Chapter 42 Lena #2
Naebya has spent centuries trying to break that bond.
This is why She made a deal with me, so I could carry out Her will.
So that I would be Her avatar and rebuild the entire world in Her image.
And in exchange, She will grant me the power to take revenge on the Ehmars for all they have taken from me.
I failed with Lady Aalys, Venysa continued.
Her affinity for seeing the threads of the past was not strong enough, and the church discovered I was behind her corruption before she could use the power the Haesta had helped her gather to unseal the chamber door.
An image of the Furybringer—Lady Aalys—rose in Lena’s mind, and for a moment Lena was her, her mind filled with Venysa’s whispers, urging her to seek out more power. Power that, now that the bond was broken, Lena could feel surging through her veins.
Every Fateweaver since has been loyal to the empire, a servant to their lies. But not you. You despise this empire as much as I do. And together, we shall put an end to them.
Lena saw herself, a field of bodies with severed threads before her, the earth beneath her feet as dark and twisted as Lena’s own threads. Not a vision of the past, but the future.
No!
All her life she’d feared the magic inside of her made her a monster.
And if she gave in to Venysa, if she let her use her body to finish what she’d started all those centuries ago, then that fear would become reality.
Because the Furybringer had not just used her power against the Zvaerna Order and the imperial family; she had used it against everyone who refused to worship her.
Only you can decide who you are. A memory of her own, of Casimir in her chambers, his hand holding hers, was an anchor against the growing storm inside of her. Power isn’t inherently good or evil. It’s how you use it that counts.
Lena had risked everything to stop the empire from turning her into a monster, and Sisters be damned if she was going to let Venysa turn her into something worse.
Stop fighting me, Venysa said. You are not strong enough to resist me.
But Lena was. She’d done exactly that in Deyecia, after Venysa had first tried to get her to give in to the pull of her magic. And she hadn’t achieved it by focusing on her fear, her pain. No, she’d done it by focusing on the memory of her mother. Of her voice whispering in her ear.
You are strong, Lenora. Do not let this power consume you.
Holding on to the thought of her mother, of Casimir cleaning the blood from her hand, of Maia telling her that, to her, she’d always just be Lena, she drew on her strengthened power and pushed against the mental intrusion.
There was the echo of Venysa’s rage, the pressure of her pushing back, and then Lena’s mind was her own once more.
The world sped back up a heartbeat later.
Lena threw the blade clenched in her hand toward Roston. With a snarl, the regent redirected his magic, the blast crashing into the blade now soaring toward him. But Lena hadn’t meant for it to hit its mark.
With Roston’s magic spread thin, his hold on Casimir weakened enough for the smuggler to break free. Casimir lunged from the shadows, twin blades whirring in the darkness.
Roston roared as the first blade sliced down his back, tearing through cloak and tunic to pierce the skin underneath. The bangle in his hand clattered to the ground as he whirled to face Casimir, his magic knocking aside the second dagger just before it could pierce his chest.
With what control she had left, Lena drew on of the Fateweaver’s magic, releasing it from her hands in a wave of power that knocked the regent to his knees. The stone pillars of the church shook, bits of dust falling from the arched ceiling overhead.
Blood, warm and wet, dribbled from Lena’s nose, a silent warning she was using too much power.
Still, Lena willed her magic toward the regent’s threads, desperately searching for the one that would see them win this fight.
But every time she tried to find it, to catch a glimpse of the future in his threads, pain would pierce through her mind.
Roston met her gaze through the settling dust, lips twisting in a triumphant smirk. He was going to win, and Lena was going to be trapped in her own mind whilst Venysa used her body to destroy everything Lena had ever known.
Lena was pulling as much power back into herself as she could manage, preparing to defend herself against another blow of Roston’s dark magic, when a hand wrapped around her wrist. Her head snapped to the side, gaze falling on the ashen face of the emperor she’d been so ready to kill just minutes before.
For a second, she thought he was going to try to kill her, too.
To take her life before Roston could use it to carry out the Haesta’s plans. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he did.
Instead, he tugged her toward the door to the prayer chambers, his threads bright against the dust and shadows of the church. “We have to go,” he said, eyes shimmering. “Now.”
“But—”
“He’s right.” Casimir appeared beside Dimas, his usually rich-olive skin a sickly shade of gray.
There was a gash on his cheek from where some of the rubble had fallen on him.
“I used what sleep bombs I had on the priests, and as skilled as I am with my blades, even I don’t think I can take him. If we stay, we lose.”
Roston was already back on his feet, the air around him shimmering with unrestrained power. Lena instinctively reached for her magic, pulling it from the deep pit inside of herself despite the searing pain it caused.
In a whispered breath, Lena said, “Get ready to run.”
This time, instead of willing her magic to gather around her like a shield, Lena instead commanded it outward, just as she’d witnessed Venysa do in the memories she’d seen.
A silver arc of magic cut through the air, not toward Roston, but toward the stone pillar beside him.
Dust and bits of stone clouded over the regent.
Lena used the distraction to dart toward the small wooden door.
Dimas was at her heels, and there was a brief, heart-stopping moment when Lena realized Casimir wasn’t with them.
But then the smuggler reappeared, his curls covered in dust. “Let’s go.”
Lena wasted no more time before slipping through the door and into the narrow hallway beyond. She slammed it shut once Dimas and Casimir were safely inside, the iron lock clicking in place with a painfully loud clang.
“This way.” Dimas led them back through the twisting corridors toward the Hall of Worship, where Ioseph’s body still lay slumped on the ground, his face paler than it had been when Lena had left him.
Dimas’s mouth tightened at the sight of him. “I’d assumed this was Korvus, but I take it this was your doing?”
Lena winced. Hurting Ioseph had been a necessity, but it didn’t mean she’d liked it. “I—”
“No time,” Casimir said, saving Lena from having to explain herself.
“Ehmar, when I let you lead the way, I was expecting an exit.” Casimir glanced at the thirteen prayer chamber doors surrounding them and frowned.
“If your plan is to pray our way out of this, then I feel it’s my obligation to tell you that we’re all going to die. ”
Dimas glared. “There’s a tunnel underneath Naebya’s statue. It should bring us out at the western side of the palace.”
Lena knew she was already on thin ice, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Should?”
“I’ve never had reason to use it before now.
” Dimas paused, hooking his hands underneath Ioseph’s legs and back and, with no small amount of effort, hoisting him into his arms. The emperor had figured out she’d been the one to knock out Ioseph, no doubt due to the fact that she’d also just tried to kill him.
And yet he still saved you.
The thought made her look away, stomach clenching uncomfortably as Casimir strode past Dimas and pushed open the chamber door. With a tight nod of thanks, Dimas shuffled through, dragging Ioseph with him.
Propping the unconscious guard against the wall, Dimas stood in front of Naebya’s statue, dark brows knit. “There should be a small switch on the palm of the statue’s left hand.”
Lena was already moving, fingers fumbling around the back of the statue to brush against Naebya’s stone palm.
There was a second where all she felt was a flat surface, but then her fingers brushed against something cold and circular.
She pressed it without hesitating, the click of something unlocking telling her she’d found her mark.
Naebya’s statue slid to the side, ancient stone creaking in protest. A stairwell appeared in its place, leading down into the dark earth beyond. There was no time to worry if it was a trap.
Dimas lifted Ioseph into his arms, his legs buckling under the weight. When Lena reached out to help, the emperor winced away. “Don’t touch him,” he warned. It was the deadliest Lena had ever heard him sound, and so Lena did not try to argue.
One by one, the three of them hurried inside in the same order they’d entered the prayer chamber. Lena paused only to search the darkness for another switch, a way to close the tunnel and buy them some extra time.
There. A small button hidden just beneath a wooden sconce.
Lena slammed her palm down onto it, not waiting to watch the statue slide back into place before she began her descent.
Darkness made their movements slower, but the space was narrow enough that they could use the walls on either side to guide their way.
She didn’t know how long they were walking before they finally came across the exit, a small, stone door with light creeping along its edges. Lena pushed against it with her shoulder, magic-drained muscles aching with the effort.