Page 32 of A Fate Unwoven
She gasped, shooting upright, the pain turning the world around her into a blur of browns and grays. She’d been dreaming of a woman, dressed in a blue-and-silver robe and laid upon a stone dais, the light in her silver eyes dimming with each passing moment. And as the dream had faded, there had been the whispering of a single, familiar name.
Sefwyn.
The mark on her wrist gave another sharp stab at the memory. Lena sucked in a pained breath, her hand instinctively wrapping around her wrist as if the pressure could hold off the pain.
“What is it?” Casimir was awake and kneeling at her side. “Are you hurt?”
Lena shook her head, both at his question and to try to will the threads now appearing around him to disappear. “No, I’m fine, I …”
Stars burst to life beneath her eyelids, her vision swimming as she struggled to stay conscious. Cold spread through her until she couldn’t think, couldn’tbreathe.
Hallucinations came in waves—flashes of people she had never met. The visions were foggy, like she was peering through a frosted pane of glass, but all around her, connected together like a giant tapestry, were threads. Lena felt the urge to reach out to them, to weave those threads until they served her, until the very people they were connected to bent to her will. The energy grew to a crescendo, so overwhelming that she thought she might burn up from the inside out. She was vaguely aware of Casimir beside her. Of his voice calling to her. In her panic, she reached for him, blinking away the darkness crowding her mind.
But the hand that took her own was too small, too delicate, to belong to the smuggler.
The pain in her mind eased, replaced by a cold, primal fear. The center of her wrist pulsed, a frantic rhythm that matched her racing heart. She took a deep breath. Forced herself to look up.
And found herself staring into the eyes of a strangely familiar, dark-haired girl.
She couldn’t have been much older than Maia. Sixteen winters, at most. Her pale skin was almost translucent, and her eyes, as dark as a starless night sky, watched Lena like a cat might watch a mouse—lazily, playfully, as if Lena’s reaction amused her.
“Hello, Lenora.”
Lena froze. She knew that voice. Had been hearing it ever since she’d left Forvyrg. And that face … she’d seen it in the dream she’d had outside of the ruins, the one where a young girl had been forced to receive the powers of the Sisters of Fate.
“You’re her,” Lena realized, her pulse thrumming in her ears. “The first Fateweaver.”
The girl gave the slightest dip of her chin. “My name is Venysa.”
Years of being taught to hate everything about the Fateweaver’s power and how it had been used to oppress her people had Lena itching to reach for her bow. To put an arrow between her and this girl who was an enemy of the lost deities her people believed in.
But if Lena’s dream had been more than just a dream, if it had been a memory, then she was also a girl who had been forced to receive a power she didn’t want. Just like Lena.
The girl’s expression softened, as if she could sense Lena’s thoughts. “I understand why you’ve been fighting me. But I am not your enemy, Lenora.”
“Aren’t you?” Her words came out sharp, her only weapon against the confusion the first Fateweaver’s words caused.
Venysa’s eyes narrowed, the sole sign that Lena’s words had hit their mark. “The Ehmar boy, he’s been trying to reach you, yes?” She gave a knowing smile. “Of course he has. The bond between anemperor and a Fateweaver is an old one. Powerful. You’ve shown tremendous strength of will in resisting it thus far, but it is getting harder, isn’t it? You are beginning to feel the effects of fighting against it.”
It was true there was a constant pain in her head, and exhaustion was beginning to weigh down her every step. She’d passed it off as being on the run, of barely eating and sleeping, of being constantly on edge, but if Venysa was right …
“Why should I believe you?”
“It will only get worse.” Venysa’s expression darkened, her eyes shimmering with the same rage Lena had felt during her dream. “Your vision showed you the truth; Lady Sefwyn and her emperor are minutes away from death, and the weaker they become, the stronger the bond between you and the Ehmar heir grows. Continuing to fight it will no longer be an option.”
The hairs on the back of Lena’s neck rose. Despite herself, despite the stories she’d been told of the first Fateweaver, she asked, “Why?”
Again, that ancient rage flashed in Venysa’s eyes. “In spite of what the empire would have people believe, the bond was created to keep the Fateweaver’s power in check. To ensure her loyalty to the Ehmar line. The consequences of resisting it are … fatal.”
The words hit Lena like a knife to the gut. “I’ll die?”
“Eventually. The more you resist and the more distance you put between yourself and your emperor, the more the magic that created the bond will retaliate. It will eat away at you, both of you, day by day, until there is nothing left.”
Lena was going to be sick. “What happens to the Fateweaver’s power if I die?”
“If that is the fate Næbya has woven, then the power will pass to another vessel.” Venysa shrugged. “One who will likely be more willing to be wielded by the empire than you are.”
Lena frowned. “But I thought the emperor died alongside his Fateweaver?” She knew that much from her mother’s stories. “That their lives were bound?”
