The Skyweaver paced her tower for three days and three nights. Finally, she agreed to Leandra’s plan.
Skyweaver didn’t spin souls into stars that night. Instead, she called the Shadow God, saying she’d considered his proposition and had decided to accept.
The Shadow God heard her.
The Shadow God came.
The moment he stepped through her door, Skyweaver spun a web made of starlight to catch him. She bound him up tight in her threads.
As she raised the knife to kill him, though, she found before her not a mighty god. Not a bringer of chaos and destruction. But a creature full of sorrow. A thing to be pitied.
“Do it,” he hissed.
But she couldn’t.
Instead, she hid the Shadow God away, in a place between worlds, where no one would ever find him.
And then she took something precious from him. Something that would ensure he remained ensnared forever.
Something he didn’t even know he owned.
She told Leandra it was done. The Shadow God was dead. What did it matter if she lied? He would never get free of her web.
So peace returned to the Star Isles... for a time.
Twenty-Four
Eris, whose fingers were cramped from weaving all night, had only meant to rest for a moment. But when she shut her eyes, sleep claimed her. She dreamed she’d failed to do as Jemsin asked, and now the summoner was walking the labyrinth, coming for her.
Eris woke with a start, sweat soaked. Heart hammering.
For a moment, she lay quiet and still, listening for the clicking of talons.
But all was silent.
Just a dream.
She remembered her half-finished weaving and sat up. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could find the Namsara and trade her in for freedom. So Eris rose from the bed of woven blankets.
It wasn’t her bed, just like the clothes in the wooden chest weren’t her clothes. They’d been left by whoever came here before she did. This place had never felt like hers, but rather likeshe was borrowing it until its true owner decided to come back.
Unlike the rest of the labyrinth, the bedroom had a natural warmth. The floorboards were well worn. Candles were lit on top of the dressers and bedside tables. And the embers of a forever-dying fire glowed in the fireplace. She’d never seen that fire go out, only burn. Same with the candles. She had no idea who kept them lit.
Maybe the ghost.
Now, as Eris passed the blue gown hanging over the chair in front of the vanity, she paused to study it. The weaving was so fine—expertly done—and no dust soiled it. No dust soiled anything inside the labyrinth.
The weaving,she reminded herself.The door.
Eris withdrew her hand and returned to the loom.
As she sat down before her half-finished tapestry and her fingers picked up the threads once more, she thought of what the summoner said: that Jemsin only wanted the Namsara because the empress wanted her.
Whatever she wants her for, thought Eris, sinking down on the soft rug and staring up at her progress,it can’t be good.
She should probably warn Safire.
Except no. Why would she? Safire and the rest of them had intended to hand her over to monsters today. Safire would do it again in a heartbeat.
