Chapter 9 Lena
NINE
LENA
Lena had never seen the old temple before, but the magic inside of her clearly had. It stirred as she walked through the stone halls, retracing steps that were not her own.
Watch, it whispered. Listen.
Her wrists were bound before her. Lena tried to raise her arms. To pull at the ropes until they came free, but her body would not obey.
No, not her body. The hands were too smooth. The hair falling over her shoulder too dark.
“Please,” she said, but it was not her voice that came out. “You don’t have to do this.”
Even though the words didn’t belong to her, Lena felt the desperation behind them.
It pooled in her stomach the farther into the temple she went, curling up alongside the girl’s fear, and Lena found herself trying to turn her head to see who was beside her.
She could hear their footsteps. The heavy gasps of their breath.
Whoever it was, they remained silent as they led the girl through the stone halls.
It was only when they arrived at a set of spiraling stairs that the girl was made to stop. Sconces lit with a strange, blue light lined the walls, illuminating the engraved symbols in the stone. Old Wyrecian. Her fingers itched to reach out and trace them.
A hand pressed against her back, urging her forward before she had the chance to turn back.
The stone steps were ice-cold against the girl’s bare feet, and Lena could feel the cold spreading through the girl’s bones.
Down and down the girl went, until finally, she reached the bottom, her footsteps faltering as she took in the sight before her.
The chamber itself was nothing special; a circular room made of stone, lit by the same sconces that had lined the walls of the stairwell.
But in its center, surrounded by a half dozen figures in hooded robes, was a stone slab.
Fear froze her in place as her gaze locked onto it, and Lena knew just as surely as the girl did what the stone was meant for.
“Please,” the girl said again.
One of the robed figures stepped forward. “Do not be afraid, child. You are receiving a powerful gift, one that will allow you to protect these lands from those who wish to do it harm. It is a great honor. Now, come. Your fate awaits.”
The girl remained frozen, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Lena could feel her panic, her desperation, raging like a storm.
She tried to take control. To force the body she was trapped in to run.
But no matter how hard she willed it, the girl did not obey.
Instead, she turned her head toward the figure at her side, to the ropes around her wrist, as a new feeling flooded through her.
Resignation. And with it, stirring in the pit of her stomach, was a rage powerful enough to burn down the world.
Lena awoke drenched in sweat.
The memory of her dream lingered at the edges of her mind, twisting her stomach into knots.
She’d heard the tales of how the first Fateweaver was created.
Of how the bōda daughter of one of the first Zvaerna priests had been chosen as a vessel to harness the power of the Sisters of Fate in the mortal realm.
Like most of the stories about the first Fateweaver, there were different versions depending on who you asked; those who followed the teachings of the Zvaerna believed that the bōda girl was glad to have been chosen, and that the Sisters had given her a fraction of their power willingly as a show of support to the prince who would become Wyrecia’s first emperor.
It was only when the two younger Sisters, Laeda and Awyla, allegedly tried to turn the Fateweaver against the very emperor they had made an alliance with that the eldest sibling, Naebya, imprisoned them for the “good of the empire.” She’d been the empire’s matron goddess ever since.
Other people—like Lena and those who lived in the Wilds—believed differently.
The way her mother had always told it, the first Fateweaver had been taken against her will, and Naebya had imprisoned Her Sisters because they had been the ones trying to stop Her from corrupting the Fateweaver.
Lena’s people believed it was Naebya’s influence that had twisted every Fateweaver into a weapon of vengeance, one known to curse any who would refuse to worship Her as their one true goddess.
And for those who actively rebelled against Naebya or the Ehmar line, the Fateweaver would simply use her power to alter their fate, ensuring that whatever death had been woven for them was changed to be at the emperor’s hand.
It was a power her people believed no mortal should possess.
And now it ran through Lena’s veins.
She could feel it stirring beneath the surface of her skin, waiting to be released.
She dug her nails into her palms, letting the pain ground her as she sucked in deep mouthfuls of air.
Was the presence inside of her trying to show her something, or had the dream just been a manifestation of her anxieties? It had felt so vivid. So real.
It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, it was just another reason for her to escape this fates-damned empire as soon as possible.
It was early enough to still be dark out, and the unfamiliarity of the smuggler’s office had Lena’s fingers inching toward the space where her mother’s blade should have been.
Her mother’s face flashed before her eyes as her fingertips met her empty sheath. What is the first rule for surviving in the Wilds?
Lena closed her eyes, chasing the image. Never let your guard down. I know, Mada.
After her mother had first disappeared, the memory of her had been as bright and fierce as she had been in life, guiding Lena through the dark.
Now, though, her mother’s image was hazy.
Time had blurred the sharp angles of her face.
The shape of her smile. But her voice was still as clear as Lena’s own.
She clung to it as she got to her feet and scanned the room quickly.
Casimir was nowhere to be seen, and the top drawer of his desk was slightly ajar, revealing the curling edges of what appeared to be a roll of parchment.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Lena crossed the small space in two long strides, cursing when the wooden planks beneath let out an echoing creak.
She froze, hand hovering inches above the drawer, straining to hear any hint of movement.
Casimir had said he’d be upstairs, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been lying.
If he’d secretly left to betray her to the guards whilst she slept.
It was doubtful, considering it would mean sending them to a house full of incriminating evidence, but Lena wasn’t about to completely rule out the possibility.
After all, the smuggler’s help could clearly be bought.
She wanted to trust him. To trust that her mother wouldn’t have sent her somewhere she wouldn’t be safe. To trust that the rumors about him were true. But she was so close to her freedom now that taking chances wasn’t a luxury she could afford.
Once she was sure there was no one moving around the house, Lena pulled open the drawer in one swift movement.
It was too dark to see the full contents—and if she was honest, Lena didn’t even know what she was looking for.
Proof that Casimir was who he said he was?
Something that would give her leverage to use against him in case he betrayed her?
Whatever she was hoping to find, she had to do it fast.
She began rummaging through the drawer, eyes scanning the various bits of parchment.
Most were documents detailing various trade routes and guard rotations from here to the imperial city itself, items that, even though she’d never admit it out loud, made her faith in the smuggler just a little stronger.
At least he seemed to know what he was doing.
With information like this, it was no wonder he’d never been caught.
But how had he gotten it? Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Lena was about to give up her search when her fingers brushed against something smooth and cold.
She pulled out the offending object, peering at it in the darkness.
It was a tome, its leather worn and frayed, the writing on the front so faded it was difficult to make out.
Lena squinted, tilting her head to try to get a better angle, her pulse quickening.
The words weren’t words at all, but symbols, like the ones she’d seen in her dreams.
She’d just opened the book to a torn-out sketch of what looked like some sort of bracelet engraved with a variety of symbols when someone cleared their throat.
Lena startled, the movement causing the sketch to drift to the floor just as Casimir stepped into the room. She’d been so focused on her search she hadn’t even heard him approaching.
“It isn’t polite to snoop.” The smuggler bent down to pick up the sketch. “Besides, if you wish to know my deepest darkest secrets, all you have to do is ask.”
His words were light, his voice casual, but Lena saw the caution in his expression. The slight darkening of his eyes, the flicker in his jaw. They all confirmed her suspicion that the smuggler was hiding something.
“I wanted to make sure you are who you say you are.” Lena shrugged, matching his casual tone.
The threads around the smuggler wavered into existence, pulsing in time with her own racing heart.
Casimir carefully folded up the sketch and tucked it into his coat. “What makes you think I’m not?” He titled his head, lips twitching into a barely perceptible smirk. His stance was casual, relaxed, as if he found the entire situation amusing.
Lena lifted her chin. “Rumors of the Raven go back to when I was a child. You’re too young to be the same man I heard about back then.”
“So?”
“So, either you’re a lot older than you look, which would mean you’re using some sort of forbidden magic to alter your appearance, or you’re lying about who you are.”
Lena met his stare, trying to read his expression, but the smuggler was giving nothing away. He merely watched her with predator-like focus, as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.
“Alright,” he said after a moment’s pause. “I’ll play. How about a game? An answer for an answer.”
Lena hesitated, fingers curling into her palms as she considered his suggestion.
Part of her knew it was a bad idea. That the more she got to know the dark-eyed smuggler, the more she was putting herself—and him—at risk.
But another part, the part of her that came alive whenever she was hunting in the woods, wouldn’t let her back down from the challenge in his gaze.
“Fine. But I go first.” She paused, considering her words. “Why do you help enemies of the empire? Why risk it?”
“Because it’s what I do.”
“Yes”—Lena clenched her jaw—“but why?”
“That’s two questions, but … I do it because I don’t believe in the empire’s laws.
Because most of the empire’s so-called criminals are nothing more than people who dared to believe in a different way of life.
” He sucked in a breath. “I do it because there are places in this world where the people I help can live, rather than just survive.”
His gaze was distant for a moment, his expression softer than it had any right to be. In the low light, the freckles across his nose reminded Lena of stars.
She swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable, and was glad when his usual smug expression reappeared.
“Does that answer satisfy you?”
“Just ask your question.” She frowned, leaning back against his desk.
Early-morning sunlight filtered through the room’s small window. Its warmth caressed her skin with a gentleness that made her want to close her eyes. It reminded her of the heat of a campfire’s flames. Of nights sitting with Finaen and Maia at her side, a story on her lips.
An ache spread through her chest, but she forced herself to focus on the smuggler. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could leave Wyrecia—and the memories that haunted her—behind.
Casimir pursed his lips. “How did you know where to find me?”
An image of her mother’s face, brows drawn and mouth tight, flashed through Lena’s mind. It wouldn’t hurt to tell him the truth, but …
“Word travels fast where I’m from,” she said. “You were the whisper on the lips of every heretic who passed through our village.”
It wasn’t a lie, exactly; Lena had heard villagers speak of the Raven. Those who spoke about him did so as if he were some sort of deity, a savior sent from the Lost Sisters themselves. Lena wondered what they’d think of him if they knew his divine services came at a cost.
“My reputation is rather notorious.” He smiled, as if the idea that so many people knew where to find him wasn’t one that put him in danger. “Second question—ah-ah, don’t glare at me like that, you asked me two things, so it’s only fair. Tell me, Kelia, why do you want to leave Wyrecia?”
Lena frowned, her pulse quickening. The way he said her mother’s name made her wonder if he knew she was hiding things, too. But she was in too deep to stop now.
“It isn’t safe here for people like me. The emperor’s hunters chase down and punish anyone who doesn’t believe in their precious goddess, and I …
” She thought of the raid on Rekavyrg. Of the worry on Finaen’s face the night she’d left Forvyrg.
“I don’t want to keep putting the people I love in danger. ”
Lena swallowed, looking anywhere but at the dim silver threads surrounding the smuggler. She hadn’t told him the whole truth, but she’d revealed more than she’d expected to, and with his gaze upon her, she felt uncomfortably exposed.
A heartbeat passed before Casimir spoke, so softly he was almost whispering, “Alright, then. Let’s get you out of here.” He reached for the cloak hanging on the back of the door. “I came to tell you that most of our supplies have been secured. I just need to finalize one thing, and then we can go.”
The thought of being cooped up in the smuggler’s house for much longer made Lena’s stomach churn. She still wasn’t entirely sure she trusted him, but going out in broad daylight was a risk she wasn’t stupid enough to take.
Still, it took everything in her to make herself nod. “Fine.”
Casimir watched her for a heartbeat longer, dark eyes considering.
You can’t trust him, the ancient voice in her mind whispered. You can’t trust anyone.
Lena clenched her hands into fists. Shut up.
“I’ll be back before nightfall,” the smuggler said, and as he turned away from her toward the hallway, Lena tried to focus on anything but the silver threads dancing around him, glowing brighter with every second that passed.