But that wasn’t what halted Eris’s footsteps.
It was the man being forced to his knees. Being forced to watch.
“Day . . . ,” she whispered.
A woman stood before him, her pale hair twisted back in a severe bun. The way she held herself—chin high, shoulders back—said she was used to giving orders. She was dressed in black like all the other soldiers, her hand gripping a silver sword as she stared down at her captive.
“Did you think you could hide from me?” Eris heard the commander say, her voice ringing out over the crackling flames.
Day held her gaze from where he knelt in the dirt.
“Where is it?”
Day didn’t say a word.
“Shall I tell you how she screamed in the end? How she begged?”
Day’s jaw clenched and for a moment, Eris thought he might lunge, but he stayed where he was and did nothing.
“Tell me where it is!”
Day stared past her. Stony and silent. Giving no answer.
The commander hit him in the jaw with the hilt of her sword. Day spat blood, shook his head once as if to clear it, then looked up. Past the woman. To the stars.
Eris saw her guardian’s lips move. Watched his mouth form the familiar words.
“‘When my enemy surrounds me . . .’”
It was the prayer he’d taught her. The one they recited together at night.
“‘I remember’”—his voice seemed to get louder, floating up to Eris—“‘you are with me.’”
The commander sneered at Day, drawing back her sword.
Eris knew what was about to happen. Knew she was powerless to stop it.
“No . . .”
“‘And though they break my body, they can never take my soul.’”
The commander plunged the silver sword through Day’s heart.
Eris felt her body freeze over.
Before she could scream, Jemsin’s hand came down hard over her mouth. Pulling her back. She tried to push him off. Day needed her. She had to go to him.
The woman withdrew the blade. As she did, Day looked straight at Eris. As if he’d known she was there all along.
Their gazes locked. Eris saw the blood seeping through his gray sweater. Saw that his eyes were already clouding over. She stopped struggling.
In that moment before death stole him away, he mouthed one word.
“Run.”
And then Jemsin was hauling her back to the trees, telling her the same thing as Day.
“Day! The scrin!” She sobbed. “My friends are all inside!”
Jemsin grabbed her shoulders and made her face him. “Listen to me, lass. Your friends are dead. There’s nothing you can do for them now.” He pulled her against his wet, salt-encrusted clothes. “We have to run. It’s what he would want: for you to survive.” He pulled her away, wiped the tears from her cheeks.
Eris looked up into his brown eyes.
“Are you ready?”
Eris nodded.
They ran.
They needed a way off the islands, but everything Jemsin owned had sunk to the bottom of the sea, and the Across would only shelter them temporarily—the only door within it led straight back to the scrin. So Eris tried to barter her spindle for passage aboard a ship. The shipmaster sneered at her, turning them both away—until he saw the knife at her hip. The one Day gave her. “That,” he told her with gleaming eyes as he called her back, “is a fairer trade.”
So Eris sold her knife in exchange for passage.
It was only after they sailed out of the harbor, only after the Star Isles disappeared in the distance, that Eris wondered: Why Day? Why had the commander of the Lumina army forced him to watch the scrin burn, and no other? He was only a caretaker.
And what had they been looking for? What was so important, it warranted burning the scrin with everyone inside it?
But Eris remembered the conversation she’d overheard. The Master Weaver had given her a clue when she eavesdropped on him and Day: If she stays any longer, she’ll bring sorrow upon us.
Day hadn’t disagreed with him.
Eris didn’t know why the Lumina had come, or what they wanted. But she did know this: The destruction of the scrin, the slaughter of all her friends, the death of her guardian . . .
These things were her fault.
Nineteen
Eris had never told that story to anyone. She only told it now because it might earn her Safire’s sympathy. If she had Safire’s sympathy, she might be able to change the commandant’s mind about handing her over to the empress.
But another part of her told the story because ever since Kor told Safire it was Eris who burned down the scrin, Eris couldn’t stop thinking about the look that had come into Safire’s eyes. Horror. Then disgust. And last of all: loathing.
Normally, these things didn’t matter to Eris. Who cared what other people thought about her?
But for some stupid reason, it mattered what Safire thought.
In the silence after finishing her story, Safire stood immobile, staring out the porthole. Eris shifted uncomfortably, waiting for her to say something. The pain in her wrists made her jaw clench, and her legs shook from being forced to stand all night.
Finally, Safire turned. “You expect me to believe,” she whispered, “that the empress slaughtered a temple full of people devoted to her patron god . . . and blamed it on a child?” Her voice had gone strangely hollow. “How stupid do you think I am?”
Swallowing the knot of disappointment in her throat, Eris bit back the first cutting retort that came to mind.
What did you expect? Eris thought. That she would believe you—a petty thief in the service of a horrible pirate—over the benevolent ruler of a peaceful society?
Of course Safire would side with the empress. She was royal—just like Leandra.
Eris watched Safire roughly untie the pale blue ribbon keeping her black hair off her face only to retie it around her wrist. She then ran frustrated fingers through the strands, pulling them back, her fingers working an angry knot. “It’s in your best interest to win me over,” she said, her voice heated now as she slid a slender knife through the knot, pinning it in place while concealing the blade. “You need me to let you go.”
Well, yes, that was exactly what Eris needed. But that wasn’t the only reason she’d told the story. It also happened to be true.
She felt like she’d been tricked into giving away something precious, only to have it spat on.
When did I get so naïve? she thought bitterly.
Safire shook her head in disgust. “I can see why you’re invaluable to Jemsin. You’re not just an excellent thief. You’re a masterful liar.”
“You’re right,” said Eris in defeat. “I made it all up so you’d set me free.”
Safire scowled. “Free to hunt down my cousin the moment you have the chance? Even if I did believe you, I wouldn’t set you free.”
Someone called from above, interrupting. Eris glanced to the door, her body tense.
“We’re coming into port,” said Safire, looking out the porthole.
Axis Isle. Where Leandra’s citadel resided.
“Perfect,” she murmured, even as a sick feeling festered in her gut. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you’re out of my life.”