It was one thing to steal Asha. Safire fully believed Eris capable of that. One prick of a scarp thorn dart when Asha was alone would be enough to overcome her, after which Eris could easily disappear with her—just like she’d disappeared with Safire—only to reappear somewhere else. Like on Jemsin’s ship.
But there was still Kozu and Torwin to contend with. If Eris kidnapped Asha, both of them would go after her. The only problem was, as Eris made clear several days back, dragons could be killed with harpoons. And Jemsin had plenty of them aboard his ship.
Even if Eris hadn’t found Asha yet, Safire knew she would soon. She was the Death Dancer, after all. There was nothing she couldn’t steal.
Sorrow clicked, interrupting her thoughts. Safire looked up.
“Where is she, Sorrow?” Safire stepped toward the dragon. “Can you find her for me?”
Sorrow tilted his head. But as Safire took one more step, she came too close. Sorrow panicked. The skittish creature darted away as quickly as he’d come, leaving the space before Safire empty once more.
Safire breathed a weighty sigh.
There was only one course of action she could think of: return to the citadel and seek the empress’s help.
The Shadow God
No one knew where he came from, but with him came death, disaster, and disease. Wherever the Shadow God walked, chaos followed. The wind grew cold and cruel, making it harder to grow things. The ocean rose up and gorged itself on cities and villages alike, sweeping their homes and their loved ones out into its depths. The fish disappeared, and in their hunger the spirits of the sea—who once lived peaceably with islanders—began killing and eating them instead.
From her loom, Skyweaver listened. She heard the despair of the Star Isles. She felt their misery and fear. Unable to bear it, she left her weaving room, descended the stairs of her tower, and sought the Shadow God out.
She walked for days until she came to the immortal scarps—the highest point in the Star Isles. There she found him, perched on a dark elder throne: a black, twisted shape with eyes of white fire and a gaping, hungry mouth.
“Why are you doing this?” she cried.
“It is my nature.”
“What will make you stop?”
“I can’t stop my nature any more than you can yours.”
Skyweaver begged and pleaded. When he could bear her beseeching no more, he finally said, “Your weaving. Give up your weaving and I will give up my chaos.”
Skyweaver frowned. If she stopped weaving, there would be no oneto turn the souls of the dead into stars. No stars to light the way for those left behind. No one to give hope to the living.
She swallowed and shook her head. “I cannot.” It was her sacred task.
Something flickered in the Shadow God.
“Then get out of my sight.”
Skyweaver fled. But when she returned to her tower, she could not weave. She was too furious. Too heartsick. Too powerless to stop the terrible power of the Shadow God.
Until the day a savior arrived.
She came from the sea with a fleet of golden ships. Leandra, she called herself. From halfway across the world, she’d heard of the chaos tormenting the Star Isles and was here to stop it.
Leandra built a walled city where people could seek refuge from disaster and disease. She sent her soldiers out to hunt down the sea spirits terrorizing the islands. She made treaties with neighboring kingdoms for the things the islanders needed that they could no longer harvest—from land or sea.
Last of all, she climbed the steps of the Skyweaver’s tower.
“Join me,” Leandra said, standing before her loom.
Skyweaver wanted to help. Wanted to put an end to this horror. But what could she do? All she had was her spindle, her loom, and her skill as a weaver. All she knew was how to take souls and turn them into something else.
Leandra drew a knife, put it in the Skyweaver’s hands, and said, “You can kill him.”
But could she?
