Chapter 38 Lena
THIRTY-EIGHT
LENA
The tunnels seemed darker than Lena remembered.
She held the lantern in front of her face, searching the damp stone walls for the shallow markings she’d made her first night down here.
The closer Lena and Casimir got to the acolyte’s hidden chamber, the faster her heart started to beat.
Sweat coated her palms, her grip on the lantern tenuous and uncomfortable.
It took everything in her not to glance over her shoulder at the smuggler at her back.
He’d followed her through the tunnels without question, a steady, silent presence.
If there was one thing Lena was sure of, it was that she could count on him to do what needed to be done if things went wrong tonight.
That he, like her, would always put the safety of his people first.
“We’re close,” she said as they came to the final turn, the tingle of magic in the air causing every hair on her arm to stand on end. It was stronger than it had been the last time she’d been here, and Lena hoped it was just because she was more attuned to it and not something else.
Lena’s magic rose in her veins at the sight of the sigils on the door.
At the familiar presence of power so similar to its own.
And as the Fateweaver’s magic surged, so too did her fear, its presence so ingrained in her identity that she wasn’t sure who she’d be without it.
For the longest time, that fear had been her shield against the world.
Her way of protecting herself from ever having to relive the pain she’d felt when she’d lost her mother.
Now it was the one thing holding her back.
Lena let out a breath. Closed her eyes as she remembered her training with the High Priest. Tell yourself: I am in control.
Lena repeated the words until her fear softened. And as it did, her magic began to settle, nestling somewhere deep in her chest. No longer a beast with no master, but a well-trained wolf waiting for its next command.
Once she was certain she had herself under control, Lena turned to the silent smuggler behind her. “What do I need to do?” she asked.
Casimir fished the parchment holding the incantation she needed out of his vest and gestured for the lantern. Lena handed it to him wordlessly, her own eyes dancing over the faded ink.
“It says to make physical contact with the source of the magic. Once you have, you’ll need to say the incantation, and …” Casimir paused.
“And what?” she demanded.
“… and surrender control.”
The look on Casimir’s face told Lena he knew how difficult that would be for her.
A fresh wave of fear surged within her, constricting her lungs and clenching at her heart.
“You’re not alone in this. Just … touch the door, and I’ll tell you the incantation.
I’ll walk you through the whole thing.” Casimir’s gaze was unwavering. “Remember: they don’t get to win.”
Words to remind her of why she was doing this. For her freedom, yes, but also for her mother—for her dream of a better life for everyone who had suffered under the empire’s control. Lena had been preparing herself for this for them.
She wouldn’t let them down.
“They don’t get to win,” Lena repeated.
Heart in her throat, Lena turned her back on Casimir and strode up to the door. The stone was warm when she touched her hand to it, the hum of residual magic it held vibrating like a pulse against her palm.
“The incantation—what is it?”
“ ‘I call now to your power,’ ” Casimir began. “ ‘Let magics entwine to aid me this hour. With this force that resides, let magic be my eternal guide.’ ”
Eternal guide. The same words that had been written on the mysterious note. Had the note writer been somehow trying to tell Lena that this was the right path to take?
Emboldened by the thought, Lena focused on the hum of magic in the stone, on the sensation of her own magic rising in response. “I call now to your power,” she whispered. “Let magics entwine to aid me this hour. With this force that resides, let magic be my eternal guide.”
Warmth flooded through her, the sensation not unlike how she felt after taking a too-hot gulp of tea.
All at once, the sigils on the door began to glow, a faint blue light that light flickered like fire in the wind.
It reminded Lena of the one she’d seen in her dream in Deyecia all those nights ago.
Lena tensed as the magic flowed through her, but her mind remained blessedly her own.
Once she was certain the bond hadn’t been triggered, Lena turned her focus toward the power she’d drawn upon.
She couldn’t just feel it; she could see it.
Like the threads of fate, the magical energy wove around the door in a constantly moving tapestry.
Show me, Lena commanded that energy. Show me how to open the door.
Something sparked against her skin. Lena closed her eyes. Braced herself not to fight against the magic and the vision it brought with it.
And then—
Nothing.
Not even a flicker of the vision. Lena shook her head, her throat burning. “Show me!” Her hand slammed against the stone hard enough to hurt. “Come on, dammit!”
This had to work. It had to. She’d risked everything to open this fates-forsaken door. Had tried everything.
Not everything, her magic reminded her at the same as Lena became aware of the hum of Casimir’s threads behind her.
Almost as if in a trance, Lena turned, her eyes opening to the bright web of Casimir’s threads. They were brighter than they’d ever been, so tangible Lena could have brushed her fingers against them.
She was hoping that channeling the magic here would be enough. That she wouldn’t have to use her power on Casimir, after all.
It seemed fate had other plans.
“It’s alright, Lena,” Casimir said, his eyes so tenderly soft it made Lena ache. “We knew it’d come to this. We practiced for it.”
They had, but those had been small things.
The outcome of a game of Fate. The luck of a coin toss.
But to summon the kind of power she’d need to re-activate her vision, Lena would have to change something bigger.
Something potentially life-changing. Panic stole the breath from her lungs.
What if she changed the wrong thing? What if she hurt him in ways she couldn’t take back?
“If you have any doubts—”
“I don’t.” Casimir’s voice was firm. “Just … don’t tell me what you change, okay? I think it’s better that I don’t know.” He gave no more explanation, but Lena thought she understood. Knowing the future wasn’t always the gift the Zvaerna Order made it out to be.
Not trusting herself to speak, Lena simply nodded. Already her magic was inching toward Casimir’s threads, and for the first time since she’d become the Fateweaver …
Lena did not resist.
Casimir’s threads sparked before her eyes, bright enough to burn, and the feel of them … Sisters, it was intoxicating. Like warm, honeyed wine on a frosted night. And they belonged to her. Every thread, every path his life could possibly take, all hers for the taking.
“Stay with me,” Casimir said. He must have noticed something change in her expression, a slight shift in her focus, but he didn’t back away.
Instead, he reached for her hand, warm, calloused fingers wrapping around the smooth skin of her marked wrist. “The magic will guide you, Lena. You have to let it.”
Lena did.
As she had done with the sick boy, Lena let her magic brush against each thread, searching for one that felt stronger. Her training had revealed that these were the threads attached to important events, the ones that required more power to weave.
There.
That one. A spark of energy went through Lena as soon as her magic made contact. Show me, she willed. A second of nothing but brightness, and then Lena was somewhere else. Stone mountains rose up around her. There was the sound of waves crashing against the shore. The smell of salt in the air.
Then there was the blurred figures of a dozen armed soldiers. The whistle of an arrow flying through the air.
Casimir’s face, his lips stained with blood.
No!
The vision stopped, the events playing out in reverse before starting up again. And this time, when the arrow flew toward Casimir, Lenora watched as someone shoved him out of the way. As he stumbled to the ground, safe from what she was certain had been a fatal wound.
This one, she commanded her newly strengthened magic, this shall be his fate.
Yes, her magic answered.
And then the vision was gone, and the thread Lena’s magic had connected with began to split in two.
The light of one half dimmed, whilst the other surged like a flame that swept over Lena in a torrent of unrelenting power.
The kind that filled every inch of her and threatened to burn her up until there was nothing left.
Lena didn’t fight it. Show me, she willed, one final time.
Show me how to open the door. The vision didn’t come to her like the first time, bits and pieces scattered through her mind like remnants of a dream she couldn’t remember.
No, this time she was the Zvaerna acolyte, ancient power roiling in her blood like a storm, wild and untamed and—
Dying.
There was blood on his hands, still warm from where he’d pressed them against his abdomen.
He could still feel the slice of his fellow acolyte’s athame through his stomach as he stepped up to the door, copper filling his throat, the power he was borrowing keeping him alive longer than he should have been.
The torn page in his hands was stained with his own blood, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was keeping it safe.
The acolyte’s bloody fingers brushed against the door. Against the symbols he had carved into the stone during his years of devotion in the palace. A place to keep his work hidden from the eyes of the other Zvaerna Order members.
A place where he could find a way to free her from her fate.
Tracing his finger along the symbols, the acolyte whispered, “Freedom awaits within.”
And as magic met magic, the symbols began to glow, burning as brightly as the threads his Lady commanded.
The door swung open, wood giving way to ancient stone. And then Lena was back in her own body, the ghost of the priest’s wound, of his rage and his grief, still echoing through her blood. She stumbled forward, her own weight suddenly too much to bear.
A hand on her arm was the only thing stopping her from crashing face-first into the ground. She whirled, still caught between her own mind and another’s, her power surging up, up, readying itself to protect its vessel—
“Lena.” There was a note of warning in the voice. A pleading that tugged at something in her chest. “Lena, it’s me.”
Casimir.
Brown eyes swimming with worry peered down at her. Even in her state of confusion, he hadn’t backed away. His hand was still firm around her arm, anchoring her to the present. Keeping her centered through the storm.
There was a moment where she simply stared up at him, at the flecks of gold in his eyes and the star-like freckles on his flushed cheeks.
She saw the future in which the arrow hit its mark.
Saw Casimir’s lips parted and bloody. The urge to lean forward, to close the space between them and reassure herself that he was here and alive, was as strong as the acolyte’s power had been.
Casimir’s own gaze flicked to her lips. Just for a heartbeat, but it was enough to tell Lena he was feeling the same pull as her.
She allowed herself half a second to imagine what it would be like to kiss him before she pulled away.
It wouldn’t be fair to kiss Casimir now, when her emotions and her power were so intertwined. No, if she did kiss him, it would be when her mind was clear. When she knew it was what she really wanted.
There was the briefest flash of hurt in the smuggler’s eyes before he cleared his throat. “Are you alright?” he asked.
“I … yeah, I’m fine.” She took a deep breath, pushing the last of her magic—and her guilt—back down. “I saw the acolyte who sealed the chamber. If I can just replicate what he did, I should be able to open the door.”
“You don’t have to,” Casimir said, his gaze fixed on something behind her. “It’s already open.”