Page 2 of A Fate Unwoven
But the girl in Dimas’s divine vision had not been in a temple. Which either meant she had no idea she was aboda—or that she’d been hiding from the empire all this time.
It had been two weeks since he’d gathered the courage to reveal to his father what he’d seen. Two weeks since he’d sent a small unit of imperial hunters, known as the Empire’s Fist, to find her.
Dimas hadn’t heard a word from them since.
Now all he said to his father was: “She’ll be here soon.”
So far, his connection to his Fateweaver was … unpredictable. After that first vision, which had happened over a fortnight ago, he’d seen nothing. But it was a start. He knew what she looked like, and he knew she lived somewhere in the Wilds, a frozen forest to the far west of Wyrecia. It was enough.
It had to be.
Vesric’s brows narrowed as he pulled away. “Good, because if the Rite of Ascension is not completed—”
“Itwillbe,” Dimas said.
The rite was a way of solidifying the bond between the next emperor and his Fateweaver, a divine rite that both proved the worthiness of Wyrecia’s next ruler and kept the Fateweaver’s power in check. If Dimas could not complete it, the church would take it as a sign that their matron goddess, Næbya, had forsaken him.
Dimas couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen.
“My Fateweaver will be retrieved,” Dimas insisted, clenching his hands into fists to hide the fact they had started to tremble. “Trust me, Father. I’m going to be emperor—”
His father let out a rasping laugh. “In name, perhaps,” he said, his words cutting deeper than any knife. “But never in spirit. You are, after all, your mother’s son.”
A wave of rage and pain crashed into Dimas. He staggered to his feet, the silver and royal blue of his father’s chambers blurring together before his eyes. It didn’t matter what he did, or how hard he tried; in the eyes of Vesric Ehmar, Dimas would always be a failure.
“Why?”
The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it, before he could consider the weight of asking for a truth he’d wished to know his entire life.It’s your last chance,he thought, his heart fluttering inside his rib cage like a bird.It’s now or never.
But his father rasped, “Why what?”
Why have you never believed in me? Why are you so sure I’ll fail?
Why did mother have to die whilst you got to live?
The fury of Dimas’s thoughts took him by surprise. He blinked at his father, who looked so small and fragile beneath the canopy of this bed—a mighty emperor no longer—and wondered why he’d ever feared him.
It hit him then just how much his father’s opinion had shaped everything in his life. Why he’d hidden himself behind walls with easels and paints, why he’d felt the need to sneak kisses from servant boys rather than assert his own desires and needs. Why he’d spent so long wondering why his father didn’t believe in him that he’d forgotten to believe in himself. But all of that was about to change, and Dimas was both exhilarated and completely terrified of what the future would bring.
It was never going to be enough.Hewas never going to be enough.
No. Whatever the future held, he had to believe that fate was on his side. And so, instead of demanding answers, Dimas simply said, “I’m going to prove you wrong.”
But Vesric had already fallen back into a deep sleep, his son’s words going unheard in the silent chambers. Dimas lingered in the darkness, watching the shadows as they crept along the white stone walls, growing closer, closer—
A single knock echoed through the room. Dimas jumped, his heart in his throat as he ran a hand over his face. Fate dammit, he needed sleep.
Sinking into the chair by his father’s bedside, he didn’t bother to hide the exhaustion in his voice as he called, “Go away.”
There was a pause, and then a familiar voice said, “It’s me.”
Ioseph.
Dimas was up and opening the door within the space of a heartbeat, icy wind gusting into the chamber. “Did they find her?”
Hope flared in his chest, bright and all-consuming as a flame. His Fateweaver was the answer. Once she was by his side—
“I’m sorry.” Ioseph’s soft words extinguished his hope. “We’ve lost contact with them, Your Highness. They were supposed to send word once they reached the northern outpost, but we—”
