Chapter 19 Lena
NINETEEN
LENA
Bathing in the imperial palace was nothing like bathing in the Wilds.
Gone was the lukewarm river water in a cramped wooden tub provided by innkeepers for an extra fee.
Instead, Lena now sat in a copper tub filled with hot water scented with chamomile leaves and dried yarrow petals.
It made every ache in Lena’s body melt away, and despite the stranger scrubbing at her skin until it was raw, she couldn’t help but relax into it.
Nor could she help the hunger gnawing at her stomach when, a half bell later, she was wrapped in a silk robe and led to a tray of freshly baked breads and a variety of cheeses, vegetables, and lentils waiting for her in the reception room.
She kept eating until the nausea in her stomach subsided.
Until the dizziness she’d been feeling since leaving Forvyrg finally began to ebb away.
It was only when the attendant had helped her into the largest bed she’d ever seen and left with an awed “Good night, Your Worship” that the guilt set in.
How could she let herself sleep when her people were still lying on hard cots with only their body heat to keep them warm? When every second she wasted here, enjoying the Ehmars’ luxuries, there were people starving to death in the cold?
Lena flung herself from the bed and strode into what the attendant had called her reception room.
The space was huge, far bigger than her sleeping chamber, and apparently meant for entertaining important visitors.
A long, navy seat was situated before an unlit hearth.
Curtains made of the same fabric hung around a large window, which gave Lena a clear view of the imperial city and all the way to the mountains beyond.
A potential escape route, but clearly not hiding an entrance to the palace’s underground tunnels.
The paintings hanging on the walls, however …
There were three of them, each depicting the first Fateweaver in various moments throughout Zvaerna history.
In the first, a Zvaerna priest stood over a young Venysa, fingertips pressed lightly against her forehead, the air around them woven with fine, silver threads.
In the second, a slightly older-looking Venysa stood surrounded by a half dozen kneeling Zvaerna priests, and in the third, she sat triumphant in her throne, her emperor at her side.
Lena found nothing but stone and dust behind them all.
She spent the next hour searching everywhere she could think of, from the edges of the large dresser to the floor underneath the woven rug in the entrance chamber.
It was only as she was halfway through her search that she realized just how empty the place was, as if every trace of the Fateweaver before her had been erased.
There were no gowns in the dresser, and the linens on the bed were fresh and unslept in. Even the bookcases were empty.
It had barely been a week since Venysa had told Lena of Lady Sefwyn’s death. Which meant that either Lady Sefwyn had had little personal belongings to begin with, or that the palace had erased all traces of her in the time it took for Dimas to bring Lena here.
Neither option made Lena feel better about her situation. The absence of the former Lady Sefwyn’s presence was yet another stark reminder that the Fateweaver was a tool first, and a person second.
Lena clenched her jaw, biting down on the inside of her cheek in an attempt to stave off the sudden rush of panic that manifested at the thought of this being her fate. Venysa had said there was an entrance to the tunnels in the Fateweaver’s chambers, but … what if she’d been lying?
It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed her mind. Lena had tried to make contact with Venysa every night during the journey back to Novobyrg, but just as she’d been warned, the first Fateweaver had gone silent.
Focus, Lenora, her mother’s voice whispered in her mind, transporting her back to a frost-covered forest a few miles north of Forvyrg. To the feel of the hard dirt beneath her feet and the scent of moss in her nose. Trust your instincts. What do they tell you?
Lena scanned the room, searching for anything out of the ordinary.
In the forest, tracking her environment had come as naturally to her as breathing.
A broken branch. A footprint in the snow.
They were all things she knew to look out for.
But here, in the extravagance of the Fateweaver’s chambers, she had no idea where to start.
The steady hum of her magic, however, did.
It was like another sense, drawing her gaze toward the fireplace, triggering the ghost of a memory that didn’t belong to her.
The fireplace itself was nothing special; stone surrounding a square alcove in the wall, an iron grate stretched across the space.
A pile of charred logs sat inside, the faint smell of ash and charcoal still clinging to the air around them.
And above it, engraved into one of the stones, was an old Wyrecian symbol.
It was so faded Lena would have missed it if it wasn’t for her magic. The edges of the symbol had almost disappeared entirely, leaving it incomplete and impossible to decipher. But the sight of it was enough to make Lena curious.
She glanced toward the entrance hall, checking she wasn’t about to be interrupted, and headed for the fireplace.
She could make out the symbol a little better now, but still not enough to recognize its meaning.
It didn’t matter. This close, Lena could see the slight rise of the stone, the gap at its edges.
Holding her breath, Lena pressed her hand against the stone.
And pushed.
There was a single click, followed by a too-long moment of silence.
And then the fireplace moved inward, revealing a dark tunnel beyond.
Yes.
Hope flared to life in Lena’s chest. She shoved it down, locking it away beside the constant fear threatening to consume her if she let it loose. Venysa hadn’t been lying about the tunnels, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t lying about anything else.
She had to stay focused. Take things one step at a time, just like her mother had taught her when the reality of her visions had become too much to take.
Releasing a sharp breath, Lena peered into the tunnel, her eyes straining from the darkness.
By the look of the sky outside the window, dawn was still several hours away.
It was unlikely Lena would have enough time now to search the tunnels and find the chamber Venysa had spoken of—let alone the ancient ritual it was alleged to contain.
But she could make a start. Scout out the tunnels.
Mark a path for when she had time to return.
She plumped a few pillows beneath the blankets on her bed, until they vaguely resembled a sleeping figure, before pulling on her boots and grabbing a lantern from the entrance chamber. All she needed now was something to mark her path with.
Lena searched the room as quickly and as quietly as she could, looking for anything sharp enough to scrape stone, and eventually found an ornate letter opener in the back of a drawer.
Perfect.
She returned to the tunnel entrance in the hearth, her movements cautious as she stepped inside.
It was cooler in here, the air tinged with the scent of damp earth, and a slight breeze ruffled the strands of her hair, growing stronger the farther she went.
A breeze was good. A breeze meant an exit to outside the palace, another potential escape route for when she’d broken the bond.
After running into a few dead ends, Lena finally came across a set of stone steps.
Lena peered down as far as she could see, the light of her lantern too weak to illuminate more than the immediate space around her.
There was no way to tell how steep the staircase was.
No way to estimate how long it would take her to descend.
It had taken her at least a full bell to find the staircase, meaning she still had at least a few hours to explore farther and get back to the Fateweaver’s chambers before the full break of dawn.
Lena stepped onto the stairs, the dim glow of her torch forcing her to take them slower than she’d have liked.
The walls narrowed as she descended, and by the time she reached the bottom, her back drenched in sweat despite the cool breeze, damp stone brushed her arms on either side.
Her breath caught in her throat at the sensation.
She’d always hated small spaces. Had always preferred an open sky above her head and a forest floor beneath her feet.
The urge to turn around tugged at her, slowing her steps further. But she couldn’t turn back yet. Not until she found some kind of evidence that the hidden Zvaerna chamber existed.
Taking a deep breath, Lena pushed on, her boots steadily thudding against the stone.
The breeze was stronger now, the cool kiss of it against her skin calming her racing heart.
It would be easy to lose track of time down here.
To lose herself in the darkness and the silence.
But Lena counted the minutes in her head, marking every twist and turn that followed the breeze with the sharp edge of the ornate letter opener.
She’d been searching for what felt like hours, and so far she’d found nothing but stone and shadow.
This was stupid.
These tunnels were centuries-old and Sisters knew how deep. It would take hours, maybe even days, for someone who didn’t know the layout to fully explore them.
She was slowing her steps, readying herself to turn around, when she stumbled across a new fork in the tunnel.
Lena stopped, her gaze drifting in each direction. They were likely more dead ends, and it’d be foolish to pursue them now. She should turn back, get some rest and nourishment, and return another time. But the thought of giving up without finding something, anything, pushed her forward.