Chapter 10 Lena
TEN
LENA
By the time the sun had started to set, Lena was no closer to interpreting the tome she’d found in Casimir’s desk drawer.
Her limited knowledge of old Wyrecian had enabled her to translate one or two words before she’d slammed the book down in frustration, the pain behind her eyelids now bad enough that even the dim light streaming through Casimir’s window made her want to throw up.
She’d spent most of the day alternating between trying to breathe through the pain and pacing the smuggler’s office, searching for anything to distract her from the growing whispers in her mind.
More than once she found herself hovering at the front door, hand reaching for the rusty iron latch, the urge to run into the forest pulsing through her veins.
It was how Casimir found her. One second she was staring at the wooden door, her hood drawn, her bow a familiar weight at her back, and the next she was looking into the startled eyes of the Raven.
The shock lasted barely a heartbeat before it was replaced with something like understanding.
“Ready?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just found her about to flee his home without a word.
“Yes.”
Her heart was a thunderous thing in her chest, so loud it was a wonder Casimir couldn’t hear it. His threads flickered around him like silver flames in the wind, distracting and mesmerizing all at once.
“The festival of the first Fateweaver begins tonight,” the smuggler said as she followed him out of the house and into the streets beyond. “Most of the townsfolk will be at the market square to celebrate, so we should be able to slip out without being seen.”
“And the guards at the gates?”
Lena had gotten past them easily enough on her way into town thanks to those arriving for the celebrations, but she doubted there’d be many people leaving tonight.
“If I had to use the main gates to get out of the city every time I wanted to leave I’d have been caught years ago.
The northern gate is easily scalable, and the guards posted there have been …
distracted.” Lena couldn’t see his face beneath his hood, but she could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
“Once we’re clear of Deyecia, it’ll take us a good three days to reach the Frozen Wastes. ”
Three days. Sisters knew how overwhelming the urge to use the Fateweaver’s power to manipulate someone’s threads would be by then. It would be faster to travel by horse, but that would mean sticking to the main roads. It was too risky, even if it would cut their journey in half.
“That long?”
Casimir turned down another side street, the wooden houses on either side of them shielding them from the wind.
Every now and then, Lena would catch sight of a totem in one of the windows, the wood carved into the shape of a former Fateweaver.
Something inside of her tingled at the sight of them.
Would these people one day carve totems of her?
Or, like the Furybringer, would her memory exist only in cautionary tales whispered at children’s bedsides?
Lena clenched her hands into fists, willing her racing heart to calm. She’d come too far to fall apart now.
“The patrol around the mountain range changes every few days,” said Casimir, his voice barely a whisper above the humming in her head. “If we leave now, we should arrive just before the change is due; the guards will be tired, less alert.”
Lena thought back to the lists of guard schedules she’d found in Casimir’s desk. “How do you know all of this?” she asked.
Casimir turned to face her, his eyes dark beneath his hood. “I can’t reveal all of my secrets now, can I?”
Lena’s stomach fluttered at the playful challenge in his eyes. The soft silver glow of his threads were starting to flicker into focus once more, tugging at the magic inside Lena in the same way the forests of Wyrecia had always tugged at her heart.
It was getting harder to ignore them, the threads.
The power thrumming through her veins was burning through what was left of her resolve.
Beyond the alley, she could feel the threads of the city’s inhabitants, each web calling to the power inside of her.
If she reached out her hand, would she be able to feel those beautiful threads beneath her skin?
Would they listen to her, as the korupted had?
Stop fighting them, that ancient voice whispered. Stop fighting me.
Who are you? Lena asked the voice again, hating how desperate—how afraid—she sounded. What do you want from me?!
I am like you, the voice replied. Together, we can become what we were always meant to be. You just have to let me in.
No. She couldn’t. Because … because …
Pain sliced through her head as she tried to remember. As she tried to fight against the power spreading through her like wildfire.
“Kelia?” Casimir stepped into her line of sight, reaching out his hand to her.
Lena barely had the awareness to brush off his touch. To stumble away from the glorious call of his threads.
You are strong, Lenora. Her mother’s voice, faint but there, echoed through her mind. A memory of her, holding her close beside a campfire, rocking her slowly as the last remnants of a vision of heretics being burned faded from a younger Lena’s mind. You must not let this power consume you.
Lena held on to the memory and, with every ounce of will in her body, pushed back against the rising pressure of magic in her veins. A wave of excruciating pain shot up her arm, spiraling out her wrist. But … the ancient voice in her mind had fallen silent.
Lena held her breath until finally, finally, the weird internal pressure started to fade. And as it did, she slowly became aware of warm hands on her arms. Of the chatter and laughter of the festival taking place just a few streets away.
All at once she remembered where she was. Her eyes flung open. Casimir was standing right in front of her, and it was his hands on her arms. His grip was loose enough that Lena easily broke it, her now-free hands reaching for the space where her dagger usually resided.
“Easy.” Casimir held up his hands. It took Lena a few seconds to realize they were still alone, and that the smuggler’s expression was not one of fear or hatred, but concern. He doesn’t know. If he did, there was no way he’d be looking at her like that.
Slowly, Lena lowered her hand, leaving her bow where it was. When Casimir seemed satisfied she wasn’t going to shoot him, he dropped his hands and asked, “What happened?”
“It’s nothing.” The lie came out instinctively.
Casimir raised a brow. “That was not nothing. I thought you were going to keel over on me.”
“I’m fine. I just … the journey here must have taken more out of me than I thought.” It was a weak excuse, and Lena could tell by the look on Casimir’s face that he didn’t buy it.
He opened his mouth, likely to call her bluff, when the heavy clack of boots against stone cut through the street.
Lena’s head twisted toward the sound just in time to see two city guards heading in their direction.
“We can argue about this,” she hissed, “or you can do what I’m paying you for and get me out of here.”
Casimir looked at the guards, and then back at Lena, before lifting his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “Whatever the lady demands. Follow me.”
He darted down a narrow alleyway to their left, his steps quick and silent in the same way Lena’s were in the forest. Clearly, he’d done this before.
Trying to keep her own steps light, Lena followed after him as he led them through so many alleys and back streets that she quickly lost sense of where in the city they were.
Gone were the wood and brick houses with slatted roofs and the sounds of the festivalgoers.
Instead, they’d come to the farthest part of the city, where the few farmers and millers worked.
The wide, muddied area was empty this late at night, with the only other living creatures beside Lena and the smuggler being a few sleeping cows and pigs—and two guards flanking both sides of an opening in the city’s wooden border fence.
An opening Casimir seemed to be heading directly for.
Lena came to an abrupt stop. The guards were, thankfully, facing away from them, but they were growing too close for Lena’s comfort. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Getting you out of the city. I thought we’d established that.”
“And you plan to do that by just walking past two guards?”
“No,” said Casimir, flashing her a grin over his shoulder. “I plan to do that by walking past two sleeping guards.”
Casimir only stopped moving when he was a few feet away from the opening in the fence, his hand reaching into one of the many pouches attached to the belt at his hips.
And then, in one swift movement, the smuggler raised his hand and threw whatever he’d withdrawn toward the two guards.
The sound of shattering glass cut through the air as what looked like a small vial smashed, wisps of white smoke curling out of its cracks.
The two guards barely had time to look down before they slumped to the muddied ground.
“What did you do to them?” Lena breathed, eyes searching the shadows for anyone who might have seen.
“They’ve been working so hard, I thought they’d appreciate a nice nap.” Casimir shrugged. “It won’t last long, though, so I’d suggest we not be here when the potion wears off.”
Lena had never seen anything like it. Some of the ancient Wyrecian healers were rumored to have created basic healing salves in the past, but this kind of alchemy was practically unheard of in the Wyrecian Empire.
Unable to stop herself, Lena asked, “Where in the Sisters’ name did you get something like that?”
“Ah, that is a secret you have to earn, I’m afraid.”
He flashed her a grin over his shoulder, his eyes dancing. Before Lena could say anything else, Casimir started walking again, leaving Lena with no choice but to follow the smuggler and his secrets out of the city and into the outskirts and beyond.