“Nothing good,” he said simply.
If Eris ran, Kadenze would find her. But if Crow was telling the truth, if he really could help her, she wouldn’t just ensure her own safety. She would ensure that the one who’d burned the scrin and taken the lives of everyone she loved was stopped from doing the same thing again.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked.
“Climb the Skyweaver’s tower. Take back my soul. Then bring it here, to me.”
“Your soul?” Eris shivered.Is that what they took from you?
“I cannot escape this prison without it.” He looked around him at the labyrinth walls. “It’s the condition of the curse she placed on me.”
“But how do I find such a thing?”
He seemed to flicker before her, as if straining to keep his solid form. Very softly, he said, “Skye was an expert weaver.”
Eris frowned.Skye?It was the name on the spindle Day gave her. She’d asked about it once, but all Day would say was that it belonged to someone he loved.
“She was good at taking things and turning them into something else.” His silver eyes flashed as they met Eris’s. “Just like you.”
Like me?
He meant the tapestries, she realized. The ones she turned into doors.
But I just weave them. The labyrinth changes them... doesn’t it?
“She will have disguised it,” said Crow. “And she will have kept it close.” Turning, he headed deeper into the maze. “Come. We must act quickly.”
Eris followed, gripping the straps of her pack. Crow seemed to glide rather than walk as he led her down a hallway Eris had trained herself never to go down—because it always turned her about, sending her back to the beginning. She followed him now into a part of the labyrinth where she’d never been before, to a door she’d never seen. It was the blue-black of midnight, itshandle carved of ivory, and there were familiar words inscribed into the wood.
When the night descends...
I look to those who’ve gone before me
lighting my path through the dark.
It was part of Day’s prayer. She could almost hear him speaking the words over her bed every night.
What would she find on the other side?
She forced herself to reach for the knob. Her skin sparked at the contact. Despite the chill of the labyrinth’s air, the smooth curve of it was warm against her palm. Almost comforting.
“Where does it lead?”
“Toher,” said Crow. “You’ll need to hurry.”
Nodding, she turned the knob. The moment she pulled it open, silvery mist flooded in.
Eris didn’t look back. Just stepped across the threshold and into the mist beyond.
Remembered
Dreams are for mortals, not gods. And yet, as the child grew within her, Skyweaver dreamed.
They were insubstantial, fleeting things at first. Like flashes of fish underwater. But the bigger the baby grew, the clearer they became. Dreams of a blustery cove. Of a father’s weathered hands and nets of flickering fish. Of a boy who stood at the edge of things. A boy made of shadows.
Why did it feel so familiar?
As her belly swelled, Skyweaver struggled to weave. Souls slipped through her fingers. The night sky refused to bend to her will.
