“I mean—” Silla gestured to the enormous tapestry strung above the fireplace. “—there are simply somanyof them in this place.”
“Ashfall is built into a fire mountain,” said Kaeja, as though Silla were a simpleton. “And the dragon is symbolic of both the fire mountain and House Hakon’s might.”
Heat rose in Silla’s cheeks.
“Theycanbe rather unsettling,” said Liv, voice loweredconspiratorially. “Sometimes it feels as though I’m being watched, but when I turn around, it’s only a tapestry.”
Silla was glad to hear the telltale sounds of approaching footfalls signaling the Weaver’s arrival, and her exit from this conversation. The Weaver looked to have seen four decades, and she was trailed by a pair of acolytes. The acolytes went to an enormous loom leaning against the wall and began untangling the warp threads, while the Weaver faced Silla with a demure smile.
“Your Highness,” said the Weaver, before dipping into a curtsy. “I’m honored to Weave for you today.”
Silla’s stomach knotted and twisted as she considered the precise wording of her question for the Weaver. She’d been warned to keep herafflictionwithin a tight-knit circle, and glanced at Liv and Kaeja, searching her mind for the etiquette lesson that would allow her to kick them out politely.
But the Weaver must have read her dilemma, for she turned to the pair and said, “My Weavings are done strictly in private.”
Liv frowned. “But Lady Tala said—”
“You may wait in the antechamber,” said the Weaver, her crisp voice brooking no argument.
Kaeja eyed Silla suspiciously, then moved toward the door with Liv in tow. The acolytes, having completed their task, trailed silently after them.
Once they were alone in the room, Silla shot the Weaver a thankful look.
“Have you had your threads Woven before?”
Silla wiped her palms on her skirts. “Not formally, but I…Harpa Galtung once read my…aura?”
The Weaver’s eyes flared. “Harpa Galtung? She’s not been seen in an age.” She paused. “Well. I shall require a few drops of your blood to activate my galdur. Then I’ll be able to sense your threads and Weave them into a tapestry.” She gestured to the loom.
“I have…questions,” Silla said apprehensively. The Weaver nodded, and she continued. “I would like to know what has befallenmy sister, and where she might be. I would know who tried to poison me. And I would know if there is a cure for the bargain my mother made.”
The Weaver’s gaze drifted around her face.
“It is a lot, I know.” Silla laughed bitterly.
“There is no guarantee I will find the answers,” said the Weaver after a beat, “but I will keep my eyes and ears open while I Weave.”
Silla nodded. The Weaver handed her a dagger, and with a quick breath, Silla slashed a shallow cut across her palm. As she watched the blood pool, she couldn’t help but recall the vision of her mother slashing her own palm before summoning the dark god.
As though He were listening, Myrkur cracked an eye open.
The Weaver dipped her fingers in Silla’s blood, rubbing it between forefinger and thumb. Silla had witnessed Harpa in her Weaving trance, and she knew to expect the milky-white sheen the Weaver’s eyes would take on.
“I see your threads,” murmured the woman, before turning to her loom. “I see…another. I see your sister.”
Silla’s pulse throbbed with excitement. “Where is she?”
The Weaver did not seem to hear her. “I see two bright threads, woven tightly together before splitting. Your sister’s thread has diverged greatly from your own…”
Diverged greatly.Silla’s mind raced. Where could she be? But the fact that Saga’s thread was not yet cut surely meant she was alive. Silla clung to this fact with everything she had.
“I see threads of darkness woven in with each.” There was a note of worry in the Weaver’s voice. “I see…a battle.”
The Weaver’s magic thrummed in the air, while Silla’s pulse kicked up with excitement. Myrkur yawned and arched His back. “A battle?” pressed Silla.
The stones weighing the warp thread knocked together as the Weaver worked at her loom. “Beneath a great tree—”
“And a cure?” she asked, leaning forward. “For my mother’s bargain?” Hope and anticipation built inside her. Silla sensed she was on the precipice of a great discovery—
