Chapter 20 Lena
TWENTY
LENA
Lena woke to the sound of muffled voices.
For a moment, with her body caught between sleep and wakefulness, she forgot where she was.
Instinct took over, causing her limbs to stiffen, her breathing to slow.
Her eyes slid open, the sudden brightness of the Fateweaver’s chambers bringing back her memories of the last week in sickening clarity.
The korupted attacking Forvyrg. The first Fateweaver’s warning. Finaen’s face as Maia revealed his betrayal.
A fresh wave of power rose up inside of her. Lena clamped down on it without thinking, the resounding pain in her head making her stomach churn.
Lena forced herself to her feet, the ground swaying beneath her.
This far south, the sun was warm enough that Lena didn’t immediately begin to shiver as she slipped from beneath the blankets.
Still, she felt naked without her usual cloak to cover her arms; the nightdress she’d been given to sleep in was finely made, but it was far thinner than the leather and thick cotton garments she was used to.
Her own clothing lay folded in one of the wardrobe drawers, grime-covered and worn, and her bow—the only other item remaining from her old life—had been taken to Sisters knew where.
Last night, after she’d hidden her soot-covered boots beneath the bed and used the basin of water left out for her to scrub away any remaining footprints, Lena had been too exhausted to feel guilty about crawling onto the plush mattress and beneath the fresh linens.
But now, in the crisp early-morning light, all she could think about was the woman who’d lain here before her. Of how easily she’d been replaced.
Pushing the thought aside, Lena climbed out of the bed and trod toward her chamber’s door. The voices she’d awoken to were louder now. One, the deep, slightly accented voice of Ioseph, the other the more formal, softer tone of the heir to Wyrecia.
The mark on Lena’s palm tingled at the presence of the new emperor.
A rush of nervous energy flooded through her, followed by the sensation of something pushing against the edges of her mind and the brush of feelings not her own.
Now that she wasn’t overwhelmed by the magic in the tunnels, Lena was aware enough of the warning signs of the bond to fight against the intrusion.
She stumbled away from the door, her fingernails digging into her palm as she instinctively pushed against what she was now starting to recognize as the prince’s emotions. Get out get out get out—
A flare of alarm came through the bond. The chamber door swung open, revealing an exhausted-looking Dimas. He reached for her, his pale eyes wide with alarm.
Lena took a step back. Dimas’s threads flared to life in the air around him, glistening like a web in early-morning frost. The Fateweaver’s magic surged in response.
It was too much. She could feel his emotions as if they were her own, flooding her until she didn’t know where the prince ended and she began, and this time, no foreign presence came to sever the connection.
Her eyes screwed shut, her nails digging in hard enough to draw blood. Stop. Please, just stop!
Blood, warm and wet, trickled from her nose and into her mouth.
“Lenora!” the prince shouted. “You have to stop fighting it.”
She couldn’t. She was suffocating, drowning in her power.
Visions flashed behind her eyelids. Faces of people she didn’t know.
Towns and villages she’d never visited. She tried to let them come, tried to breathe through the onslaught, but her every instinct told her to fight.
She thought of her mother. Of the hungry faces of the people she’d lived alongside her entire life.
Every Fateweaver who had previously wielded the magic inside of her had done so much harm; how was she any better than them if she let it consume her?
Her knees gave out beneath her, and as her vision faded, as consciousness began to fall away, the memory of Venysa warning her what would happen if she continued to fight the bond echoed inside of her head.
The consequences of resisting it are… fatal.
Lena only just had enough time to pray Venysa was wrong before everything went dark.
Something cold pressed against Lena’s lips. The taste of honey and something floral coated her tongue.
“Drink this.”
Lena’s mouth instinctively clenched shut, but whoever held the drink up to her mouth didn’t relent.
“It’s just tea. It’ll help you relax.”
All of Lena’s instincts told her to keep her mouth shut. But she could feel nothing beyond the Fateweaver’s power now, roaring through her blood like a blizzard, and she knew if she didn’t find her way out soon, she never would.
With what sense she had left, Lena parted her lips. Warm liquid coated her tongue, sharp and sweet and bitter all at once. Heat spread through her veins, chasing away the ice-cold of the Fateweaver’s magic.
Lena opened her eyes to find a familiar, pale face just a few inches from her own. This was the young woman she’d seen with Dimas in her vision.
“Better?” the woman asked.
Lena swallowed, the taste of the tea still bitter in her mouth. “Yes. Thank you …”
“Iska,” the woman offered, bowing her head, “and it is my pleasure, Your Worship.”
Someone must have carried her after she’d passed out, because Lena was now lying on one of the long, fabric-covered seats in the reception room, her head propped up by pillows. She sat up slowly, heat rushing up her neck at the sight of Dimas and his guard, Ioseph, watching her with clear concern.
Dimas cleared his throat, his shoulders rigid beneath the fabric of a navy cloak.
“What did you see?”
He was cleaner than he had been during their journey together, but the circles beneath his eyes were more pronounced. They made her wonder, briefly, if she was the sole cause of his anxiety, or if there was something else. Something he didn’t want her to know about.
Lena looked everywhere but at the tunnel entrance hidden in the Fateweaver’s hearth. There was no indication in the prince’s expression that he’d seen her during their brief connection, but if he had, she couldn’t risk giving herself away.
Keeping her emotions as calm as possible, she asked, “What do you mean?”
“You looked like Lady Sefwyn did whenever she was having one of her visions; she was particularly adept at seeing the future, but each Fateweaver has their own affinity. If you tell us what you saw, we will be able to determine yours.”
Lena tensed, years of fighting to hide her visions making her tone sharp as she replied, “I don’t know. Whatever Naebya was trying to show me, it was too chaotic to make sense of.”
Dimas frowned. “That’s because you’re still fighting your power. Once you begin your training, it’ll be easier to sort through the images, to figure out what they mean.”
The emperor ran a hand through his hair, mussing up the curls. The gesture reminded her of Casimir, his eyes dancing in challenge as they’d questioned one another in his hideout.
She pushed away the memory. He was yet another person better off without her in his life.
“When do we start?” she asked, pushing to her feet. The quick movement made the world sway, and it took her vision a moment to clear. Already, she could feel her magic stirring. See the faint lines of threads in the air.
“Your first session with the head priest of the Zvaerna Order, Brother Dunstan, will take place this evening,” replied Dimas, “but there are … other matters we must attend to first.”
Lena cocked her head. “Such as?”
“Such as getting you some appropriate attire—followed by a tour of the grounds, and a lesson on what will be expected of you as the empire’s Fateweaver.”
Just the thought of doing all that was exhausting. She envisioned the tunnels beneath the palace, of the ancient symbols etched into stone. The sooner she started training to use her power, the sooner she could uncover what they meant and find a way out of this Sisters-damned palace.
But seeming too eager would only raise the prince’s suspicion of her. She needed him to think her compliant. A willing vessel for him to mold and shape as he saw fit.
Still, there was one thing she needed to make sure of first.
“Alright. But what about my … friends?” she asked, the word strangely heavy on her tongue. There was no doubt Maia was still her friend, but Finaen …
She didn’t know what Finaen was to her anymore.
Dimas blinked, as if he’d forgotten about their existence for a moment. “What about them?”
Still fragile from the onslaught of the Fateweaver’s magic, Lena didn’t bother to hide her annoyance. “Your deal with Finaen. He gets to be a guard now, right?”
“Yes, he began his training at sunrise.”
“And Maia?” Lena asked, hating how her voice cracked. “Did she see your healer?”
Dimas’s expression softened somewhat. “She did. Her head wound is healing well. As for her lungs and heart … they are still fragile, but as long as she paces herself and takes the medicinal herbs prescribed to her, she should see some improvement in her condition.”
Lena didn’t bother to hide her relief. Her shoulders sagged, some of the tension leaving her. “Good. That’s … good. Where is she?”
“She has requested to study alongside our Zvaerna novitiates,” the prince said, his voice oddly soft. “She said she wanted to help you learn to control your abilities however she could, and Iska kindly offered to take her under her wing. She’s already moved into their dormitories.”
Lena’s eyes stung. Having Maia studying the Fateweaver’s power would help, but the thought of involving Maia in her plan, of putting Maia in danger, made something in Lena’s chest ache. She would keep Maia out of it—at least until Lena knew Venysa was telling the truth.
Lena’s train of thought was broken when the door to the reception room opened, revealing the tall figure of a robed man with dark copper hair.