Chapter 34 Lena #2
A heavy silence followed the cultist’s words. Dimas, Ioseph, the general, and Yana froze with matching expressions of horror as they stared at the creature looming over Finaen.
The cultist let out a satisfied hum, his footsteps near silent as he drew closer to Lena.
Close enough that she could see the flash of green eyes beneath his hood.
Could smell the scent of blood and death and something else, something rotten, in the air.
She lifted her chin, refusing to cower before him even as her magic writhed beneath her skin.
Even though she was already certain, she forced the words out through clenched teeth. “What do you want?”
“It is not about what I want, but about what the world needs.” A smile appeared beneath the shadows of his hood. “You will help us deliver justice, Lenora Vesthir.”
“What you want isn’t justice,” she sneered, straining against his hold over her. “It’s vengeance.”
His threads darkened. “I suppose that depends on who is telling the story. But I digress. It is clear you are not ready to play your part in our plans just yet.”
The cultist took a step closer, the strange energy of his magic brushing up against hers.
Lena winced, pushing at the intrusion with everything she had, her own power thrashing inside of her like a storm waiting to be unleashed.
The cultist stumbled back a step, and for a moment, some of the numbness in Lena’s body receded.
Before she could react, the cultist righted himself, his power surging back through her with renewed vigor. Lena let out a pained gasp as an unbearable feeling of ice speared through her chest.
“Your power grows strong, but you are still confined by the limitations of your fear. How awful it must be, to wield such magic and yet still be so powerless to harness it. So caged by what you’ve failed to achieve.
” The cultist smiled beneath his hood, teeth flashing white in the shadows.
“There is, however, a way to free yourself of your prison. Would you like to hear it?”
Lena tried not to let the spark of curiosity his words sent through her show, but the cultist must have sensed that his words had hit their mark, because the smile beneath his hood widened, wolf-like and satisfied.
He leaned in close, words dropping to barely a whisper, the surge of his power in her veins drowning out the erratic beating of her own heart.
“If you wish to be free, Lenora, all you have to do is use your power to kill me.”
“No!” Dimas’s shout echoed off the temple walls, drawing the cultist’s attention.
The cultist’s wrecen, still pinning Finaen to the floor, tilted its head toward the emperor. The general, Ioseph, and Yana all tensed, each gripping their weapons.
“I’m afraid she doesn’t have a choice,” the cultist said, voice as dark as the shadows encasing his threads. “The wrecen is bound to me. Killing me is the only way to stop it from ripping out your friend’s heart.”
“It isn’t even possible,” Dimas said, his doubt obvious even despite their bond. “The power it would take would consume her.”
“Perhaps,” the cultist said, his gaze flicking back to Lena’s, “or perhaps it will free her.”
Lena’s lungs constricted. She stared up into the shadow of the cultist’s hood, searching for some sign of a trick, but the cultist remained statue-like before her. Watching her. Studying her. Waiting to see how she would react.
He knew, somehow, what her freedom meant to her. What Finaen meant to her. Knew and was more than willing to use it as a weapon against her.
But Lena was tired of being used. The cold weight of the dagger she’d picked up beside the dead pilgrim pressed into her wrist. If she could just shift her arm slightly, she could get the dagger to drop into her palm.
And then all she’d need to do was break through the cultist’s hold long enough to drive the blade into his chest.
She just had to make sure the cultist wouldn’t anticipate what she was planning. So Lena let a sliver of curiosity show in her expression and said, “Show me how.”
“Lenora, you won’t—”
The cultist waved a hand toward the emperor. A surge of energy rippled through the air, slamming into Dimas’s chest with a force Lena felt through the bond. She sucked in a breath, knees buckling with the effort to stay on her feet.
This time, Dimas’s retinue did not hold back. They lunged, weapons raised, only to be hit with the same dark energy that had slammed into their emperor. Their limbs went stiff as the energy slithered around their threads, as if whatever dark magic the cultist was using was binding them in place.
“Interrupt me one more time, Ehmar, and I promise none of you will leave here alive.”
Dimas fell silent, his fear churning Lena’s stomach alongside her own. But she couldn’t afford to be afraid. One wrong move, and Finaen’s life would be the cost.
“You see my threads, don’t you? They call to you, to the power inside of you.
Power that you have been suppressing since the moment you received it.
You have been trying so hard to control it, when all you need to do is embrace it.
The power knows your will, Lenora; it is simply waiting for you to wield it. ”
The cultist took a small step toward her, close enough now that Lena could just make out the faint outline of his features, green-blue eyes and a thin, narrow mouth, all framed by cheekbones as sharp as the dagger up her sleeve. But mostly, he looked human. So much so that Lena’s resolve wavered.
She’d never taken a human life before. Silah had been as close as she’d come, but the trader had already turned into a korupted.
But if she didn’t kill him, then Finaen would die, and then Ioseph, followed by anyone else who got in the way of his plans. The bodies littering the temple floor were proof enough that he wasn’t bluffing.
The cultist might have looked like a human, but deep down, he was as monstrous as the korupted who’d ripped these pilgrims apart.
And Lena was going to make him pay.
“That’s it,” the cultist said, thin lips twisting into a pleased smile.
His hand raised to cup her cheek, and through the haze of magic thrumming through her being Lena was sure she saw a flash of ink on his palm, sharp lines joining together to create a familiar symbol.
She tried to focus on it. To focus on anything but the power rising inside of her, but it was useless.
Nothing mattered beyond the cultist’s threads, bright and beautiful and waiting for her command.
“I can see the rage in your eyes. The need for justice. Give in to that feeling, channel it like a blade, and when you feel as if you’re going to burn up with your rage, all you have to do is let it go.”
For a moment, she let herself consider it. How it would feel to release all of her fear and anger and rage in one magical blast. To embrace every emotion she’d kept bottled inside of herself not as a thing that made her weak, but as a weapon that made her strong.
The cultist’s hold on her began to fade. Lena wasn’t sure if it was his doing or hers. Her magic was strong enough now that the rest of the temple fell away, leaving nothing left but fire and rage. All she had to do was direct it toward the cultist, a blade of justice meant just for him.
Do it, her magic urged, pressing against the insides of her body until she thought she might burst. Holding it back was like bracing herself against a blizzard. Let go, and the storm would swallow her whole, devouring what was left of her and leaving a monster in its wake.
A monster the Haesta would no doubt be ready and waiting to use.
She couldn’t let that happen.
The dagger up her sleeve was a cold pressure against her skin, a silent lifeline against the pull of her magic.
She had no choice but to kill the cultist, but she could still decide how to do it.
She’d regained enough control of herself now that she could feel Dimas’s fear in her gut and the tether of the bond between them.
She was so used to fighting the sensation that reaching toward it felt like wearing skin that didn’t fit, but she couldn’t afford him trying to stop her.
Iska’s lessons had said emperors and their Fateweavers had the ability to communicate telepathically.
It wasn’t a skill Lena had learned, so she just had to hope Dimas heard her.
Trust me.
There was no time to wait for a sign that he’d received the message. It was now or never.
With a small shimmy of her arm, the dagger dropped. She forced her fingers to uncurl, gripping the hilt before it could clatter to the floor. The cultist was so focused on her power that he didn’t notice she’d raised her arm until it was too late.
His eyes widened a split second before she plunged the blade into his chest. He dropped to his knees before her, blood bubbling from his lips as the final remnants of his magic ebbed away. As the shadow-encased threads around him guttered and went out like dying flames.
But it wasn’t his scream that pierced the air.
It was the inhuman screech of the wrecen as it stumbled away from Finaen, releasing him from its hold, its clawed fingers grasping at its chest. Finaen wasted no time in reaching for his discarded sword, fingers white as bone as he brought it up in a wide, sweeping arc that sliced the creature from hip to shoulder.
The wrecen howled, and then, with one final, awful screech, it slumped to the ground, its blood staining the stone beneath it an inky, unnatural black.
No one spoke. No one moved.
Lena could still feel the remnants of desire in her magic. Not for justice, but for vengeance.
She’d come so dangerously close to corruption. It was only the dagger up her sleeve that had given her another choice. Next time, she’d need to be more prepared. More in control.
Because if there was one thing she was now sure of, it was that the Haesta would try again.
And when they did, she would be ready for them.