Chapter 13 Lena
THIRTEEN
LENA
The outbuilding was a small storage hut filled with a variety of tanned leathers, bedrolls, and jars of what Lena could only assume were different herbal tinctures.
Compared to the mess in the main building, the hunters had left this place surprisingly intact.
The only signs that the Fist had been here were the tomes tossed to the ground and the broken lock on the door.
Casimir had set up the sleeping rolls he’d packed whilst Lena had loosely hung a glass jar around the door handle, an alarm that would fall and shatter should anyone attempt to enter.
It was a technique Lena had used once or twice during the times she’d been forced to stay in inns closer to the main cities, one she’d expected Casimir to question, but the smuggler had remained unnervingly quiet.
He was still quiet now, as they lay side by side on their bedrolls, their elbows nearly touching in the small space.
Any other time, Lena would have welcomed the silence, but after what had happened with the trader, her mind was a storm of unanswered questions.
What had Silah told the hunters about Casimir?
What would they do if they really did know about the mountain trail?
And, the most pressing question of all: Why hadn’t Casimir seemed surprised to see his friend turn into a korupted?
They were all part of the smuggler’s story, a story Lena found herself increasingly eager to hear.
And perhaps it was the exhaustion muddying her mind, or perhaps it was the need to talk to someone about her discovery that the korupted were real that had Lena asking into the darkness, “You’ve seen one before, haven’t you? ” She paused. “A korupted.”
Silence. The shuffling of fabric. And then. “Yes.” Another pause. “So have you.”
It wasn’t a question. Neither of them had been surprised at what they’d seen earlier that night. Horrified, yes. Angry.
But not surprised.
Lena stared up at the wooden planks of the ceiling, too afraid that if she turned to look at the smuggler, the walls she’d gotten so used to putting up around people would slam back down. “How long have you known?”
“That they’re real? Since I was a child.” There was a note of something like grief in his voice. “You?”
“Not long.” He was still too much a stranger to tell him the whole story, but …
“A storyteller used to come to my village when I was younger,” she continued, choosing her words carefully.
“She always told us about the korupted, to be careful of wandering alone in the Wilds after dark, but I never thought they were real …” Lena trailed off, her cheeks flushing at her rambling. Sisters, she really must be tired.
“There’s a lot about this empire people don’t know.” Casimir shifted again. “A lot they don’t want people to know.”
Lena thought of the old tales. If the korupted were real, what else from her mother’s stories might be true?
It was a dangerous road to go down, and so Lena didn’t. Instead, she pushed the spark of curiosity from her mind, closed her eyes, and waited for darkness to claim her.
Lena awoke to a searing pain in her wrist.
She gasped, shooting upright, the pain turning the world around her into a blur of browns and grays.
She’d been dreaming of a woman, dressed in a blue-and-silver robe and laid upon a stone dais, the light in her silver eyes dimming with each passing moment.
And as the dream had faded, there had been the whispering of a single, familiar name.
Sefwyn.
The mark on her wrist gave another sharp stab at the memory. Lena sucked in a pained breath, her hand instinctively wrapping around her wrist as if the pressure could hold off the pain.
“What is it?” Casimir was awake and kneeling at her side. “Are you hurt?”
Lena shook her head, both at his question and to try to will the threads now appearing around him to disappear. “No, I’m fine, I …”
Stars burst to life beneath her eyelids, her vision swimming as she struggled to stay conscious. Cold spread through her until she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
Hallucinations came in waves—flashes of people she had never met.
The visions were foggy, like she was peering through a frosted pane of glass, but all around her, connected together like a giant tapestry, were threads.
Lena felt the urge to reach out to them, to weave those threads until they served her, until the very people they were connected to bent to her will.
The energy grew to a crescendo, so overwhelming that she thought she might burn up from the inside out.
She was vaguely aware of Casimir beside her.
Of his voice calling to her. In her panic, she reached for him, blinking away the darkness crowding her mind.
But the hand that took her own was too small, too delicate, to belong to the smuggler.
The pain in her mind eased, replaced by a cold, primal fear. The center of her wrist pulsed, a frantic rhythm that matched her racing heart. She took a deep breath. Forced herself to look up.
And found herself staring into the eyes of a strangely familiar, dark-haired girl.
She couldn’t have been much older than Maia. Sixteen winters, at most. Her pale skin was almost translucent, and her eyes, as dark as a starless night sky, watched Lena like a cat might watch a mouse—lazily, playfully, as if Lena’s reaction amused her.
“Hello, Lenora.”
Lena froze. She knew that voice. Had been hearing it ever since she’d left Forvyrg. And that face … she’d seen it in the dream she’d had outside of the ruins, the one where a young girl had been forced to receive the powers of the Sisters of Fate.
“You’re her,” Lena realized, her pulse thrumming in her ears. “The first Fateweaver.”
The girl gave the slightest dip of her chin. “My name is Venysa.”
Years of being taught to hate everything about the Fateweaver’s power and how it had been used to oppress her people had Lena itching to reach for her bow. To put an arrow between her and this girl who was an enemy of the lost deities her people believed in.
But if Lena’s dream had been more than just a dream, if it had been a memory, then she was also a girl who had been forced to receive a power she didn’t want. Just like Lena.
The girl’s expression softened, as if she could sense Lena’s thoughts. “I understand why you’ve been fighting me. But I am not your enemy, Lenora.”
“Aren’t you?” Her words came out sharp, her only weapon against the confusion the first Fateweaver’s words caused.
Venysa’s eyes narrowed, the sole sign that Lena’s words had hit their mark.
“The Ehmar boy, he’s been trying to reach you, yes?
” She gave a knowing smile. “Of course he has. The bond between an emperor and a Fateweaver is an old one. Powerful. You’ve shown tremendous strength of will in resisting it thus far, but it is getting harder, isn’t it?
You are beginning to feel the effects of fighting against it. ”
It was true there was a constant pain in her head, and exhaustion was beginning to weigh down her every step. She’d passed it off as being on the run, of barely eating and sleeping, of being constantly on edge, but if Venysa was right …
“Why should I believe you?”
“It will only get worse.” Venysa’s expression darkened, her eyes shimmering with the same rage Lena had felt during her dream.
“Your vision showed you the truth; Lady Sefwyn and her emperor are minutes away from death, and the weaker they become, the stronger the bond between you and the Ehmar heir grows. Continuing to fight it will no longer be an option.”
The hairs on the back of Lena’s neck rose. Despite herself, despite the stories she’d been told of the first Fateweaver, she asked, “Why?”
Again, that ancient rage flashed in Venysa’s eyes. “In spite of what the empire would have people believe, the bond was created to keep the Fateweaver’s power in check. To ensure her loyalty to the Ehmar line. The consequences of resisting it are … fatal.”
The words hit Lena like a knife to the gut. “I’ll die?”
“Eventually. The more you resist and the more distance you put between yourself and your emperor, the more the magic that created the bond will retaliate. It will eat away at you, both of you, day by day, until there is nothing left.”
Lena was going to be sick. “What happens to the Fateweaver’s power if I die?”
“If that is the fate Naebya has woven, then the power will pass to another vessel.” Venysa shrugged. “One who will likely be more willing to be wielded by the empire than you are.”
Lena frowned. “But I thought the emperor died alongside his Fateweaver?” She knew that much from her mother’s stories. “That their lives were bound?”
“They are. If you die, so does the Ehmar boy. But the bond was created by the Zvaerna, and as such, they have the power to … transfer it to anyone they deem worthy.”
A sob rose in Lena’s chest. “So that’s it, then? Either I become the empire’s weapon, or I die and doom Wyrecia to another lifetime of oppression?” She shook her head. “No, there has to be another way.”
Venysa considered her for a moment. “There may be, but it is … dangerous. During my time as Fateweaver, I grew close to an acolyte of the Zvaerna. He was working on a way to sever the bond between an emperor and a Fateweaver, one that would allow the Fateweaver to retain her magic.” She paused, eyes glowing silver in the darkness, brow furrowing as if she was struggling to recall a memory.
When she spoke again, her voice was softer.
Weaker. “I died before he could complete it, but I believe he finished what we began. And if he did, there is only one place he would have hidden the finished ritual.”
Lena knew she shouldn’t care. Knew she shouldn’t trust this ancient spirit dwelling inside of her. And yet she found herself asking, “Where?”
The edges around Venysa began to flicker. When she spoke again, her voice was far weaker than it had been just seconds before. “There are tunnels beneath the palace which lead to a hidden chamber. Look for the entrance hidden inside the Fateweaver’s room.”
Lena let out a disbelieving laugh. “You want me to go to the palace?”
“Yes. It is the only way to break the bond, Lenora. The only way you will ever truly be free.” She paused. “It is the only way your people will ever be free.”
Free. Freedom.
Lena was stunned into silence, suddenly flooded with images of her mother beside a campfire as she wove story after story—of a vivid memory of a warm embrace as her mother whispered why she’d become a storyteller.
Because I believe that, one day, we will live in a world where we are free.
Lena’s body was trembling, her mind racing as Venysa said, “Our time grows short. Once Lady Sefwyn passes, the bond between her and the emperor will transfer, in its entirety, to you and the prince. When that happens, it will be difficult for me to contact you. I will try, but in the meantime, your magic will guide you—if you let it.” Venysa tilted her head, the silver light of her eyes dimming. “Goodbye, Lenora.”
“Wait, I—”
But Venysa was already fading, and Lena could faintly hear the sound of someone calling her name.
A fresh wave of pain traveled up her arm, into her chest, turning the world white.
She clenched her eyes shut as she tried to breathe through the pain.
It was too much. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs, couldn’t think.
“Kelia!”
Casimir’s voice was enough to bring her back to herself. She was aware of the ground beneath her back, of the smell of leather and metal. The pain began to recede once more, and slowly Lena forced herself to open her eyes.
She was lying on her back on her sleeping mat. Casimir was kneeling beside her, his face tight with an expression she couldn’t name.
“What … what happened?”
“You started thrashing in your sleep. Screaming. I thought you were just having a nightmare, but then you opened your eyes. Your silver eyes.” Lena sucked in a breath, searching for a lie to tell, when Casimir added, “If I’d known I was helping Wyrecia’s next Fateweaver flee to Verlond, I’d have charged a lot more. ”
Lena darted to her feet, backing away from the smuggler as far as she could in the small hut.
“Easy there,” Casimir said, hands raised just as they had been in Deyecia. “You want to run, right? To escape Wyrecia? I can still help you.”
Lena hesitated. She wanted to believe him. To believe that she could keep running. But the first Fateweaver’s words came back to her, repeating over and over in her mind. If there was any chance Venysa was right about the bond, then it didn’t matter how far Lena ran.
She would never be free. Her people would never be free.
Not until she severed the bond.
“You said the empire has secrets it doesn’t want people to know,” Lena began, watching the smuggler’s expression carefully. “Do any of them involve the bond between the Fateweaver and the emperor?”
If he knew something, anything, about the bond or how to break it without going to the palace, then Lena had to try to coax it out of him. You can’t trust him, the ancient voice in her head warned. You can’t trust anyone.
A pause. The briefest flicker of something in Casimir’s dark eyes. And then he said, “I’m afraid the bond remains the Church of Naebya’s closest guarded secret.”
The last shred of hope Lena had been holding on to disappeared. Lena couldn’t tell if the smuggler was lying, but it didn’t really matter; either way, she wasn’t going to get the answers she sought here.
“We should get some rest,” Casimir said when Lena remained silent. “You can continue your endless onslaught of questions in the morning.” He was already lying back on the cloak he’d taken off and put beneath him, his eyes drifting shut.
“Alright,” Lena lied.
She turned on her side but did not close her eyes.
Instead, she lay awake until Casimir’s breathing grew heavy.
And when she was certain he was asleep, Lena carefully rose from the ground and rummaged through the smuggler’s bag as quietly as she could.
Her fingers searched for the familiar wooden hilt of her mother’s blade, but she found nothing.
She considered searching his body, but the risk of waking him was too great.
So she abandoned the effort and slipped from the outbuilding and into the night.