Prologue

Eighteen Years Previous

Skye was only a child the first time she watched them put a traitor on trial. She saw them take the man’s hands. Saw the blood run swift and dark over the stone altar as the soldier wiped his blade clean, like a storm sweeping over a sapphire sea.

Skye remembers the way the severed hands twitched like crushed spiders dying on their backs, thin legs curling inward. Remembers the way the enemy stared at the stumps of his arms as the blood ran down to his elbows.

Remembers how he screamed.

That was a lifetime ago. Tonight, they’ll put another traitor on trial. Skye is waiting in her cell. Because it won’t be an enemy’s hands they take this time—it will be Skye’s hands. And she has only herself to blame.

Be a good girl. Keep your head down. Remember your place.

These were the words she lived by once. The lessons instilled in her since birth.

That was before she met Crow. A boy from the shadows undid all her lessons. He undid everything.

Crow. Like a swallowed thorn, the name stings her lips and tongue and throat.

How could she be so naïve?

Skye will tell you how. She will weave you a tapestry while there’s still time. It will be her last weaving. Because once the moon rises and they come for her, Skye will weave no more.

You can’t weave without hands.