The Sky Weaver

by Kristen Ciccarelli

  Kor wanted Eris.

  As she lay in her borrowed bunk, Eris listened to the wind howl and the hull of the Sea Mistress groan. The single lantern in this cabin swayed, casting light back and forth across the dark room as she studied the slender throwing knife in her hands.

  She’d been gripping it in her fist when she stepped across.

  It was different from the other knives the commandant kept sheathed in her belt. The blade was thinner and more delicate. The hilt was more ornate.

  As Eris ran her fingers over it, she thought of the commandant alone in her room—her trap dismantled, her criminal gone.

  Strangely, it brought Eris no pleasure this time.

  The sudden sound of heavy boots clomping down the stairs made Eris go still. She’d barely sat up when the cabin door swung open, and the glow of her lantern illuminated the young man standing there.

  He had a square face and deep-set eyes. Long dark hair was pulled back from his shoulders and the pale cotton shirt he wore was wrinkled, the cuffs undone. His left ear was missing, cut off by his father in a rage when Kor was only five. In one hand was the neck of a bottle. In the other, two copper cups.

  Her stomach turned over at the sight of him.

  “Kor,” she said, forcing a smile as she lowered the knife in her lap.

  “Would you look who it is. Jemsin’s little pirate thief. Four days late.” Kor grinned thinly as he stepped into the cabin, kicking the door shut behind him. He set the bottle and cups down on the overturned supply box in the corner. “I’m assuming you have it?”

  “Have it?” asked Eris, watching him uncork the wine.

  He stopped and looked back over his shoulder, shooting her a puzzled look. “The loot Jemsin told you to steal.”

  Right. Eris shook her head. She’d stolen the king’s ruby so long ago now—was it a week already?—she’d forgotten it was the thing Jemsin sent her to Firgaard for. “Of course I have it.”

  That strange look didn’t leave his face as he turned back to the wine and started to pour. “Well, what took you so long?”

  I got distracted, she thought as she slowly traced her thumb along the hilt of Safire’s knife. “I took my time,” she said instead. “Didn’t want another run-in with the empress. Or her dogs.”

  When Kor turned and offered her a full cup of wine, Eris was tempted to refuse. She didn’t like taking things from Kor. Didn’t like owing him anything. Kor had a mean spirit and a temper. But Eris was under strict orders from Jemsin to do what was needed to keep Kor on his quickly fraying leash.

  Kor wanted Eris—for more than just thieving. Therefore, so long as Eris remained with Jemsin, Kor would remain with Jemsin too. It was one of the reasons the captain made her report to Kor so often. Made her stay aboard Kor’s ship—where her spindle was locked away, keeping her bound and defenseless until Jemsin summoned her for her next assignment.

  Please him, Jemsin told Eris in no uncertain terms. Keep him close.

  So she took the wine Kor offered her.

  But she didn’t drink it.

  For a heartbeat, she wondered if she might be able to slip a pinch of scarp thorn powder into Kor’s cup without him noticing. It was how she’d drugged the guards in Firgaard’s palace, enabling her to walk undetected into the king’s treasury.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking.” Kor sat down on the bunk across from her. Eris’s fingers tightened around the cold copper, mentally measuring the space between them. “Thinking about how the captain always seems to send you away whenever he’s meeting Leandra.”

  This time, Eris did drink—just a sip—if only to have somewhere to look other than Kor’s eyes. Which were staring hard at her now. No one but Jemsin knew who Eris really was: the fugitive the empress had been hunting for years now.

  Eris and Jemsin had a deal: he would never reveal her or hand her over to the empress so long as she did his bidding. She had to steal whatever he wanted her to steal. And, more recently, she had to keep Kor biddable, too.

  But the presence of the empress’s army—soldiers called Lumina because they “illuminated” her law—had increased on the Silver Sea these past few years. Eris feared Jemsin wouldn’t be able to keep her hidden forever.

  If she could have run, she would have. She’d get as far as the southern isles, or maybe farther, just to be out of Leandra’s reach. To be free and safe.

  But the three times she’d tried it, Jemsin’s summoner always found her. It always brought her back.

  “It’s almost as if Jemsin doesn’t want you and Leandra to cross paths,” said Kor thoughtfully. “As if he’s afraid she’ll know who you are and take you away from him.”

  Eris froze, looking up into his hard eyes. Has he figured out who I am?

  He laughed then. “Can you imagine it? Jemsin losing his precious Death Dancer to the woman he despises? I would pay to see that.”

  Eris tried to relax. Kor didn’t know who she really was. He thought of her only as the Death Dancer—a thief.

  “I’d rather be owned by a pirate than a monster,” she said.

  “Is there a difference?” Kor lifted his cup.

  Eris forced herself to lift her own, clinking it against his.

  They both drank.

  Eris wiped the wine from her lips and then set the cup down on the floor. Thinking of his closed door, she asked, “Who was in your cabin tonight?”

  He raised one dark brow. “Why? Are you jealous?”

  Ugh. No. Not in a thousand years.

  Kor took another sip. “Kadenze was there.”

  Fear rippled through her as Eris thought of the creature who did all of Jemsin’s summoning. Red eyes. Black talons. A voice as old as the sea.

  It was Kadenze who’d located her all three times she tried to escape.

  According to the cook on the Hyacinth, who liked to tell Eris stories when she helped him wash up after dinner, Jemsin killed Kadenze’s former master and took the bird for himself. Kadenze was an ancient creature, sung about in old sailor’s ballads, said to be capable of tracking down three things: treasure, enemies, and the blood of immortals.

  “Jemsin wants us in Darmoor,” Kor said. “Both of us.”

  Another assignment? That was good. It would keep Eris away from the sea—and those hunting her on it.

  It would also keep her out of Kor’s reach. He tended not to toy with her when there was a mission occupying him.

  “What does he want us for this time?” she asked, picking up Safire’s stolen knife and running her hands over it again. The cool steel had a calming effect.

  “Didn’t say. Just that he expects us there by tomorrow.”

  Kor talked on, but Eris was no longer paying attention. Because this time as she traced the knife, her fingers found something new. When she raised the blade, trying to catch the lantern light, she found something embossed in the steel: a pattern of fiery-looking flowers.

  “Tides, Eris. Would you listen to me?”

  She had just leaned in to examine the pattern when suddenly, the knife was gone. Snatched out of her hands by Kor.

  “What are you fidgeting with?” He squinted at the knife.

  Annoyance broke like a wave through Eris. She reached for it. He jerked it out of the way.

  “Give it back, Kor,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Gilt handle,” he murmured, ignoring her as he studied the weapon. “The owner must have a good deal of coin—or at least connections. And the flower pattern is very pretty. Delicate, you might even say. A girl’s knife?” He looked up to see if he was correct.

  Inexplicably, Eris felt her cheeks heat.

  “Whose is it?”

  “It’s mine now, you sandeater.”

  She lunged for it. Kor pulled away, getting up off the bed.

  “Give it back!” she said, rising with him. But that’s where she paused.

  Kor was twice her size and twice as strong. Eris was faster, lighter, trickier. But the cabin was too small to move well in
, and the ship rocked over the waves, making it difficult to stay steady.

  “I’ll give it back . . .” Kor smiled too calmly, his gaze taking in too much. “If you give me something first.”

  Eris’s stomach twisted. Her body hummed with hate. She knew what he wanted.

  She also knew she would never give it to him.

  Seeing her answer on her face, his own darkened.

  “There’s no chance it took the legendary Death Dancer seven days to steal that ruby. What were you doing the rest of the time, Eris? Meeting with a sweetheart?”

  A sweetheart? She would have laughed, but he took that moment to lunge for her. With the bed to one side and the cabin wall to the other, she had nowhere to move.

  He grabbed her shirt, pulling her toward him.

  Before he could do worse, Eris kneed him in the groin.

  The ship lurched. Kor stumbled back, dropping Safire’s blade and wincing hard.

  “Bitch.” He spat the word as Eris snatched up the knife before it slid across the floor. Her hand shook as she gripped the hilt, pointing it at him. She was no good with weapons, and Kor knew it. He also knew that without her spindle—which was currently locked in a box somewhere aboard the ship—she couldn’t step across.

  With Kor blocking the cabin door, there was no escape.

  But the scariest thing? Eris didn’t think about all the ways she might possibly get out of this unscathed. Instead she thought about what Jemsin would say.

  Kor was cunning and cruel and power hungry. He’d be a dangerous enemy if he ever turned against Jemsin. It was Eris’s job to keep Kor cooperative and loyal and close.

  Kor might hurt her if he got his hands on her, but the captain would hurt her worse if he lost his dominance over Kor.

  “You’re not so formidable now, are you Death Dancer?” Kor gripped the door handle, still weak from the blow she’d dealt him.

  Eris kept the knife steady. Her heart pounded in her temples. Her breath came quick and fast.

  “Without that spindle, you’re nothing. Just a helpless . . .” His words trailed off. He smiled, his eyes lighting up with a sudden thought. “That spindle. What would happen if I accidently used it for kindling, I wonder?”

  Eris went cold. “You wouldn’t,” she said, even though the look in his eyes said the opposite. “Jemsin would kill you.”

  “Or, useless as you’d be to him, he’d kill you.”

  He turned the doorknob. Eris moved then, throwing herself at him. But he’d already opened the door. Her shoulder collided hard with wood as he shut it on her. She heard the sound of clinking keys. She grabbed the handle, trying to wrench it open.

  The door was locked.

  “I’ll come back for you when it’s over,” he said through the wood.

  Eris’s rage grew within her like a tempest’s screaming winds.

  And that’s when she remembered . . .

  She still had the pin in her hair.

  Eris didn’t think about Jemsin this time or what the consequences would be. She just took the eight steps up to the deck, Safire’s stolen knife gripped in her hand.

  The crisp cold turned her breath to fog. The wind caressed her face. The stars shone down, lighting her path across the wooden planks.

  Eris followed Kor into the galley. An oil lamp glowed on the table while he pushed aside pots and pans, then pulled something down from the shelf next to the hatch.

  It was a crude pewter box. Big enough to hold her spindle.

  Eris crept toward him, silent as a shadow. As he turned the key in its lock, she readied her knife. When he lifted the lid, Eris struck, stabbing him in the back, just below the ribs. She shoved the blade in and twisted. Hard.

  Kor screamed.

  The box fell, taking the spindle with it. Eris pulled out the knife just as Kor turned to face her. He touched the wound, then stared down at the blood coating his fingers as he stumbled back against the shelf.

  “How did you . . . ?”

  Eris didn’t hear him as she picked up her spindle. She turned to leave, but at the sight of the oil lamp burning on the table, she stopped, considering it.

  Behind her, Kor was screaming again. Screaming at her this time. She felt the heat of his rage. Heard him push away from the shelf, coming toward her.

  Before he got within reach, Eris swung out her arm, knocking the oil lamp to the floor.

  The glass broke.

  The oil spilled out.

  The galley floor went up in flames.

  At the sight of it, a memory flickered within her. Of another time and place. Of flames that raged, eating away at a place she’d once called home.

  Kor stumbled back, away from the fire, and the movement pulled Eris out of the memory. He stared—first in bewilderment, then in fear.

  Eris left him there. She stepped out onto the deck gripping the bloody blade in one hand, her spindle in the other. She could have crossed right then. She probably should have. But there was another lamp burning just above the galley. And there was something so soothing about chaos. Something almost beautiful.

  Alerted by Kor’s screams, the crew began to stagger up out of their cabins.

  But not before Eris unhooked the lantern and threw it across the deck.

  It shattered. Fire spluttered up, released from its confinement. As if in a rage, it devoured the wooden planks, moving toward the sails.

  But Eris still didn’t step across.

  Instead, as the crew panicked around her, she stepped up to the side of the ship, cut the only rowboat free of its ropes, then pushed it into the waters below. From across the deck, her gaze caught Rain’s. The first mate’s hair was a red, tangled mess as she screamed for everyone to get topside and put out flames. At the sight of Eris escaping, Rain’s eyes went black. You are dead, she mouthed.

  Not tonight, thought Eris as she swung herself over the side and dropped, landing on one of the rowboat’s benches. Sitting down, she secured the oars in the oarlocks, then started to row, taking the only means of escape with her.

  And there she watched the Sea Mistress burn.

  The red flames gorged themselves. The smoke curled through the sky, leaving a trail that blotted out the stars above. And all the while, Eris rowed.

  She would make her way to Darmoor. And if Jemsin wanted to kill her when she got there . . . well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

  Five

  Three days later, in the darkest corner of a rowdy inn called the Thirsty Craw, Safire sat at a table alone. Her ink-black hair was hidden beneath a sandskarf, she wore no uniform, and her weapons were concealed beneath her clothes. She frowned at the scarp thistle pinched between her fingers, careful not to prick herself on its poisonous thorns as she thought about her last encounter with the one who’d left it beside her bed.

  One moment, the thief was right there in her room, caught in Safire’s trap. The next moment, she was . . . gone.

  Safire had tugged on the rope—fastened out of her own bedsheets—to find it cut. She reached into the space where the thief had disappeared, but there was nothing there.

  She’d considered afterward whether her thief was a ghost. But a ghost couldn’t steal a knife. And there was that strange scent, just before she disappeared. Like the salt sea in a storm. Powerful. Charged.

  Ever since that night, the palace had been quiet. There were no more thefts. No more scarp thistles. It was as though the Death Dancer had well and truly gotten bored and moved on to more interesting heists. As if Safire had failed to meet her expectations. Had failed to challenge her.

  Safire set down the thistle. She needed to let it go—as Dax had told her numerous times in the past three days. She needed to turn her mind to other things—like the fact that the deadliest pirate on the Silver Sea was rumored to be in Darmoor.

  It was why Safire was here, instead of back in Firgaard.

  She’d heard stories about Jemsin and the unspeakable things he did to his enemies (and sometimes his allies, too). Things li
ke torturing prisoners until their minds broke and carrying out kidnappings where—once the ransom was paid—the kidnapped came back with one less hand. Or eye. Or lung.

  If the pirate was in Darmoor, there had to be a reason. She needed to find out what that reason was, and if it had anything to do with Dax and Roa setting sail for the Star Isles tomorrow. Once the king and queen were out on the water, they’d be less easy prey, since there were several dragons flying with them.

  It was the time they spent in port that Safire worried about.

  So she passed the day trawling the slick cobbled streets of the port city studying the ships in the harbor, eavesdropping on gossiping dockhands, and—after coming up with nothing—planted herself in the seediest inn she could find, watching and listening for any hint of pirates in the harbor.

  But she heard not a word of Jemsin, his crew, or his ship—the Hyacinth. So perhaps her source had gotten the details wrong. Or perhaps it was a rumor.

  Safire tipped back her now-cold tea, swallowed, then rose to her feet.

  She was stepping out the door and onto the street when she bumped shoulders with someone on their way in.

  A familiar scent enveloped her. Sea salt and lightning. It was the same smell that filled her room the night her thief escaped for good.

  Safire’s footsteps slowed.

  The Death Dancer? Here?

  Safire recalled the two times she’d come face-to-face with the thief. She had piercing green eyes, a small stature, and kept her wheat-blond hair knotted at the nape of her neck. The first time, she’d been dressed like a soldat. But the night in Safire’s bedroom, she’d been dressed all in black. Like a shadow.

  “Tell Jemsin his dog is here to report, will you?”

  Safire knew that voice. It was the same voice that mockingly called her princess. Her pulse sped up.

  A gruff voice replied, “Tell him yourself, Eris.”

  The door swung open and shut.

  Eris? thought Safire. Is that her name?

  Turning slowly, she found the stoop of the Thirsty Craw empty. Her heart pounded in her chest. Not only was the Death Dancer inside the inn, but Jemsin was in there, too?