Chapter 42 Lena
FORTY-TWO
LENA
For the first time since she’d received the Fateweaver’s power, Lena felt like she could breathe again.
She stumbled back from a shell-shocked Dimas with a gasp, the astral world their connection had created falling away, leaving in its wake the cold stone of the church and the slumbering, robed bodies of the Zvaerna priests at her feet.
Without the bond, Lena could feel the difference in Dimas’s and Casimir’s threads.
A slight dimming in their energy. A stillness in their currents.
And with the potion still in her system, they felt more tangible than ever.
Sisters. She hadn’t realized how much of the Fateweaver’s power the bond had been keeping caged. The ancient whispers she’d heard earlier had returned, an almost constant song in the air, magic calling to magic. But there was one voice that stood out amongst the rest.
Venysa.
The first Fateweaver’s presence lingered on the edges of her subconscious once more, her anger burning through Lena in a way it hadn’t before. Finish it, she willed as Lena’s gaze fell on the emperor before her. Kill him.
She could. It would be easy to release her power, to let it blast through the tapestry of his threads and leave destruction in its wake.
And most of all, a part of her wanted to.
She wanted to avenge the people of the Wilds, to have justice for the lives they’d been forced to lead whilst the highborn flourished.
To snuff out the last living heir to the Ehmar line, because why should he get to live, when so many of her people didn’t? When her mother didn’t?
She was letting her magic build, readying herself for the release, when the church doors swung open.
Lena whirled, snapping from her trance, the last remnants of magic she still held within her shifting toward their new enemy. Even without the bond, she wasn’t sure she was powerful enough to take on the entire royal guard, but she’d damn well give it her best shot.
Except it wasn’t an army of soldiers walking down the aisle.
It was Roston Ehmar.
Power still hot in her veins, Lena fell into a defensive stance, one hand clutching Casimir’s dagger whilst her other twitched with trapped magic. But Roston was unarmed, and he was … smiling.
“There’s no need for that,” said the regent, coming to a stop at the foot of the steps leading up to the dais. “I’m not going to hurt you, Lenora. We still need you for what comes next.”
Dimas, who was still standing just a few feet from Lena, his face leeched of any color, asked, “We?”
Unease crept up Lena’s spine. She’d assumed the regent had meant him and the emperor, but Dimas seemed just as confused by his presence as she was.
Something in Roston’s expression shifted. Without speaking, he peeled the glove from his left hand, revealing a familiar-looking symbol on his palm. It took Lena a second to make out what it was, what it meant.
“You’re with the Haesta.”
The symbol on his arm, the same one she’d seen in her dreams, left no room for doubt. Beside her, Dimas took an unsteady step backward. “No, you … you can’t be.”
Roston pulled his sleeve back down. “Oh, but I am. I have been for a long, long time now.” He took a small step forward.
Two deadly daggers glinted from the shadows. Casimir. Roston’s lips thinned, threads darkening with the same ink-like shadows Lena had seen on the cultist in the temple.
“Take one more step,” Casimir said, voice low, “and it’ll be the last one you ever take.”
The regent let out a sigh. “Ah, Ambassador. I must admit, I thought your interference would cause problems, but in the end, you were exactly what the vessel needed to break her bond.” Roston lifted a hand.
A wave of shadow-like energy burst out of it, and Casimir went still, his weapons clattering to the floor. “Alas, you are of no use to us now.”
It was the same kind of magic the cultist had used on Lena back in the lower city temple.
Casimir’s threads darkened, the shadows around him sinking into them like ink.
And beside him, Dimas let out a low, pained groan.
“I am truly sorry I had to do this to you, my boy, but I couldn’t have you discovering Lenora when you were supposed to; she needed time away from you, from this pathetic excuse for a church, in order for us to achieve our goals. ”
“… What?” Dimas’s voice was weak. He swayed on his legs, his free hand reaching up to hold the side of his head. “What … what did you do?”
Lena kept her mouth shut, using the distraction to draw as much power as she could.
“You suspected, did you not,” Roston continued, “that the Haesta were behind the complications you were having with your bond to Lenora? You were right. We interfered, blocking your visions and the connection between the two of you, influencing the vessel to turn against the church and sever your bond. You even doubted your connection with Lenora so severely that you hand delivered me the very thing that could’ve saved you. ”
Roston reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like an obsidian bangle. Something churned in the back of Lena’s mind at the sight of it. A sketch of a memory just out of reach.
Dimas’s desperate rasp pulled Lena from her thoughts. “Why?”
“Why?” Rage darkened Roston’s features. “Because we have lived in the shadow of the Zvaerna’s lies for too long.
Because we are tired of watching a power that was meant for so much more be caged by weaklings.
Within the vessel, the Furybringer will be reborn, and when she is, the Zvaerna will pay for their sins.
But you do not have to.” Roston’s expression softened.
“Milos has already revealed to the court that Lenora has severed your bond—all it shall take is one word from him, and they will believe you helped her. You can try to stop me now, nephew, but if you do, I’m afraid you’ll end up just like your mother. ”
Dimas sucked in a sharp breath. “My mother?”
“Your mother began to suspect my involvement with the Haesta not long after Vesric brought her to the palace. I had to ensure she did not dig too deeply, and that the court and church would never believe her claims. And so, I corrupted her mind until she lost it.” Roston tilted his head.
“You can suffer the same fate as her, or you can join me, and once the Furybringer has been reborn, we can rule the new empire as a family. We can make the Zvaerna pay for their lies—together.”
Lena kept the magic surging through her tightly leashed. For a moment, she thought Dimas would accept his uncle’s proposition. That she would be forced to take on both of them. But then the emperor said, “The Furybringer is a monster, and I will not let you bring her back.”
“Vesric was right; you are just like your mother.” Roston sighed, his threads darkening. “Very well, then.”
His attention drifted back to Lena just as the mark on his hand darkened. Shadows bled from the threads around him, pooling in the palms of his hands. And then, with a flick of his wrist, Roston flung the darkness toward her.
She shoved her own power forward just in time. The action was instinctual but weak. A protective shield of threads dispersed as quickly as they’d appeared, leaving her entirely vulnerable once more.
“You do not have the power to stand against us, girl. You are merely a vessel, a conduit for the Furybringer’s return.
” He sent another blast toward her, and this time, the shield Lena created was barely strong enough to keep her on her feet.
The remnants of the blast slammed into her, knocking the breath from her lungs and filling her veins with ice.
“You feel her spirit, do you not? It is futile to resist. Lady Venysa will have you as her vessel, whether you are willing or not.”
Every part of Lena froze as his words sunk in. As, just as it had done that night in Forvyrg, the world around her stopped.
Go with him, Venysa’s voice urged. With your body, I can claim revenge for what the empire has taken from us, from every Fateweaver.
I don’t understand. It was hard to think through the pounding in her head.
I have waited centuries for the perfect vessel, Venysa said. Your rage, your fury, is so like my own.
A flurry of images went through Lena’s mind.
Venysa on the stone table, the first Zvaerna priests standing over her.
Venysa running through the snow, her brother at her side.
Venysa in a prison cell, the memory of her father slitting her brother’s throat repeating over and over.
And then her father standing before her, telling her that they were going to find a way to ensure she could never run again.
It was too much. Lena tried to force the images—the emotions—out, but it was no use.
You must see. You must understand. Naebya never intended for us to be controlled, Lenora.
The bond was originally created because of Her Sisters—as a way of keeping the power they had gifted their vessel in check—and when they found out She intended to break it and threatened to reveal Her plans to the Order that worshipped them, She sealed them away.
More images flooded her mind: Naebya appearing before Venysa and agreeing to bind her spirit to the Fateweaver’s essence.
Venysa being forced to attend the first Rite of Ascension before being confined to her chambers, her power considerably weakened.
There was a man, telling her he’d found a way to sever the original bond, followed by a memory Lena had already seen: the man—the acolyte—sealing the chamber door.