This seemed to get through to Safire, whose hands slid up under Eris’s shirt and over her skin, skidding up her back. Eris’s hands trembled as they cupped Safire’s neck. Wanting this—wanting her—more than she’d ever wanted anything.
When she captured Safire’s mouth with her own, Safire kissed her hungrily back.
The tide came in, rushing against their legs. Safire and Eris ignored it. The waves came in faster and harder, until one of them nearly knocked them both over, dousing them in cold water.
Safire sucked in a breath at the shock of it. Eris laughed. “Come on,” she said, tugging Safire’s arm.
Was this what happiness felt like?
They stumbled back to the beach, where Eris dropped into the sand, bringing Safire down with her, both of them yearning to finish what they started as the sun rose over the sea.
Thirty-Four
Safire woke nestled beneath the blankets of a warm bed, with the memory of Eris on her skin. Candles burned in sconces around her, illuminating this room. If she could call it a room. The walls were made of brightly colored glass and the only thing within was a bed and a chest.
Where am I?
It felt like neither night nor day here, but something in between.
Am I dreaming? she wondered.
Somewhere in the distance, a noise made her turn her head and listen: clack, clack, clack.
It drew her from the bed.
Safire followed the soft and steady sound through this strange maze of stained-glass walls, the glow of the candle illuminating her path, which twisted and turned as she followed the clacking sound. Twice she was greeted by dead ends. A third time she took a turn only to end up back where she started.
Finally, she found the source of the noise and stepped into a room lit by dozens of candles.
Eris sat cross-legged on a white carpet. Before her was a loom.
Safire knew she should announce herself instead of standing here spying, but she found herself immobilized by the haunting elegance of the girl at the loom. Eris’s sleeves were rolled to the elbows. Her hands were steady and sure as they moved the shuttle back and forth, back and forth, in a gentle rhythm that mesmerized Safire. The glow from the candles clustered all around Eris, catching in her pale hair, making it gleam.
Safire thought of the beach. Of her fingers tangled in that hair. Of those hands and how they knew exactly what to do.
Who are you? The question had been living inside her ever since the mysterious Death Dancer turned up in Firgaard.
Eris’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Are you going to stand there all day?”
Safire froze, caught.
Eris didn’t turn around, just kept weaving. So Safire came to the carpet and sat down beside her.
“Where are we?” she said, glancing around them.
“Across” was all Eris said.
From here Safire could see the color of the threads: sunrise red and creamy beige and sea blue. It was nearly finished, making Safire wonder how long she’d been at this.
“What are you making?” Safire asked.
“You’ll see.”
When Safire looked closer, she saw things were woven among the threads: beach grass, seaweed, and a small white stone with a hole worn through it, looped with yarn and tied in.
“Who taught you how to do this?” Safire asked, studying the weaving.
“The weavers at the scrin,” Eris said softly. “It was their job to preserve things. Stories, mainly. They kept the stories of Skyweaver alive by weaving them into tapestries.”
“Tapestries that burned with the scrin,” murmured Safire.
Eris nodded. “They say Skyweaver walks among us, here on the islands.”
Safire listened, mesmerized by the movement of her hands.
“The black tower that looms over Axis? It’s her tower. They say she spends all night up there, spinning souls into stars and weaving them into the sky.”
Safire could hear the bitterness in Eris’s tone as she said this. It reminded her of Dagan’s words: I have no use for a god who does nothing while her servants are slaughtered.
They both fell silent. Eris weaving; Safire watching.
“Why would she burn it?” Safire asked suddenly. “What threat could a temple full of craftsmen possibly pose to an empress?”
The loom fell silent as Eris’s hands fell still. “It’s a question I ask myself every day.”
Safire thought of what Dagan said—how he wasn’t allowed to speak of the child who’d been given sanctuary by the scrin. None of the weavers were. As if she was some kind of dangerous secret.
Safire looked from Eris’s hands to her face. The line of her jaw was hard, her teeth clenched, and her eyes were strangely blank.
What if, thought Safire, you’re the threat?
But what damage could Eris possibly do to the empress?
It didn’t make any sense.
One thing was certain in Safire’s mind: she needed to return to the citadel and tell Dax everything. He needed to know who exactly he was allying himself with. But then what? Dax and Roa needed the seeds the empress had offered them.
Maybe the only thing to do was wait. Soon their visit would be over and the seeds would be loaded aboard their ship. Once that happened, Dax and Roa and Safire could go collect Asha and Torwin, and together they could all return home, putting the empress and her islands behind them.
Before she rose to her feet, Safire said, “I think you should come with us.”
Whatever dark thoughts Eris was lost in, Safire’s voice shattered them. She glanced up. “What?”
“To Firgaard, I mean. I can protect you there.” Speaking the words aloud strengthened the conviction inside Safire, until it was hard and strong as steel. “No one will touch you. Not the empress. Not Jemsin. Not anyone.”
Eris set down the shuttle, keeping her gaze away from Safire.
“Jemsin’s summoner will come,” she whispered, staring at the loose threads before her. “It always does.”
Safire didn’t know who Jemsin’s summoner was, but it didn’t matter. “Then I’ll be ready for it.”
“Even if you could . . .” Eris shook her head and looked up, her gaze cutting into Safire. “You’ll harbor the criminal who stole a jewel from your king’s treasury? A criminal who’s done far worse things than that?” Eris’s pale brows pinched together as she tilted her head. “You’re the commander of the king’s army, Safire. How do you think that will go?”
Safire, who’d forgotten all about the jewel Eris stole, suddenly realized exactly how that would go. If she brought the Death Dancer to Firgaard, she’d have to imprison her for her crimes.
“I’ll tell Dax everything,” Safire continued on, determined. “That the empress burned the scrin. That Jemsin forces you to steal for him.”
“He doesn’t always force me,” Eris looked back to the loom. “But none of that matters. Your king hates me.” Eris said the next part so softly, it was as if she didn’t want to hear herself speak the words. “I’m the girl who plans to hunt down his Namsara and exchange her for my freedom, remember?”
Safire grew suddenly cold. After everything that had happened between them, after this morning on the beach . . .
Things had changed.