Chapter 3 Dimas #2
His Fateweaver had avoided her bōden heritage being discovered all these years, either because she’d hidden her visions, or because these people had learned the truth and chosen to keep it secret.
Dimas was willing to bet that even if the people of the Wilds knew where this girl was, they were never going to tell him.
To them, he was the enemy. The son of the man who had ordered hunters to raid their villages.
Who had stood by as their loved ones were killed by his family’s soldiers for spreading lies and heresy about the empire’s matron goddess.
He didn’t blame them for hating him. Not when a small, festering part of him hated himself, too.
Dimas’s gaze passed over each of the villagers. Over their worn clothing and gaunt faces. These people knew hardship, knew fear, in ways Dimas and the Fist never could. Threats weren’t going to work. No, he had to try something different.
“The first person to tell me where I can find her will receive a Boon of Fate of their choosing.”
The crowd remained silent, but Dimas didn’t miss the flicker of yearning in some of their eyes; boons were rarely granted to anyone outside of the imperial city, where people from across Wyrecia would travel to ask for the Fateweaver’s favor.
In all his time at court, Dimas had only ever seen Lady Sefwyn grant a boon to someone of non-noble birth once.
And it had been his mother’s doing.
The skin on the back of his neck rose at the memory of his mother standing tall and fierce before a court that did not believe her fit to rule.
A young woman had knelt before Lady Sefwyn, a babe in her arms as pale as winter snow; its small chest had risen and fallen in too-shallow gasps.
His father and Lady Sefwyn had refused the woman’s request to ensure the child survived the illness plaguing her lungs.
But Dimas’s mother had stood from her throne and taken the woman’s hands in her own.
“I will pay the price of the boon,” the empress had said, stunning the court into silence. And then she had met the emperor’s eyes with such defiance even an eight-year-old Dimas had understood the danger it put her in. “Will you refuse me, husband?”
Vesric’s lips spread into a dangerous smile. “Of course not, my love.”
Lady Sefwyn was ordered to grant the village woman’s boon a moment later, and for weeks, the empress’s bold outburst was on the lips of every palace servant.
His mother had died two months later.
“With all due respect, Your Highness.” A boy stepped forward from the back of the crowd, pulling Dimas back to the present. “Only the emperor can offer a Boon of Fate. And if I’m not mistaken, you are not yet emperor.”
The boy couldn’t have known his words would be a hard blow—another reminder of Dimas’s failures as heir.
“Watch your tongue,” Ioseph snapped.
“It’s alright,” Dimas said, not breaking the boy’s stare. “What is your name?”
The boy paused, and then said, “Finaen AEspen.”
Dimas gestured to the parchment still clutched in his hand. “And do you know where this girl is?” he asked.
“Oh, she’s long gone. Fled into the woods the second she saw you coming.”
“Finaen!” hissed a young, fair-haired girl with a bandage wrapped around her head. She had the same hazel eyes as Finaen. The same fierce brows and bow-shaped lips. “What are you doing?”
Dimas ignored her. His heart was a drum inside of his chest as he whirled to face Milos, the order already on his lips. “Find her. We’ll rendezvous at the hunter’s outpost not far from here.”
They’d passed it on their way to Forvyrg. It had been a small, wooden cabin, run-down and covered in layers of frost, but it was a better alternative than bringing his Fateweaver back here, where she could reveal the truth of who she was.
The boy—Finaen—took another step forward. “You won’t find her. And if you do, you’ll never convince her to serve you. Not without my help.”
Dimas had spent long enough in his father’s court to know that anyone could be tempted by their greatest desires. His father had been weak to his desire for Lady Sefwyn, and most of the emperor’s court members and high-ranking soldiers had betrayed someone in their lives to get to where they were.
Dimas would bet his crown that this boy was no different.
“And what will your help cost?”
The crowd of villagers before Dimas was no longer looking at him.
Instead, their attention had turned to Finaen and the girl at his side, regarding them with a scrutiny that hadn’t been there before.
The girl grabbed onto Finaen’s wrist, her eyes wide and pleading, and something in Finaen’s expression shifted with the slightest hint of hesitation. Of guilt.
But then the boy took another look at the soldiers still at Dimas’s side. At the hands resting on the hilt of their swords.
“A position in the royal guard. And a place in the palace for me and my sister. I’d say that’s a fair trade for a heretic as … unique as this one.”
He knows.
Dimas’s palms grew slick beneath his gloves.
Somehow this boy knew why he was really here, who he was really looking for.
Would he reveal the truth if Dimas didn’t agree to his terms?
There were already rumors of a heretical cult rising up somewhere in the north; if the people knew the empire’s future Fateweaver was on the run, it could cause a full-on rebellion.
He couldn’t let that happen. He would find his Fateweaver, and he would prove to his father—to everyone—that he was worthy of being emperor.
“Tell me what you know,” he said.