemies are my enemies,” he said. “Help me, and I will destroy the one you call empress, then hunt down those who do her bidding. They will never hurt you again, Eris.”