Thia didn’t tell her it would be all right, because truthfully, she didn’t know if it would be. But she did hold Oskaren for as long as she needed it, running soothing circles over her back. Oskaren’s hands clutched Thia’s hips like an anchor, perhaps the only part of her she could access at this angle, her nose pressed into Thia’s neck. The girl’s tears were soaking her dress, but Thia didn’t mind.
After a while, Oskaren’s shoulders stilled, and the tears stopped. She shifted, and Thia thought she might let her go, but the girl only threaded their hands together, her head still on Thia’s shoulder. They sat like that, silent in the gentle lull of the music, Oskaren’s hair tickling her neck, until she felt the girl relax properly, her breathing slow. Then Thia asked, curious, “How did you escape?”
Now Oskaren did pull back, her thumbs brushing Thia’s knuckles. “The king summoned guards to take me to the dungeon,” she said, picking up the threads of her story. “As those I had trained under, they were at ease with me. I caught them by surprise and fled.” She pressed her lips into a thin line. “I’m not convinced the queen didn’twantme to get away. How else could I let the world know how heartless she’d made me?”
Thia looked steadily at her. “You’re not—” she began, only to halt as movement caught her eye.
“What?”
“The others are returning.”
Oskaren released Thia abruptly and clambered to her feet. “Dess can’t know.”
“He—”
“Swear it.” The girl seemed genuinely panicked, eyes wide as they skipped between her brother’s approach and Thia, fists clenched like maybe she regretted sharing everything she had.
“I won’t tell him. Or anyone,” Thia hurriedly assured her. “Oskaren.” She touched the girl’s elbow. “It’s your story to tell.”
“Okay,” Oskaren said, then repeated, almost like she was soothing herself. “Okay.” She gave a half-smile, which was genuine, if a bit melancholic, and chucked Thia under the chin. “Thank you.”
Thia expelled a breath, relieved. “Nothing to thank me for.” She joined Oskaren in standing, as Lythia arrived, Dess and Thran at her sides.
“Come, humans,” she said by way of greeting. “The Festival is ending. It is time for Myrdæth’s final gift.” She inclined her head to convey the solemnity of it. “You shall sleep in the Mirror of Souls.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
LYTHIA LED THE FOUR OF THEM BACK THROUGH THE TREES TO THERiver of Dreams, a branch of the River of Oaths that ran directly through Losrohiria. The most beautiful ship Thia had ever seen waited in the water, anchored to nothing, yet holding remarkably still where it sat along a dock made of dew. The hull itself was woven from branches sprouting leaves so green Thia wondered if they were still alive, and the sail was a lattice of flowers and vines braided tightly together to catch the wind.
“For your journey,” Lythia said, leading them aboard. She raised a hand, and the sail filled with a light breeze.
The Mirror of Souls, she explained as the ship crawled into motion, was a lake at the heart of Losrohiria. In its center was an island upon which, if travelers slept, they would have “true dreams.”
Dess leaned against the rail, facing the river. “What kind of true dreams?”
The question Thia would have asked, if she hadn’t been so distracted by Oskaren’s hand brushing the small of her back as she swayed forward with the ship’s motion. She wanted to turn and face her, to make sure she was okay, to thank her for sharing her story, but felt trapped with the others around, in light of the girl’s request.
Lythia shrugged. The gesture was awkward, like she was imitating human body language for their sake. “That is for the Mirror to decide,” she said vaguely.
Thankfully, it was not a long sail to the lake. Lulled by the gentle motion, the strangeness of the night finally caught up to Thia, and she found herself yawning. She guessed it had to be near dawn, though the sky had yet to lighten as they exited the river for the Mirror of Souls.
The island was tiny. At first Thia thought it was the distance. But as they crossed the lake, Lythia directing the ship to dock, Thia realized it was truly only the size of a basketball court or so. It was covered in smooth grass, floral tents marking each corner, four in total, their frames made of wood similar to that which structured their ship, with hanging vines for walls. Thia wondered if there were always four, or if they had been constructed just for their group. The island was barren of anything else.
Lythia exited the ship first, followed by Dess and Thran. Oskaren went ahead of Thia, her long legs handling the gap between ship and dock with ease. She held out a hand, which Thia took gratefully, allowing herself to be guided down and secured by two firm hands on her elbows.
“This is where I leave you,” Lythia said. “The ship will sail itself. You need only tell it where to go.” She took them in one after the other to make sure they understood. “May the Mirror make what must be known Known. And may the fortune of Fair Havens go with you.” She bowed.
Following Oskaren’s lead, Thia did the same, making the sign from shoulder to hip again. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “For everything.”
Lythia nodded solemnly, her voice ringing suddenly in Thia’s mind.I think we shall meet again, Storm Crow.Then she turned, before Thia could respond. Raising an arm, lily pads rose out of the lake, and she crossed them like stepping stones. Then she was gone, disappearing into the trees.
“To sleep?” Thran asked.
Dess yawned. “Definitely.”
Thia could feel Oskaren’s eyes on her. She wanted to say something, or to give a more ceremonious goodnight than this, but under the others’ scrutiny she felt awkward. So she settled on a brief hug that felt both too intimate and too dismissive, and let the others choose their tents first. When only the far one remained, Thia set out across the island, giving one last look over her shoulder at Oskaren as she went.
Inside, she was greeted by a luxurious four-poster bed, also crafted from branches and vines, and piled high with blankets softer than any material she had ever felt. There was a bath across from it; she poked the water with a tentative finger and found it hot. The air was different too: a warmer, sleepier temperature than the brisk night outside. Her pack had been left at the foot of the bed, along with her travel clothes, and beside that was a small table laid with a bowl of fruit and a loaf of bread. A nightgown of the same spider silk was folded on the pillow.
