Chapter 33 Lena
THIRTY-THREE
LENA
The imperial city looked different in the daytime.
The first time Lena had passed through it, she’d been stuffed inside a carriage, her body exhausted and her power threatening to overwhelm her.
Back then, the city had seemed like nothing more than a glorified cage, its stone walkways and oversized houses a mockery of the wooden villages her people had been forced to live in all their lives.
With Finaen’s betrayal and the hopelessness of her situation too fresh on her mind, she’d been too seething with anger to fully take it all in.
The carriage window was small and offered only a glimpse of the buildings as they passed, but years spent learning to hunt in the Wilds made it easy for her to identify where potential other entrances to the tunnels running beneath the city might have been hidden.
Any buildings that looked particularly old or important, or heavily guarded.
It wasn’t much to go on, but after two days of practicing her magic on Casimir, using his threads to alter minor things such as the accuracy of his dice rolling, she still wasn’t able to summon the vision she’d had before the chamber door.
The lack of progress had her itching to do something.
To find an escape route in case everything went wrong.
Because even if fleeing Wyrecia without severing the bond meant a lifetime of pain and madness, it was still a better fate than becoming the empire’s weapon.
“We’re almost there,” Dimas said, breaking her from her thoughts.
Dimas sat on the opposite side of her in the carriage, his dark hair slicked back.
He looked even paler than usual. Someone had done a decent job of trying to cover the dark smudges under his eyes with some sort of powder, but Lena could feel his exhaustion like a rope around her chest, tightening with every passing second.
The emperor was terrible at guarding his emotions from her, and whilst she usually found it helpful to keep tabs on his state of mind, she needed to keep her own head clear.
This was the first time Dimas had allowed her out of the palace.
The first time since the night she’d first arrived here that she had the opportunity to see the city for herself.
“These people have traveled to Novobyrg to ask for my favor, right?” Lena shifted in her seat, the bones of her corset digging uncomfortably into her ribs. “What exactly am I supposed to say to them?”
The emperor had given her a brief explanation of their trip before they’d left, but in true Dimas fashion, he’d been vague on the details.
“I’ll do most of the talking. This is just about letting them see that you’re real, and that you’re here. You won’t need to use your powers on them until after the Rite of Ascension, and even then, it’s rare that any of them will be deemed worthy of a boon.”
Lena’s anger flared, and her power rose alongside it, fierce and demanding. She tried to settle her emotions before Dimas could sense them, but his proximity only seemed to strengthen their connection.
“You disapprove?” Dimas asked.
There was no point hiding it now. She shrugged a single shoulder, her gaze drifting back to the city beyond the window. To the smaller buildings with shabbier paint jobs.
“I suppose it’s the crown that decides if they’re worthy?” Lena asked.
“The decision is made by the Fateweaver and the reigning emperor, yes.”
“And if the Fateweaver and the emperor disagree, what then?”
A shadow passed over Dimas’s face. “It’s rare, but in that case, the emperor would have the final decision.”
Lena had to clench her hands into fists to settle the sudden rage flooding through her veins.
She knew from her lessons with Iska and Brother Dunstan that once the Rite of Ascension was complete and the bond between her and Dimas was at full strength, he’d be able to fully sense whenever she used her power.
It was yet more proof that whilst the Fateweaver may have held Naebya’s power, it was the emperor who controlled it.
Not for much longer.
They rode the rest of the way in tense silence, the rattle of the carriage wheels against stone vibrating through Lena’s bones.
A number of guards rode ahead of them on ebony horses, leading the way to the lower city’s main temple.
Lena had been bundled into the carriage before she could see their faces, but she knew the general she’d met the night of the mourning ball was amongst the convoy.
No doubt Dimas’s personal guard, Ioseph, was there, too.
Lena had barely seen the two apart since she’d met them.
The carriage began to slow as they came to a stop just outside a set of steps leading up to a large stone building. Its entrance was marked on either side by two great pillars, and a circular tower projected from the main building—a singular dome at its top.
A single dome, for a single goddess.
It was yet another manner in which the Zvaerna priests had erased Naebya’s Sisters, and the sight of it made Lena want to burn the whole place to the ground.
“The pilgrims are waiting for us inside the temple,” Dimas said before Lena’s rage could take control.
If he sensed her sudden rise in anger, he said nothing.
“Brother Dunstan sent word to the temple priest with instructions to prepare for our visit. He would have come himself, but he has … other matters to attend to. We’ll enter together.
Once we reach the altar, I’ll introduce you like I did at the mourning ball.
The pilgrims will then be given a chance to present their offerings in exchange for your favor. ”
Lena’s heart skipped a beat. “I thought you said I wouldn’t have to use my power.”
She’d managed to manipulate the fate of Mirek in her training with Iska, and she’d succeeded in altering Casimir’s threads during their nights together in her chambers.
But in both of those cases, she hadn’t been surrounded by a crowd like she was about to be now.
Singling out just one person’s threads in a room filled with pilgrims wasn’t something Lena was sure she could handle.
“You won’t be using your power,” Dimas reassured her. “Boons can’t be given until after the Rite of Ascension. This is more of a … chance for the people to show their devotion, in the hope you’ll remember them favorably in the future.”
But Lena wouldn’t. Not if she succeeded in severing the bond. And whilst the thought of leaving the Wyrecian royals without a Fateweaver brought Lena no small amount of pleasure, the only thing these pilgrims were guilty of was believing the Ehmars’ lies.
The carriage door swung open, revealing Ioseph and two other guards. The first was a fair-skinned, auburn-haired female she didn’t recognize, and the second was—
“Finaen?” His name came out before she could stop it.
He wasn’t wearing the same royal uniform as Ioseph and Yana, but instead the simple dark tunic and cloak he’d worn the day she’d seen him in the palace. There was a sword at his hip, though. The same kind Lena had seen the guards patrolling the lower city wearing.
“Finaen has been doing well in his training,” Ioseph explained, looking a little sheepish. “He heard about today’s visit and insisted on coming.”
“I’m sure he did,” Lena spat.
She wasn’t sure why his presence made her so angry. Lena couldn’t afford to let her emotions distract her, not when there was a temple full of people who could suffer the consequences if she lost control.
“Brother Dunstan is waiting for us inside,” Dimas said, sliding out of the carriage door with an elegance Lena didn’t even try to replicate.
She practically leaped out into the street, needing to feel the fresh air on her face and in her lungs before she burned up from Finaen’s presence. At the way he seemed to so effortlessly fit in beside the other guards.
Dimas was already halfway up the steps to the temple, his head bent low as he, Ioseph, and General Alraen whispered amongst themselves. The emperor’s threads were darker than usual, shadowed by a sense of unease that made the skin on the back of Lena’s neck tingle.
“This way, Your Worship,” Yana said, leading Lena up the steps.
Finaen trailed close behind, boots scuffing against the stone. Lena could tell he wanted to say something. To clear the tension between them, but the presence of everyone else seemed to force him to silence.
Good. She was too exhausted for another fight.
The moment they reached the temple doors, the mark on Lena’s wrist began to tingle. She’d gotten so used to the steady hum of threads at the edge of her subconscious that the absence of them was like being suddenly plunged into darkness.
Ioseph reached for the temple door.
“Wait.” Lena closed her eyes, searching for the faintest trace of threads inside the temple. At first there was nothing. Just an endless stretch of silence. But then—there, a glimmer of—something.
A rush of anxiety came down the bond between her and Dimas.
“What’s wrong?” Dimas asked.
“I’m … not sure,” Lena replied. “I can’t sense any threads inside the temple.”
“That’s impossible. According to our intel, there should be at least a dozen pilgrims waiting for us inside,” said General Alraen, peering at Lena with a mixture of suspicion and disbelief.
“Well, I’m telling you there aren’t.” She hadn’t meant to snap, but with the Haesta’s potential plan looming over her and Finaen’s sudden appearance today, her patience was running thin.
“So they all just left?” Finaen frowned, shaking his head. “That makes no sense. They knew Lena was coming here. They came all this way to see her. Why would they leave before they got the chance to meet her?”
The mark on Lena’s wrist gave another tingle. There was that spark of a presence again, lingering just beyond the reach of her magic, but it was faint, and whenever Lena tried to focus on it, it would slip through her grasp like smoke.
“I think there’s someone in there. But their threads are faint. Too faint.” Lena didn’t need to spell out what she feared that meant. She’d only ever felt the sensation once before, right before Silah’s death.
General Alraen drew her sword, her dark brows drawing together. “I will go in first. Your Majesty, Your Worship, wait here until I return.”
There was a clink of another weapon being drawn, and then the familiar depth of Finaen’s voice. “I’ll go with you.”
Lena’s heart skipped a beat. If something in that temple was the cause of the person’s fading threads, then there was no guarantee they weren’t still in there.
Her magic shifted focus, reaching for Finaen’s threads like light seeking out shadow. She could stop him. Make him stay out here where it was safe.
No.
Lena clamped down on her magic, willing it back inside of herself. It didn’t matter how much the thought of losing Finaen made her want to scream. This choice was his, and she wouldn’t take it from him.
Not like he’d taken hers.
“Be careful,” she said, and stepped aside.
He held her stare, his own filled with a mixture of hurt and surprise. But beneath it, so subtle she was sure she was imagining it, was the smallest flash of understanding.
“Stay here until we return,” ordered General Alraen. “Yana, if anything happens, get His Majesty and Lady Lenora back to the palace and wait for us there. AEspen, stay close, and follow my every order.”
Stone scraping against stone cut through the air as the general pulled open the temple door. And then the general and Finaen were slipping into the shadows, the steady hum of their threads moving farther away with every beat of Lena’s heart.