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. She wanted this.

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 mist evaporate 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.

“I thought you should know.”

Eris swallowed, nodding. “Thank you,” she said as the summoner melted into the shadows.

Alone, Eris paused, thinking of Jemsin. The man had been both rescuer and captor, and now he was dead. Had she already spun his soul into a star? The thought made her realize she bore him no hatred. Only wished him rest.

That girl of yours . . .

Just for a moment, Eris let herself look south across the Silver Sea, thinking of Safire. She’d thought, weeks ago, that perhaps Safire would stay. Instead, she said good-bye, boarded Dax’s ship, and returned to Firgaard.

Eris understood, of course. Safire’s whole life was in Firgaard.

She’d thought about visiting her. She didn’t need the doors anymore. Eris could call up the mists herself and step right from her tower into Safire’s bedroom if she wanted. But every time she longed to, she would look at the hook where her right hand used to be and talk herself out of it.

Eris tried to put the girl with sapphire eyes out of mind as she climbed into her boat. Unfurling the sails, she untied the ropes from the wharf, then steered herself out into open waters.

Eris listened to the rise and fall of the sea’s hushed breath. The water was calm today. It would make for easy sailing from here to the scrin.

With her hook curved around the wheel, Eris closed her eyes. No more Jemsin. No more empress. No more hiding or running away. With the wind in her hair and the salt on her lips, her newfound freedom glowed within her. Making her blood hum.

And then: a shadow passed overhead.

Eris opened her eyes. Looking up, she found a dragon flying directly above her.

Suddenly, the beast dived, swooping lower to the water, falling in line with Eris’s boat. On its back rode a girl whose face was half-hidden in a scarf. The wind whipped her raven-black hair and above the scarf, her eyes shone blue as sapphires.

“Where are you headed, sailor?”

Eris stared, not wanting to believe it. In case this was a dream.

Finally, she shook off her shock and shouted back: “I guess that depends on who’s asking.”

Eris thought she saw those blue eyes crinkle. And then, tired of keeping pace with such a slow craft, the dragon sped up, swooping in lazy circles around the ship.

“I’m wondering,” the rider called out, “if you’re still fond of princesses, or if you’ve changed your mind.”

Eris bit down on a smile. “Princesses are fine.” As the dragon swooped, Eris turned another circle, keeping it and its rider in her sight. “Though I prefer soldiers.”

“What about a former soldier?”

Eris’s heart skipped at that. “Why don’t you come down here and we’ll talk about it face-to-face?”

A moment later, the dragon was keeping pace with the boat again, soaring low, mindful of the sails. His rider patted his neck, saying something softly. As the dragon kept himself steady and close, Safire swung her leg over and jumped.

Her boots hit the deck and she rocked, throwing out her arms for balance. When she found it, she rose to her full height and pulled the sandskarf down from her face.

Her gaze went straight to the hook where Eris’s hand used to be. Eris fought the urge to hide it behind her back.

Wanting to divert Safire’s attention away from her missing hand, Eris nodded toward the wheel. “Want to try?”

Safire looked up, arching a brow. “Me? Steer a boat?”

“It might come in useful someday,” said Eris, feeling strangely nervous. “When you turn pirate.”

Safire shook her head, smiling, then stepped toward the wheel.

“All right,” said Safire, her eyes guarded but bright. As if she were just as nervous as Eris. “Show me.”

Carefully, Eris touched Safire’s hip with the curve of her hook, guiding her in front, then showed her where to grip the smooth wood of the wheel.

Safire reached for it, but kept her hands too close together. So, very gently, Eris nudged them apart, pushing them into proper position.

“Like that,” Eris said, standing close.

It was quiet for several heartbeats. After a long while, with her heart thudding against her ribs, Eris said, “What are you doing here?”

Safire turned then, abandoning the wheel, clearly not interested in sailing. Her eyes never wavered from Eris’s face as she said, “I left something behind.”

Above them, the dragon rose skyward, keeping watch. Around them, the sea had gone silent and still.

“Oh?” Eris swallowed. “And what’s that?”

Safire stepped in close. Reaching for Eris’s hook, she pressed it to her chest.

“My heart,” she whispered, touching her forehead to Eris’s.

And Eris thought: This is home.

No more running and hiding. This was where she belonged.