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. Beforeshe 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.
Safire stared at the shapes.They look like... rocks.
“They’re from older times,” said Dagan, who drew up beside her. Safire glanced up into his face to find it sun darkened and weathered from years of grappling with the wind and sea. “When people still worshipped the Shadow God.”
Safire frowned at that. “I didn’t know people worshipped him.”
“Neither did we,” said Torwin, watching Asha set down the lantern and walk out past the circle, toward the edge of the head. Beyond Asha, the moon rose over the sea, its white reflection rippling on the black water below.
Lured like a dragon to a story, Torwin walked out to meet her.
As he did, Safire breathed in the smell of this place: salt and juniper and moss. Just for a moment, despite her chattering fears and conflicted feelings, Safire felt a presence. Not like Sorrow waiting in the mist, or Eris following her through the halls. This was something else. Something far older and deeper. It was as if the spirit of these islands had come to brush up against her.
Safire lifted her palm to one of the giant stones.
From beside her, Dagan said very quietly, “I thought I recognized that dress.”
It wasn’t the words he said so much as the way he said themthat made Safire turn. The fisherman stared at the left wrist of her raised hand, to the silver star embroidered there. At the sight of it, his dark brown eyes shone with sorrow.
“That’s the mark of the scrin.”
Safire lifted the embroidered sleeve closer, squinting through the lantern light.
“I used to trade with them for fish,” he whispered, his eyes seeing something else. “They’d give me garments in exchange.” He blinked, then peered down to Safire’s wrist once more, staring at the mark. “They sold for a near fortune in Axis’s market. People would come from all over to buy them, just because of that star.”
He looked up, suddenly. “Where did you get it?”
“It... was a gift,” she said.
He nodded once, and she could see in his eyes that he was finished talking about this, that there was pain here and he was ready to change the subject.
Safire couldn’t let him do that. Here before her stood someone who might know things: about the scrin, about the night it burned. She couldn’t let this chance to find out the truth escape her.
“Actually,” she said, knowing the risk and taking it anyway, “it was a gift from the empress’s fugitive. A girl named Eris.”
His face jerked back to hers. “What did you say?”
