Chapter 30 Dimas
THIRTY
DIMAS
“So, that went better than expected.”
Dimas didn’t look up from his painting as Ioseph entered his rooms, the steady clomp of his boots a familiar, comforting sound.
By now, all the foreign ambassadors who would re-pledge their allegiance to him during the Rite of Ascension had arrived at the palace, and his days were filled with political meetings over extravagant dinners.
Today’s dinner had finished two bells ago, but the headache it had caused Dimas still lingered behind his eyelids, turning the edges of his vision black.
“Better, but not perfect.” Dimas sighed, clutching the paintbrush in his hand just a little too tightly.
Ioseph came to a stop behind him, his leather and soap scent tickling Dimas’s nose. Something fluttered low in Dimas’s stomach, and he was glad of the darkened room when his cheeks flooded with heat.
“Perfect is overrated. The court seemed satisfied with Lady Lenora, and all the foreign dignitaries appear eager to pledge their allegiance after your coronation.”
“Not all of them.”
The Verlondian ambassador still hadn’t agreed on Dimas’s terms for a trade agreement, claiming that the only way Queen Anja would ever allow Wyrecia access to the razeniye stone was if Wyrecia agreed to let her people worship the Old Gods and remain an independent kingdom.
It was something the church would never agree to: worshipping any deity but Naebya was heresy to them.
But with the return of the Haesta, Dimas found himself entertaining the idea.
If the cult was looking to resurrect the Furybringer, as the fanatic at his father’s funeral had implied, then his Fateweaver was at risk of corruption.
Having access to the razeniye stone would be an invaluable fail-safe should Lenora succumb.
Although Iska and Brother Dunstan reported she was making good progress in her training, her magic was temperamental and her control too fragile.
Ioseph’s huff pulled Dimas from his deliberations. “Ambassador Korvus will come around. Your terms are fair. In time, he’ll realize his country’s best chance lies in aligning itself with Wyrecia.”
Dimas set down his paintbrush, turning away from the dark swirls of forest and shadow he’d created to face his eldest friend, his stomach fluttering as he discovered just how close Ioseph actually was.
It was the first time they’d been alone since they’d returned to the palace, and the memory of their almost kiss spread warmth through his veins.
And by the way Ioseph’s eyes darkened, it was clear the guard was remembering it, too.
They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, lips close enough that if Dimas leaned forward just a fraction, he could close the distance he’d been keeping between them for so many years. He could, just for a moment, know how it felt to want and be wanted in return.
But when he tried to close the gap, to finally cross that line, he found himself frozen. Because despite what his heart was telling him, his mind knew that once that moment was over, things would never be the same again.
“ ’Seph, I—”
“I know.”
The look of understanding on Ioseph’s face made Dimas’s heart ache. He deserved more than what Dimas could give him. More than kisses in the shadows and an emperor fated to always put the crown first.
It took every ounce of willpower Dimas had to step away. To put that distance back between them. And when he next spoke, his voice came out rough and shaky.
“Milos and a few of his hunters will be leaving the city tomorrow at dusk to search for any more sightings of the Haesta. If we can get proof they’ve truly returned, then perhaps it’ll be enough to stir Queen Anja to our side. The Haesta are a threat to more than just Wyrecia.”
“Telling Ambassador Korvus is a risk,” said Ioseph, falling into the role of soldier as easily as slipping on a cloak.
Dimas knew he was doing it for him, that this was what he’d wanted, but it still stung.
“He could use the information against us, tell his queen that we’re vulnerable.
It’d be the perfect opportunity to launch an attack. ”
“Not whilst we have Lenora.” It came out surer than he felt.
How she managed to control her magic in the coming days would determine Dimas’s next steps.
“Do you think we should tell her about all this?” asked Ioseph, voice quiet.
“Not yet.”
Dimas chewed on the inside of his cheek, the sight of the darkness surrounding the thread between them flashing behind his eyes.
He’d thought about telling her before the mourning ball, but fear had stolen the words from his throat.
Fear that, despite the fact that she was here and learning to take her place as his Fateweaver, Lenora would decide to align herself with their enemy.
Or worse, that she somehow already had. He’d seen the way her eyes shone when she grew angry, the way she struggled to contain her power.
He was certain the only thing keeping her from losing control was the bond they shared.
And if the Haesta truly were interfering with it, Dimas wasn’t sure how much longer the bond would be enough, on its own, to keep the worst from happening.
He turned back to the painting he’d been working on, his stomach twisting as he took in the inky scene. Now that he’d seen the forests of the Wilds for himself, experienced their untamed beauty and the mysteries that lingered within, his paintings seemed like nothing more than cheap imitations.
A sharp, delicate knock sounded from his door, followed by a soft, “It’s me.”
Iska.
Dimas’s stomach twisted. His cousin never visited him outside of their formal meetings and scheduled meditations unless it was urgent.
Was something wrong, or had Iska finally found some information that would help them get to the source of the Haesta’s presumed interference with his and Lenora’s connection?
He crossed the space to the door, fingers smudging gray paint on the silver handle as he pulled it open.
Iska’s pale face came into view, her green eyes a shade darker than usual.
She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, expression as set as the statues she prayed to.
Dimas closed the door behind her, heart hammering in his chest.
“What happened?” He knew Iska had been training with Lenora during the early evenings, testing the limits of her power. “Did Lenora …?” He couldn’t finish the thought. Fear turned the familiar shapes of his room into hazy shadows.
“She had another vision.”
“What did she see?” Ioseph said, his voice low.
Fear darkened Iska’s gaze. “The Haesta.”
Ioseph swore under his breath.
Dimas fought the urge to shut his eyes. His lungs were suddenly too narrow, the room too small. “Are you sure?”
If Lena had seen the Haesta, it was because her power deemed them a big enough threat to be seen.
Iska dipped her chin. “I’m sure. She described them exactly as they appear in the history books.”
Dimas ran a hand through his hair, not caring about the paint on his fingertips. So much for keeping the Haesta a secret from his Fateweaver.
“How much does she know?”
“Enough. She seemed … eager to help.” Iska paused, expression softening.
“I know you’re scared to trust her, Dimas, but she’s really been trying.
I understand it’s not my place, but … I think you should tell her about your plans.
If Naebya is blessing her with the visions, it has to be for a reason.
If she can harness her power, the visions may become clear enough for us to use them to locate the Haesta’s hideout. ”
Hope rose in Dimas. The fanatic in the dungeons had taken her own life before he’d gotten a clear answer, but if he could take more of the cultists captive, then he had another chance at finding the truth.
Dimas grabbed his cloak, tugging it over his shoulders with practiced ease, and a small wince went through him at the paint now smeared on the fabric. Vivika is going to murder me.
Ioseph’s steady voice interrupted the thought. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.
Dimas shook his head. “No.” Taking Ioseph would just put Lenora on edge. If he was going to earn her trust, he had to do this alone.
And so, without looking back, Dimas left the warmth of his chambers, and went to tell his Fateweaver the truth.
Lenora didn’t seem surprised to see him.
“Iska told you about my vision, then?” she asked, leaving the door open for him to follow her inside.
In her navy-and-silver night-robe, she looked more like the Fateweaver from history and less like the heretical storyteller he’d met in the woods.
Still, there was a stiffness to her shoulders, a careful consideration to the way she walked that reminded him of the wolves he’d seen in the training grounds one winter.
Even here, surrounded by luxury, Lenora was prepared to fight at any moment.
He’d only spent a few days in the Wilds, but he could see how living there could harden a person. Make them see everything as a potential threat.
“She did,” he said, ignoring the sudden knot of guilt in his stomach. “Are you … how are you feeling?”
Lena paused, her fingers curling into her palms. A flicker of frustration traveled down the bond. “Tired.”
“That’s not surprising, considering what you’ve been through. Brother Dunstan and Iska tell me you’ve been working hard to control your power.” It was more of a question than a statement.
Lena turned to face him, one shoulder lifting in a slight shrug. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and the crescent-shaped scar on her cheek seemed more pronounced than usual. But her cheeks were fuller, her face less gaunt.
“The training helps. It’s still hard, but it’s … getting easier.” She paused, glancing down at the mark on her palm, as if it held the answer to all her questions. “Iska said that’s what caused the vision.”
He nodded. “Most likely. The stronger Lady Sefwyn’s control became, the more visions she had. They’re a gift from Naebya, allowing the Fateweaver to see her enemies before they act.”
“I know. The story goes that Lady Venysa was shown the battle plans of the first Verlondian queen during the clan wars. That, combined with her ability to manipulate the threads of the soldiers to ensure their victory, made the Wyrecian army unbeatable.”
Of course she’d know that. Despite himself, he asked, “What else do the stories say?”
Surprise softened Lenora’s features. Made her look younger.
Slowly, she slid into one of the chairs by the fire, the glow casting her face in shadows.
Something seemed to take her over as she spoke, weaving the tale as if she’d been there herself.
“They say the visions came before the first Fateweaver even existed, and that they weren’t exclusive to the future.
The ability to see the future—and for some, the past and the even the present—was a gift granted to the bōden by the Sisters of Fate themselves.
“When the Sisters and the Zvaerna priests created the first Fateweaver, it was agreed that each reincarnation would have an affinity for either the past, present, or future, and that they would receive visions as a reward for their faith. The more powerful she grew, the stronger her affinity—and her ability to receive visions outside of her affinity—became, until eventually she would be able to see the past, present, and future as easily as breathing. But if a Fateweaver strayed from her path, the visions would become harder to decipher, and she would slowly begin to lose her mind.” Lena stopped and glanced into the flames, her brow furrowed.
“The tale never said why, but knowing what I do now, I assume it has something to do with the Fateweaver’s magic becoming corrupted.
Sort of like a … punishment for abusing it. ”
The words made Dimas’s chest tighten. He’d always thought the reason he hadn’t received his vision from Naebya was because he was cursed or being punished in some way.
That he wasn’t worthy of her blessing. But Lena was receiving her visions now, which had to mean Naebya finally considered Dimas worthy of his title.
Together, they could fix whatever had gone wrong in Wyrecia, and Dimas would be able to prove once and for all he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
“So you understand just how important these visions are.”
“I do …” She hesitated, and Dimas felt a flicker of her worry as she finally pulled her gaze away from the fire.
“The stories say the Haesta helped the Furybringer in her quest for power. That they used ancient magics to alter her abilities, and by the end, there was nothing human left in her. Is that … what they want to do to me?” There was fear in her voice, the same kind he’d sensed when the bond had first shown them each other.
Except this time, he wasn’t what she feared.
“I don’t know. Maybe.” It felt like a pathetic answer, but it was the only one he had.
“But I promise you we won’t let that happen.
A unit of our best hunters leave tomorrow at dusk to track down the Haesta’s stronghold, and in the meantime, Brother Dunstan and Iska will increase the frequency of your training.
We’ll keep you safe, Lenora. I promise.”
Something Dimas couldn’t name darkened Lena’s features, the fierceness of it rushing down the bond between them, but it was gone before he could study it too closely.
Lena got to her feet, wrapping her robe around herself. “It’s getting late.” The flash of vulnerability she’d shown was gone. Dimas tried not to take her dismissal to heart as he glanced at the darkening sky beyond her window, his own body heavy with exhaustion.
“I’ll send Iska to you in the morning,” said Dimas. “If you have any visions in the meantime, please ask one of the guards at your door to send for me.”
She dipped her chin. “I will.”
He was just about to open the door and let himself out when he found himself hesitating, his fingers hovering above the silver door handle. “Thank you,” he said.
Her voice was laced with suspicion as she asked, “For what?”
“For trusting me.”
He left before she had a chance to reply, the faint brush of Lena’s surprise against their bond following him back to his rooms.