Chapter 20 Lena #2
“Your Majesty,” the newcomer said, stepping into the room and bowing his head to Dimas.
His robes were more extravagant than Iska’s.
The silver details were more intricate, weaving around the sleeves and the hem in a variety of patterns, and there was a pin of Naebya’s symbol on his left breast. His lips parted as his gaze landed on Lena, his hands coming together in a gesture of prayer. “Your Worship.”
“Lady Lenora, this is Brother Dunstan. He’ll be overseeing your training.” Dimas made a point of emphasizing the word training. His meaning was clear: this man was important to her progress, to controlling her unpredictable magic.
“It’s … nice to meet you.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the lie in her voice.
It felt strange to stand before a priest dedicated to the worship of the goddess who had betrayed her people’s matron deities. Although, she supposed it was no stranger than having that goddess’s magic running through her veins.
“There is some reading you must do before we can begin your training,” Brother Dunstan said, gesturing to the pile of tomes in Iska’s arms. “It’s important you understand the … true history of this empire, and your role in it.”
True according to who?
Her dream of Venysa’s past rose in her mind, along with Casimir’s words the night she’d fled: There’s a lot about this empire people don’t know. A lot they don’t want people to know.
Dimas was watching her closely, and Lena focused on keeping a lid on her emotions as Ioseph whispered something into the prince’s ear. Dimas gave a small nod in response, his cheeks turning slightly pink.
“I’m afraid I must leave you,” he said. “Iska will prepare you for the royal tailor’s arrival. The staff have been made aware of your presence, but … it’s important they don’t learn of your …”
“Heresy?” Lena offered helpfully.
Dimas winced. “Yes. As far as they and the rest of the empire are concerned, you’re from a village a few miles east of here, and Maia and Finaen’s family took you in as a young girl.
You were handed over to the village temple a few years later, when your bōda’s abilities began to show.
All three of you worship Naebya, and it is an honor to have been chosen as the next Fateweaver.
” He paused, looking at her uncertainly.
“Do you think you can convince them of that?”
She clenched her hands into fists. It took everything she had to nod in acknowledgment. “I’ll do my best.”
Lena hated the idea of having to hide such a huge part of herself, but if it meant breaking her bond with Dimas and freeing her people from the Fateweaver’s cruelty, then she would do it.
Dimas let out a breath of relief. “Thank you. We shall leave you to it, then. Iska will return for you once you have finished with our royal tailor, Vivika.”
With one final bow of his head—a gesture that Ioseph, Brother Dunstan, and Iska mimicked in a rather unsettling display of respect—the prince and his retinue left the room, closing the door behind them.
Lena barely had time to savor her sudden isolation before the reception room doors opened again.
A middle-aged woman, her arms full of dresses, strode up to Lena with a scrutiny that made Lena feel extremely vulnerable.
Lips pursed, the tailor finally gave a sharp, affirming nod. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”
It was spoken like a question, but Vivika didn’t wait for a response before she began peeling Lena’s nightgown from her shoulders.
The tailor made short work of forcing Lena into a variety of outfits, from ball gowns to riding clothes.
They’d all belonged to Lady Sefwyn, a fact that reminded Lena once more that she was just another vessel in a long line of Fateweavers.
Thankfully, not all of Lady Sefwyn’s clothing could be modified to fit her; Lena was a few inches taller than the late Fateweaver, her hips wider, and so Vivika was going to have to make her a wardrobe of her own.
For now, they’d have to make do. Vivika spent hours adjusting what garments she could to fit Lena, lowering hems and releasing stitches until Lena had a handful of outfits to choose from. By the time the tailor finished, Lena’s muscles ached in ways they never had before.
“You’ll have enough outfits to keep you going by the end of today,” Vivika said, fussing with the sleeves of Lena’s dress. “I will have my attendants make you some custom pieces with these measurements. But for now, this will have to suffice.”
Vivika moved her in front of the room’s mirror.
The dress she’d left Lena in was a masterpiece.
Midnight blue with a silver, boned waist that resembled steel and a flowing skirt that allowed Lena to move her legs freely.
Her arms were left bare, and a cape a few shades darker than the dress hung over her shoulders, pinned at the neck by a silver brooch made to resemble the Fateweaver’s symbol.
Lena’s hair had been left loose, the mini braids she usually wove into it untied.
Lena had never seen herself look so … pretty. It was a far cry from her usual patched-together leather-and-cloth outfits in the Wilds. Even so, her scar remained visible, and it was still her mother’s eyes that looked back at her when she stared in the mirror.
They could dress her up all they liked, but it didn’t change who she was. Not a young girl who had been chosen for a greater purpose, but a heretic, a storyteller.
A survivor.
Lena let the thought wrap around her like a shield. For now, she would play her part.
And when the time came, she would make fates-damned sure the people of Wyrecia knew exactly who had broken the Fateweaver’s chains.