Page 109 of A Fate Unwoven
The air in the chamber was hazy with magic. The cult must have been using the symbols engraved in the walls and on their skin as a conduit for whatever power they were drawing from, just as she’d suspected. Lena had never seen any of their ranks without at least one symbol inked onto their skin, and knowing their power, it wasn’t too much of an assumption to guess this was the source of their magic.
Now that she knew how to channel magic, Lena could potentially draw on that extra power to give her an edge. She just had to wait for this damned bangle to be taken off.
One by one, the cultists reached out their hands toward Lena, palms faced outward. They all had the same symbol inked into their palms, and as their lips continued the silent chant, Lena’s strength began to wane even further.
Roston reached for the bangle around Lena’s wrist. Found its seal.
And removed it.
Dimas’s eyes widened slightly in panic at the same time as Lena’s stomach dropped.
“Venysa needs to have access to the Fateweaver’s full power for the ritual to work,” the regent explained at her confused look.
He didn’t seem concerned that she might try to overpower him, no doubt confident that whatever his cultists were doing ensured she was too weak to use her power against him.
And shewas.Lena’s consciousness was balancing on a knife’s edge.
The room became a hazy blur of silver threads, a constantly moving tapestry she could not quite reach. And beneath it all, beneath the power and the pain, Venysa surged.
Lena tried to grab hold of her power. To direct it toward the chamber’s exit in one last desperate attempt to search for Casimir and the others. But it was no use. Her magic was no longer just hers to control. And now that Roston had the bangle, Dimas had no chance of getting it on his wrist.
The emperor’s hand twitched toward the hidden blade in his cloak before going still, his entire body freezing as it had done back in the temple.
“Did you really think, nephew,” Roston said, “that you could fool me? You are a good actor, but I have known you since you were a boy. You would never join us, not after learning the truth about your mother.” One of the cultists began to strip Dimas of his weapons, and the last of Lena’s hope died as his poisoned blade was taken away.
“I told you both—” Roston sighed as the cultist dragged Dimas backward, away from the stone dais. Away from Lena. “This is Lenora’s destiny. It is futile to resist it.”
He’s right,Venysa’s voice said, as the last of Lena’s control over her emotions slipped.You have failed, Lenora.
Lena didn’t have the strength to argue. Not when she knew in her heart that Venysa spoke the truth. She’d been a fool to come here. Arrogant to have ever believed she could’ve wielded this power as her own. Shehadfailed, like she had so many times before. And now it was over.
She was too weak to move. Too weak to do anything but lay there on the altar as Roston traced the lines of a symbol onto her forehead. And as the darkness took her, Lena had just enough awareness left to sense the faint presence of a set of familiar, bright threads.
FORTY-SEVEN
DIMAS
Dimas had been struggling against the cultist holding him when the grip on his arms went slack.
The cultist had dragged Dimas down one of the three sets of steps leading to the ritual platform, so that they now stood amongst at least another dozen robed heretics. They froze when the cultist restraining Dimas went down, his body hitting the stone with a sickeningthud.
Dimas turned around just in time to see Casimir dropping down from a shadowed cliff, the hood of the cultist’s robes he wore pulled back to reveal his grinning face. “Sorry we’re late,” he said.
And then he lunged.
The cultists who weren’t on the raised platform with Lenora and Roston barely had time to reach for their weapons before Casimir’s daggers flew through the air. The blades embedded themselves into two of theHæstas’ chests.
The chanting of the cultists surrounding his Fateweaver faltered. “Do not stop!” Roston ordered. “Iska, ensure they do not reach the girl.”
Dimas hadn’t even noticed his cousin was present. She’d been inside the circle of chanting cultists, her hood drawn over her face. Something cold ran down his spine at the sight of her on the edge of the platform, her hood pulled back, her expression devoid of warmth as she ordered the cultists on the ground toattack.
The cultist nearest to Dimas raised her sword.
Instinct taking over, Dimas lunged for the nearest fallen weapon, raising it just in time to block an incoming attack. Metal clashed against metal, and Dimas barely had time to adjust his stance as the cultist feigned right and went in for another blow.
Dimas rolled out of the way just in time. He was back on his feet a second later, preparing to block another attack, when an arrow whistled past him and went straight through the cultist’s chest.
Maia appeared beside him a few seconds later, bow in hand. But Dimas had no time to be surprised; another half dozen cultists were heading toward them, and one of them was chanting.
