Chapter 43 Dimas
FORTY-THREE
DIMAS
Running had been the easy part.
Not physically, of course. Not with Ioseph in his arms and his mind still foggy with whatever effects his uncle’s magic had had on him. But mentally. Running meant no time to think about everything he’d lost. But staying still? That part was agony.
Lena had directed them through the tunnels and back up into a courtyard in the northern part of the palace, where she’d gathered a packed satchel hidden beneath an old stone bench before leading them through a loose grate in the wall.
From there, they’d followed Casimir out of the imperial city and into the wilderness beyond.
They’d finally taken shelter in a small cave mouth northeast of the capital, where Dimas had laid Ioseph down with his head on his lap and numbly agreed as Lena, after disappearing to change out of her dress and back into the outfit he’d met her in, had suggested they all catch their breath before coming up with a plan.
Dimas had closed his eyes alongside the rest of them—all but Casimir, who’d agreed to scout the area in case any of the Fists had tracked them.
Still, no matter how Dimas tried to quiet his mind, sleep would not come.
Instead, the memories of what should have been the happiest day of his life replayed over and over, a constant reminder of just how badly things had gone.
In less than one evening, he’d lost the sacred bond to his Fateweaver, his claim to the throne, and Brother Dunstan.
And to top it all off, the last remaining members of his family had all turned on him. And his mother …
No. Dimas couldn’t think about that. Not if he wanted to keep what fragile pieces of himself were left from falling apart.
“You’re thinking too hard.”
Dimas’s eyes shot open to find Ioseph staring up at him.
“You’re awake,” he breathed, blinking away a sudden onset of tears.
“I’m awake.” Ioseph sat up, a groan escaping his lips. His hand rose to the bruise on his temple.
“Easy.” Dimas placed his hand on Ioseph’s arm, already missing the steady comfort of his touch, but Ioseph brushed him off, his muscles slowly tightening as he looked around the dim cave. His gaze hardened when it found Lenora asleep against the far wall.
“What happened?”
Dimas had never heard his friend sound so cold.
Slowly, keeping his voice low, he told Ioseph everything that had happened back at the church, pausing when he recounted what Roston had told him about his mother.
The anger didn’t leave Ioseph’s expression, but the guard did take his hand, thumb brushing soothing circles against Dimas’s skin as he finished the rest of the story.
When he was finished, Ioseph asked, “After all she’s done, do you really think we can trust her?” He was eyeing Lenora warily, and considering she’d knocked him unconscious, Dimas couldn’t blame him for it.
“We don’t have much of a choice. The Haesta will kill Brother Dunstan and Finaen if we don’t stop them.
” Maia had made it clear Finaen hadn’t been involved in his Fateweaver’s plan to betray him; he was just as innocent in this as the High Priest, and Dimas was not going to let anyone die for Lenora’s mistakes.
“As much as I hate it, Lenora is our best chance at doing that and putting an end to this damn cult once and for all.”
Dimas had told Lenora they needed to work together to stop the Haesta, the adrenaline in his veins giving him a surge of rare confidence that was fading as the night went on.
But Lenora had barely held her own against his uncle when he was alone.
How did they expect to take him on and contend with fate knew how many cultists?
“If we can stop the Haesta—and that’s a big if,” Ioseph said, giving a voice to Dimas’s fears, “what happens then?”
Hoping he sounded more confident than he felt, Dimas said, “We get Brother Dunstan to tell the church the truth. They might not believe me—Roston has made sure of that—but they’ll believe their High Priest.” It was probably why Roston had Brother Dunstan kidnapped in the first place.
The regent had truly thought of everything.
“The empire won’t accept you as emperor without a Fateweaver at your side.
The bond is broken, Dimas. Even if the Zvaerna Order does believe you had nothing to do with Lenora’s plans, they’ll never see you on the throne.
” Ioseph paused. “My mother and sister live in the imperial city. Their home, their livelihoods … they have them because of my position in the royal guard. If you’re condemned … ”
“I won’t let that happen,” Dimas said. He gripped Ioseph’s hands in his.
Squeezed them tight. “Whatever my fate, I will ensure Brother Dunstan looks after you and your family. But in order to do that, we have to save him and put a stop to the Haesta once and for all. Emperor or not, Wyrecia’s citizens are still my people.
I won’t let them suffer for my mistakes. ”
Ioseph looked like he was about to say something else when Casimir walked into the cave mouth, twin daggers at his sides.
At the glare they gave him for interrupting, the smuggler simply shrugged and said, “In my defense, there are better places to have these types of conversations. More private places, for example.”
Dimas glared. “Everyone is asleep.”
“No, they’re not.” Casimir waltzed farther into the cave, nudging Lenora with his foot. Her eyes opened immediately, an unimpressed frown pulling at her lips. “If you are attempting to pretend to be asleep, you might want to try not looking so tense.”
“I wasn’t pretending,” Lenora said, glancing awkwardly at Dimas and Ioseph. “I just … didn’t want to interrupt.”
Dimas flushed at the idea of Lenora having heard his and Ioseph’s conversation. His embarrassment only grew when, from the far corner of the cave, Maia let out a too large to be genuine yawn that made it clear she hadn’t been sleeping, either.
“Did any of you get any rest?” Casimir asked.
“It’s hard to sleep when the fate of the empire is at stake.” Yana, at least, had the grace to look sheepish for eavesdropping on Dimas’s conversation.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dimas turned to the smuggler and asked, “I take it the area is clear?”
“Yep. No sign of any cultists or Fists in the nearby vicinity. I cleared away our footprints, too, just to be safe.” He slid down the wall to sit beside Lenora, his shoulder touching hers.
“So, now that we’ve established that we aren’t going to sleep, how about we come up with a plan?
Preferably one that doesn’t result in us all dying horrible, painful deaths and Lena ending up as Venysa’s latest vessel? ”
“Venysa, the first Fateweaver?” Ioseph looked confused. “I thought you said it was the Furybringer the Haesta are trying to resurrect?”
This was the part of the story Dimas had left out. The part that made the remnants of Roston’s shadows in his mind writhe. “They are. My uncle seemed to imply they’re one and the same.”
Even after everything that had happened, it still felt like heresy to say it, and Dimas hoped with every fiber of his being that someone would tell him he was wrong. That he’d misheard.
But then with two simple words, Lenora confirmed his worst fear. “They are.”
Dimas’s body felt separate from his mind. He sucked in a breath. Willed the shadows still lingering in his mind to retreat as Yana said, “That’s not possible. Lady Venysa was the most devout to Naebya of all the Fateweavers.”
“According to your stories, maybe,” said Maia, “but the old stories spoken in the Wilds tell an entirely different tale of the Fateweaver’s creation. Which you’d know, if your church hadn’t branded them heresy.”
“Maia,” Lenora warned, her gaze fixed on Dimas, as if even now she expected him to berate the girl for speaking what his religion considered blasphemy.
And perhaps the Dimas of yesterday, the Dimas who hadn’t been betrayed by almost everyone he trusted, would have.
But the Dimas of today simply looked at Lenora and said, “Then tell me. Tell me your people’s version of the story.”
A heavy silence fell over the group. No one spoke. No one moved. Even the air itself seemed to hold its breath.
And then Lena said, “Are you sure you want to hear it? It … doesn’t exactly paint your family in the best light.”
“They haven’t exactly done themselves any favors,” Dimas muttered, pain lancing through his chest as he thought of his uncle’s words. I’m afraid you’ll end up just like your mother. “I just … I want the truth.”
Something almost like guilt passed over Lenora’s expression, but it was quickly replaced with a steely resolve as she told the tale of how the first emperor, Armas Ehmar, and the first Zvaerna priests asked the Sisters of Fate for help in ending the war between the clans and uniting the lands into one empire.
Of how they’d turned the High Priest’s daughter, Venysa, into the very first Fateweaver.
It was a story Dimas knew well, one he’d had drilled into him during his childhood history lessons, and so far, he couldn’t see how Lenora’s tale differed from his people’s own.
When he said as much, Lena nodded. “Yes, that’s because, up until this part of history, the tales of our people are mostly the same. But this is where the stories differ.
“For the empire claims the priest’s daughter was a willing vessel and humbly accepted a divine honor.
Whereas our stories say otherwise: Venysa wasn’t given a choice.
When she awoke with the Sisters’ power inside her, Emperor Armas coerced her into using that power to bring the other clans to heel; if she didn’t, she would watch her half-brother die. ”
“So, you’re saying that the first emperor threatened Lady Venysa into submission?” Dimas managed to ask around the pounding in his head. “No, that isn’t … that can’t be true.” Because if it was, the foundation of the empire’s legacy, of his family’s legacy, was a lie.