The Sky Weaver

by Kristen Ciccarelli

  “You yourself believe she’s planning to hand Asha over to a deadly pirate,” Dax reminded her.

  Safire sagged under the weight of those words.

  All these things were true.

  And yet.

  “She saved my life,” Safire whispered. “More than once.”

  Dax roughly rubbed his stubbled cheeks. “And if she’s manipulating you?”

  Safire looked away, across the room, to the balcony. The curtains were thrown back and the mist from earlier had receded, leaving a clear sky full of stars.

  “I’ve heard of things like this before,” said Dax.

  Safire glanced back. “What things?”

  “A kind of . . . illness,” he said, almost gently. “An illness of the mind.”

  Safire frowned. What was he talking about?

  “Sometimes, when a person is kidnapped and abused, the mind becomes warped—to protect itself. The person becomes convinced that she and her kidnapper are . . . in love. That her kidnapper isn’t a villain, but rather, a kind of hero.”

  The words chilled Safire. She searched Dax’s face. “You’re accusing me of such a thing?”

  He said nothing. Only watched her.

  “You are,” she whispered, feeling the table full of guests blur around them.

  But then, hadn’t she let Eris kiss her? The very girl who kidnapped her, then ordered Jemsin’s men to torture her?

  More important: Hadn’t she liked kissing Eris?

  If she were honest with herself, as she stood on that balcony with Eris wearing that stolen soldier’s uniform, she’d wanted to kiss her again.

  Maybe Dax was right. Maybe there was something wrong with her.

  Safire upheld the law; Eris flouted it. Safire hated pirates; Eris worked for them. Safire loved her cousin; Eris was currently hunting her cousin down.

  She thought of that moment in the rowboat, when Eris learned Safire couldn’t swim.

  I won’t let anything happen to you.

  And that moment in the alley, surrounded by men who wanted to hurt her. It was Eris who’d come for her.

  Don’t let go.

  But how much did it matter?

  And who was Eris, really?

  Safire didn’t know. No one knew.

  But Dax was her cousin. And not just that, her friend and her king. As children, he’d taken the brunt of Jarek’s abuse when he could. Not so long ago, he’d fought a war at her side, then made her his commandant.

  Safire couldn’t—wouldn’t—go against him. They were supposed to be on the same side. They’d always been on the same side.

  “Where are you going?” Dax asked as she rose from the table.

  “I need some air.”

  Thirty-One

  Eris walked the lamplit streets of Axis feeling like she’d swallowed a prickle fish.

  After jumping from that balustrade, she’d landed on the balcony one story below. Hurt by Safire’s betrayal, she wanted nothing more than to step across. But as she’d slashed the spindle over the balcony tiles, the silver line shimmering before her, the voices above made her pause.

  Hidden by the fog, Eris listened.

  The next time she seeks you out, I want you to kill her. Is that understood?

  The memory of Leandra’s icy voice made Eris shiver now. But it was nothing like the gaping wound that opened in the wake of Safire’s answer.

  Understood.

  Eris’s hand had shaken as she finished drawing the silver line. Her vision blurred with hot tears. She should have been focused on the labyrinth as she stepped into the mists. But the hurt and loneliness and utter lostness overwhelmed her, and all she could think about was Safire’s answer to Leandra’s question. All she could see was the horrified look in those blue eyes as Eris stupidly blurted out her true feelings.

  Which was how she’d stumbled out into the grid of Axis’s streets instead of Across. And now that she was here, free from the empress and her soldiers and most of all, Safire, Eris had changed her mind. She didn’t want to go back to that haunted lonely labyrinth, with nothing but a ghost to keep her company.

  Safire was right. Eris had no one.

  Her footsteps echoed on the cobblestoned streets now, which were empty and quiet as midnight crept closer. After years of running from these islands, after swearing she’d never set foot here again, Eris stood in the heart of the Star Isles. Surrounded by her bitterest enemies.

  One of them bitterest of all.

  Past the fountains and the lit lanterns and the storefronts, through the boughs of the scattered trees, Eris’s eyes were drawn upward to the highest structure in Axis—even higher than its twin, the empress’s citadel.

  It tapered like a needle as it pierced the sky, black like onyx. So black it stood out against the night, which was bright with starlight.

  The Skyweaver’s throne.

  Like a magnet, it both attracted and repelled Eris. Reminding her of the night she’d been running from for half her life. How the god of souls did nothing as her servants were burned in their beds. As Day sent a prayer skyward. As Eris watched them take everyone she’d ever loved away from her.

  She’d never hated anyone as much as she hated the god of souls.

  That coal-red rage ignited within her, just like the night she’d watched the Sea Mistress burn. Her teeth clenched with it. She wanted to walk the tower’s thousand steps, smashing every window on the way. Wanted to bang on the door at the top and break it down. Wanted to spit at the Skyweaver’s feet and ask her how she could stand by and do nothing as the scrin burned. As Day died with her name on his lips.

  Day.

  The memories of him flooded her. Eris fell to her knees. Tears pricked her eyes as she thought of him carrying her to bed when she fell asleep at the looms. She thought of him holding her hand up near the cliff edge—ensuring she couldn’t run off while he taught her which plants were best for dyeing. Thought of him telling her stories of the god he loved best.

  The tower blurred before her, fading into the dark sky.

  When the night descends—Day’s prayer filled her mind—I look to those who’ve gone before me, lighting my path through the dark.

  Eris looked beyond the tower to the thousands of stars shining above it. The thousands of souls who’d been put there by Skyweaver’s hand.

  She hated that prayer, because it was for her.

  But she loved it, too, because it was Day’s favorite.

  I remember, she thought, reciting the words near the end, you are with me.

  As the stars glittered above her, with Day’s memory in her heart, the rage in her fled.

  And though Eris was still alone, she no longer felt so lonely.

  Thirty-Two

  Safire walked the blue halls of the citadel, longing for home and the comforts of routine. Back in Firgaard, there was nothing a good sparring session or a long hard run couldn’t fix.

  She missed her soldats. Missed the hot sun on her face. Missed the way things were before a certain thief walked into the king’s treasury and threw her life into chaos.

  As Safire stepped out onto one of the uncovered walkways, a sheet of cool fog enveloped her. It made her uneasy, that fog. She didn’t like not being able to see what was several paces in front of her. Anything could be hiding in the gray.

  As if summoned by her thought, Safire felt a presence. Lurking. Watching.

  Her footsteps slowed as she listened.

  She could see the dim glow of torchlight in the distance. She was almost at the end of the walkway. But the closer she came to the archway leading into the next citadel hall, the presence got stronger.

  Finally, Safire stopped. Ready to reach for the knife—tucked back in the knot of her hair—she called out: “Who’s there?”

  At first, only silence answered her. But then, through the gray, she heard a familiar sound: rapid clicking. Safire looked up to the spiral rooftop where it came from.

  Two slitted eyes stared down at her through the mist.


  “Sorrow?” she whispered.

  The eyes disappeared. Safire heard the soft scraping of scales against stone as the dragon slithered down from the roof. A heartbeat later, a gleaming white head with two horns—one of them broken—came out of the fog.

  Safire glanced from Sorrow’s dark eyes back over her shoulder, checking for guards. But the fog was too thick to see. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  Sorrow clicked back at her, urgent this time. And then he did something he’d never done before: he pressed his snout into Safire’s palm, nudging it firmly. Almost as if he wanted something from her.

  Safire remembered the last words she spoke to the white dragon—last night in the abandoned village, searching for Asha.

  “Did you find her?”

  In answer, Sorrow crouched down, lowering himself against the stone walkway, all the while keeping his eyes on Safire. As if to say, Get on.

  Carefully, Safire climbed atop him, knowing that at any moment she might make the wrong movement, trigger the poor creature, and be dumped. Or trampled. Or worse.

  Sorrow did none of these things. He tensed a few times, looking back over his shoulder as Safire adjusted the blue dress—which needed to be hiked to her knees if she were to ride properly—but he didn’t panic. At least, not until voices came out of the mist behind them.

  “Do you see that?”

  Safire looked back just in time to see two shapes materialize out of the fog.

  “See what?”

  “Something’s out there. . . .”

  Sorrow’s tail began to lash, his muscles bunching in fear. Safire pressed her palm to the creature’s scales, willing him to keep calm.

  “It’s a . . .”

  Sorrow swung around to face them. To keep from falling, Safire threw her arms around the creature’s neck, locking her hands.

  “Dragon!”

  The Lumina soldiers drew their swords in unison, their eyes lifted from the dragon to its rider just as Safire clicked the command for flight.

  Sorrow spread his wings, hissing as he did.

  The two men drew back in fear. Safire could see the whites of their eyes and the tightening of their hands on their hilts.

  “Sorrow, now!” Safire whispered, clicking the command again, fearing the dragon didn’t know it. Fearing these men would charge and kill him.

  Before they could, Sorrow turned and leaped from the walkway. The fog instantly covered them as his wings caught a wind current. Safire clung on, hearing the shouts of alarm increase behind them. But the fog kept them concealed as Sorrow glided through it, rising ever upward.

  The voices behind them faded into the night.

  Good boy, thought Safire, pressing her cheek to the dragon’s neck and relaxing into him.

  As the city of Axis fell away beneath them, Safire felt for the bond she knew was supposed to form in first flight. Asha described it as a lock, clicking into place. But no matter how hard Safire concentrated as they soared through the air, she felt no clicking lock. No forming link.

  Maybe it was true that Sorrow would never link with a rider.

  Maybe that’s okay, she thought.

  Eventually the fog cleared and beneath the silver light of a waxing moon, the sea gleamed below them, its waves crashing softly on the shores of a small cove nestled beneath a massive headland. From up here, she could see a smattering of tiny houses out on the point, their windows shining with lamplight.

  At the crest of the headland, Safire could see a silhouette. No, several silhouettes. Three people and a dragon. One of them held a glowing lantern in their fist.

  Sorrow was heading straight for them.

  They circled once. Kozu looked up first. Safire could see his one yellow eye burning in the night. Sorrow started to descend too quickly, then remembered he was carrying the weight of a rider. They were headed straight into the tuckamore forest.

  Safire felt him panic. Panicked, too, she forced herself to be calm and ran her hands smoothly over the creature’s scales, murmuring encouragement even as the night screamed in her ears and the trees rose up too fast.

  At the last moment, Sorrow banked, catching a current, then slowed his descent. The tuckamores faded. Mossy rock appeared beneath them. And finally, Sorrow landed—a little clumsily—in the moss.

  “Perfect boy,” Safire murmured into his neck, then patted him gently as she dismounted.

  Sorrow seemed to brighten, watching her.

  “Safire!” came Asha’s voice at her back. Safire turned to find her cousin standing in the knee-high grass. “How . . . ?”

  The orange glow of the lantern flame illuminated the Namsara’s black eyes and scarred face. At her side stood Torwin and a bearded, bowlegged man. His windswept dark hair was peppered with gray. Behind them, Kozu tilted his curious head at Sorrow.

  At the sight of them, Safire felt a weight lift from her. She ran, the grass hushing against her legs, and threw her arms around Asha, squeezing her tight, breathing in her smoky scent.

  “Are you all right?” Asha murmured, squeezing her back.

  Safire swallowed. “I missed you.”

  “Are you linked?” Torwin interrupted. When Safire pulled away, she found him studying Sorrow. His hair was mussed and his cheeks were pink from the cold.

  As they watched the white dragon, who was already shying away, moving to more barren ground, Safire said, “I would feel it, wouldn’t I? If we were?”

  Asha nodded.

  “That’s all right,” Torwin said, his smile sliding away.

  “Safire, this is Dagan.” Asha gestured to the man with them. He tipped his head to her. “He was just in the middle of showing us something. Come, I want you to see. . . .” Asha reached for her arm, already turning.

  Safire braced herself. “Asha, no, we need to leave. You’re in grave danger.”

  All of them turned to look at her.

  “What?” said Torwin.

  Asha frowned. “What danger?”

  Safire quickly told them everything. Starting with being kidnapped by the Death Dancer—the very thief she tried to catch in Firgaard—to losing that same thief in Axis. She made it clear that Asha was next on the Death Dancer’s list of things to steal.

  Asha frowned. “Even if she could steal me, she doesn’t know where I am. And Kozu would be here in a heartbeat if I called him. And I have this.” She tapped the hilt of the Skyweaver’s knife where it hung from her belt. More like a dagger than a knife, the blade was hidden in a silver sheath embossed with strange symbols.

  But none of those things would stop Eris. Eris and her poisonous scarp thistles that could make a person sleep with a single prick. Eris, who could disappear and reappear somewhere else, taking someone with her.

  Asha could be drugged and dragged halfway across the world before she even realized the Death Dancer was in the room with her.

  Safire told her as much.

  “You need to come with me.”

  Asha’s dark eyes narrowed and her mouth turned down. “And where would I go?”

  Safire was about to say the citadel because that’s where Eris wouldn’t set foot. Except Eris had disproved that theory tonight when she walked straight into the middle of the empress’s ballroom.

  “If she’s so formidable, why would I be any safer anywhere else?”

  Safire opened her mouth to respond, only to realize Asha had a point. Was there anywhere safe from a girl who moved like wind and walked through walls?

  “You’ve warned me, and I’ll be vigilant. Now come. I want to show you something.”

  Safire went to protest, but Asha grabbed her arm and pulled her.

  “Dagan has been telling us about a girl who used to live in this cove, centuries ago.” As she talked, her eager pace quickened and Torwin and Dagan fell behind. “She’s become a kind of myth in these islands, and there seem to be different versions of the story. All of them begin with her falling in love with a god. But some end with the god killing her, wh
ile others end with him giving her immortality. In all the stories, though, she disappears and her body is never found.”

  Safire slowed. This sounded familiar. “Skye,” she murmured.

  Asha stared at her. “Yes. How did you know?”

  Raif had told her something similar when they arrived in Axis yesterday.

  But it was also the name carved into Eris’s spindle.

  At the thought of Eris, Safire’s body buzzed with anxiety. She needed to make Asha realize just how dangerous the Death Dancer was, along with the pirate captain who commanded her. If Asha didn’t come with Safire, then the only way to ensure her protection was to hunt Eris down and . . .

  Safire remembered the look in Leandra’s eyes as she gave her order.

  I want you to kill her.

  A chill swept through her.

  “Asha.” Safire halted again. “What if we returned home to Firgaard? I could keep you under armed guard at all hours. If the Death Dancer—”

  “There’s a story here,” said Asha, not really listening. “I intend to find it.” Tired of being held back, she let go of Safire’s arm and drew the Skyweaver’s knife from its sheath, revealing the silver-white blade. It glowed faintly—like starlight—and Safire could feel a faint hum emanating from it.

  “It’s been doing that ever since we set foot on these islands.” Asha held it up, her face shining in its eerie light. Safire could see the fierce determination in her jaw. It was the same look she used to get when she was still the king’s Iskari, and a dragon was reported near the city. “I can’t be sure, but I have the strangest feeling Skye’s story and this knife are connected.”

  She continued on.

  With no other choice, Safire followed her down the dirt path through the tuckamore forest, with Torwin and Dagan trailing quietly behind them. As they walked, Safire debated telling Asha more—about the empress’s kill order and her conversation with Dax and also, maybe, her feelings for Eris. Before she could, they stumbled out of the tuckamore forest and into a grassy meadow.

  Around her, nine gray stones the size of big men rose up in a wide circle around her.

  “Aren’t they incredible?” said Asha, her eyes shining as she walked the circumference of the circle.