Safire looked where he looked. An ivory-scaled dragon flew through the sky, coming down from the training grounds, his pale wings outstretched.
“Sorrow,” murmured Safire, stepping closer to the edge of the roof.
It wasn’t long before Sorrow flew overhead. Seeing Safire, the dragon dived for the roof she stood on. Safire and Dax ducked, getting out of his way as he hit, sending stones skittering as he batted his panicked wings. Sorrow nearly went straight over the edge of the rooftop terrace, found his balance, then turned back, his talons gripping that same edge.
Cities made him nervous, and he trembled ever so slightly as he stared at Safire through intense black eyes.
“You didn’t go to him,” said Dax. “So it seems he’s come to you.”
Safire stepped toward the dragon, pressing her palm to Sorrow’s warm, scaly throat. At Safire’s touch, Sorrow stopped trembling.
“I think,” said Dax softly from behind them, “that maybe he’s not the only one who’s waiting for you.”
Safire glanced to her cousin.
“Go,” he said, smiling. “We’ll be here when you need us.”
Fifty-Two
SIX WEEKS LATER
In the weeks since she’d set the Shadow God free, Eris had learned that while it was difficult to weave without a hand, it was far from impossible.
She had acquired a hook that could be fastened to her wrist, and though it had taken some getting used to at first, and it sometimes hurt to wear, it was proving to be useful. She still needed help with things like getting dressed and cutting up her food, but she was getting used to this, too: depending on others.
In the beginning, her mother stayed with her, showing her what to do. Eris quickly learned that spinning souls was not so different from spinning wool, and once she felt confident to do the work on her own, her mother started rebuilding the scrin, then recruiting weavers and spinners and dyers to fill it. So there were always apprentices around to help Eris if she needed it.
Her life was so full of people now that she sometimes missed being alone.
One morning, after a long and frustrating night of weaving, Eris threw down the shuttle and growled through her teeth. It had been a bad day. One in which she’d kept forgetting her right hand was gone.
It happened often, and the sensation was so strong, Eris could feel every finger and thumb as if they were still there. Like ghosts, they haunted her. And every time it happened, she’d have to realize all over again everything she’d lost.
Eris pushed the sorrow away and set down her threads. Leaning back from her loom, she stretched. Her back ached and her hand cramped and her vision was starting to blur from the dim light of the oil lamp. Looking out the windows of the scrin, she found the sun rising over the Star Isles, its golden light catching in the mist. But it was what lay beyond the mist that she wanted.
For eighteen years, while her mother sat in Leandra’s prison, there was no one spinning souls into stars. As a result, there was a lot of catching up to do.
But the work would still be here come sundown. And Eris would be too—because she’d chosen this. Shewantedthis.
Right now, though, the sea was calling.
So, getting up from her bench, Eris descended the steps of the scrin’s newly constructed mezzanine, where they’d rebuilt the Skyweaver’s loom. Tiptoeing past the young apprentices, who were just beginning to rise from their beds and head down to breakfast, Eris escaped out the garden door. She walked through the meadow glistening with dew, watching the mistevaporate with the heat of the rising sun, then headed down to the scrin’s wharf, tucked away in a quiet cove. A sailboat, used for deliveries, bobbed gently on the surf. When it wasn’t in use, it belonged to Eris.
Just before stepping aboard, Eris felt a familiar prickle at the back of her neck. A gust of cold rushed down her spine, and she spun to find she wasn’t alone.
Bloodred eyes burned into hers.
Eris’s heart beat fast and hard. She stepped quickly back to find the summoner looming before her, its blue-black wings hiding its true form. She hid her hook behind her back—a habit she’d fallen into lately.
“What could Jemsin possibly want from me?” Eris growled, trying to sound fiercer than she felt.
“Jemsin’s bones are at the bottom of the sea, Skyweaver.”
“What?” she whispered, shocked by this news.
“That girl of yours, her friends lured him into the wrecking grounds,” the summoner rasped. “His crew were eaten. His ship sank. Jemsin—nor I—will never bother you again.”
Eris’s hook fell back to her side.
