Chapter 5 Dimas
FIVE
DIMAS
His Fateweaver was trying to leave the empire.
Dimas’s blood thrummed with certainty as his carriage rolled through the Wilds, leaving the village of Forvyrg far behind.
Ioseph sat to his left, his long legs tucked awkwardly to the side in an effort to make space for the carriage’s two new occupants.
It was a tight fit; whenever Dimas shifted to try to get more comfortable, his arm or leg would brush against some part of Ioseph, and he’d be forced to turn his head to the side to hide the flush in his cheeks.
It was clear Finaen and Maia AEspen had never ridden by carriage before.
They jumped at every bump, and their skin had turned a sickly shade.
Neither had said a word since they’d left their home behind, to Dimas or to each other, but the tension between them was so heavy that the frozen wasteland outside of the carriage had begun to look appealing.
His Fateweaver—Lenora, Finaen had said—was somewhere out there.
After they’d separated themselves from the angry crowd of villagers and taken shelter in Finaen and Maia’s home, the boy had told Dimas what he knew: that Lenora was planning to flee Wyrecia altogether and had set off for the trading city of Deyecia in search of someone she believed could help.
Ioseph had kept watch on a furious Maia as they’d talked. The girl had refused to give anything away, and given how hurt she’d seemed by her brother’s forwardness, Dimas was inclined to believe Finaen had been telling him the truth.
They’d just returned to his carriage when the image of his Fateweaver had flashed through Dimas’s mind, pulling him from the small village the AEspen siblings called home to the harshness of the icy forests. And before him, staring at something he could not see, had been Lenora.
She had looked the same as she had the first time he’d seen her: angry, fierce, as wild as the woods at her back.
But Dimas had called out to her anyway, like the fool his father had always claimed him to be, and the Fateweaver’s attention had drifted from whatever she’d been staring at in that dark forest to land on him.
Something inside of Dimas had surged the second their eyes met.
It was a different sensation to the one he’d felt when Naebya had given him a glimpse of his future Fateweaver; then, he’d been seeing Lenora through Naebya’s power.
But this … this was the legendary bond between emperor and Fateweaver, as divine as his father had always claimed it to be.
Even in its weakened state, it was like nothing Dimas had ever felt.
And it had been clear from Lenora’s expression that she’d felt it, too.
For a moment, he’d forgotten about his failures. His Fateweaver had been right there, and everything was exactly as it should have been.
And then Lenora’s expression had shifted into one of such hatred, such fear, that Dimas’s blood had run cold.
Shadows had crept into the edges of his vision as he’d felt her push, shoving at him with her mind, until the frozen trees and the angry flash of her eyes had vanished, leaving him hunched over in his carriage, nose dripping with blood.
He’d managed to wipe it away before Ioseph opened the carriage door.
Still, the soldier’s eyes had narrowed at the sight of him, as if he’d been able to sense that something was wrong.
Dimas had wanted to tell him everything.
To share his burden with the one person he trusted with all his secrets.
But Finaen and his sister had been standing at Ioseph’s side, their wrists bound, and so Dimas had forced a smile and kept his mouth shut.
Now the urge to tell someone about what had happened itched beneath his skin. He’d never heard of a Fateweaver being able to reject the bond before, and the knowledge that his apparently could was doing little to ease the knot in his stomach.
The carriage lurched, causing Maia to let out a groan. Finaen reached out to her, clearly forgetting the rope binding his wrists. A hiss escaped his lips as the material dug into his flesh.
“Are these really necessary?” Finaen asked.
On the surface, Finaen AEspen appeared to be an ally. He’d told Dimas about everything, from the ancient creature that had obeyed Lenora’s command to her plans to leave Wyrecia altogether.
But Dimas couldn’t afford to take any chances.
“I’m afraid so,” he said, pushing aside his guilt. “I appreciate your cooperation so far, but until my hunters return with Lenora and your information is proven true, the ropes stay on.”
Finaen slumped back in his seat, his eyes darkening. Maia stayed silent at his side, but Dimas could tell from the twist of her lips and the stiff set of her shoulders that she was just as unhappy about the situation as her brother.
He’d make it up to them. If it turned out that Finaen could help him convince Lenora that Dimas wasn’t the monster she thought he was, then Dimas would appoint the village boy as a member of her personal guard.
He would give Maia a position in the palace.
They would never have to know cold and hunger again.
And if he betrays you? a voice that sounded suspiciously like his father’s asked. What will you do then?
Dimas clenched his hands into fists. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if Finaen was lying—of the sentence he’d be expected to give. Instead, he turned his attention to the frozen wasteland beyond his window, where the sky was beginning to darken with the promise of an oncoming storm.
“How much farther is the outpost?” he asked.
He’d never experienced one of the infamous western storms himself, but he’d heard about their brutality from the lords who oversaw affairs in the towns closest to the edge of the Wilds.
Even with their stone houses and fur blankets, they claimed the storms always left them blue-lipped and starved.
Dimas doubted the carriage, sturdy as it was, would be enough to protect them if they got stuck in the middle of a blizzard.
Ioseph pulled out the map from beneath his cloak. “We’re not far. Another half a bell and we should be there.” He glanced out of the window on his side of the carriage, brow furrowing at the darkening sky. “If fate is in our favor, we should make it before the storm hits.”
If. Ioseph said it lightly, as if it didn’t even cross his mind that fate wouldn’t be in their favor.
Dimas knew he should feel the same. That his faith should be stronger than anyone’s.
As a Ehmar, he was favored by the Goddess of Fate herself.
His bond to the Fateweaver’s power was proof enough of that.
But after watching his mother die, he’d found himself questioning the goddess Naebya more and more.
But it was Maia who asked, “And if it’s not?”
She was younger than Finaen, perhaps by a few years. No older than fifteen namesdays. And yet her expression as she said those words … it was the visage of someone who was used to preparing for the worst. The sight was enough to make Dimas push aside his own doubts.
“We will,” he said, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Like Ioseph said, we’re not far, and—”
The carriage lurched to a stop, throwing Dimas and the rest of the passengers forward. Maia cried out, and a string of colorful curses came pouring out of Finaen’s mouth.
“What in the Sisters’ name was that?” he asked, already moving toward the window.
“I’m sure it was nothing. Probably just a blockage in the road,” Ioseph said, shifting slightly in his seat. “Also, if you value your life, I’d suggest you keep any mention of the Sisters to yourself.”
Maia glared at him, her mouth opening in what was no doubt a protest, but Finaen spoke before she could get the words out.
“There’s something out there.”
Finaen’s voice was quiet enough to send a shiver running down Dimas’s spine.
He moved toward the window, his pulse quickening.
Outside of the carriage, the frozen plains looked no different than they had a few moments before; endless fields of white snow, towering stone mountains that disappeared into gray skies, and forests of skeletal trees.
“I don’t see anything,” Ioseph said after a few heartbeats of silence. “Are you sure you—”
Something landed on top of the carriage with a heavy thump, cutting off the prince before he could finish.
Ioseph pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for the others to stay quiet. They huddled together in the center of the carriage, gazes fixed on the windows on either side.
After a few moments of silence, Ioseph reached for the carriage door, “Stay here,” he whispered.
Dimas’s hand shot out, his fingers curling around the soldier’s wrist. He’d done it without thinking, and as Ioseph’s eyes fell onto his face, the harshness in them softening just a fraction, his cheeks flushed at how foolish he’d been.
Out here, Ioseph wasn’t just his best friend.
He was a soldier, and it was his job to put himself in danger to ensure Dimas’s safety.
And so instead of begging him not to go, Dimas simply let his hand fall to his side and said, “Be careful.”
Ioseph offered him a small, barely perceptible smile. “I always am.”
He ducked out of the carriage with a predator’s grace, barely making a sound. The carriage door clicked shut behind him, leaving Dimas alone with the two villagers he’d taken into his custody.
“What was that about fate being on our side?” Maia mumbled.
He turned around to face the siblings, who were still sitting on one of the plush carriage benches with as much distance between them as possible. It seemed even being stranded in the middle of the Wilds during an impending snowstorm wasn’t enough to soften Maia’s anger toward her brother.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Dimas said, because it seemed like the right thing to say.