Page 45 of A Fate Unwoven
She was suddenly flooded with a rush of anxiety that wasn’t her own. The tunnel around her began to fade, replaced by what looked to be a stone prayer room. Dimas was kneeling on the ground, his eyes closed, lips parted as a fair-haired girl instructed him to focus on his breath.
Lena’s lungs constricted as she desperately tried to block out the image. She couldn’t let him see her whereabouts right now. Couldn’t let him know of her plans.
But the prince didn’t seem aware of her. Each time their connection had triggered before, he had acknowledged her. Spoken to her. Now he simply remained still, eyes closed as what looked like shadows twisted around his threads.
The vision disappeared in a flood of darkness. And then Lena was safely back in her own mind, her feelings once more entirely hers For a moment she simply stood still, her heart thumping in her chest. Something had severed their connection before Lena could. Something that felt cold and strangely familiar. And whilst Lena was grateful she hadn’t been caught, it was yet another piece of a puzzle that was becoming increasingly harder to solve.
The sooner I find this damn ritual, the better.
Cautious of any further signs that the bond might be triggering, Lena pushed onward. The pain in her head grew stronger the farther she walked, weighing down her every step with sharp agony. It was like walking through a snowstorm, and everything in her body screamed at her to retreat. To seek shelter. But she could not—would not—turn back now. Not if it meant losing her chance at freeing herself from Dimas.
And so Lena pushed onward. She was nearly stumbling by the time she came to a stop before a set of large stone doors. The humming in her ears rose to a crescendo, so loud it drowned out the beat of her own heart and the shallow puffs of her breath.
She squinted through the pain in her head and willed herself to focus on the stone doors softly lit by her torch. There were no handles to open them with. A small, dark gap through the middle of the doors was nowhere near wide enough for her to shimmy something through and pry it open. Nor could she peer through it. The stone itself was covered in moss, the damp, earthy scent of it thick in Lena’s throat. Had she let her magic torture her for another dead end?
But just there—between the moss and the dust, so faded they were barely noticeable—were symbols. A half dozen she could make out. One or two she recognized—the symbol forfateand the symbol forZværna—but the rest were lost on her.
Still, a fresh wave of hope flooded through her chest. Thishadto be the entrance to the acolyte’s hidden chamber. She just had to find a way inside.
Tucking the letter opener into the sleeve of her night gown, Lena raised a hand, her fingers brushing against the stone. The mark on her wrist burned again, fiercely this time, as she made contact—magic recognizing magic. Her head throbbed fiercely as she saw the flash of a man dressed inZværnarobes, lips moving in a soundless chant, palm pressed against the stone as the symbols lit up with a blazing, silver light.
Lena stumbled back.
She hadn’t been able to make out the man’s words, but he was clearly reciting something that activated the symbols engraved into the doors. Or … was hereadingthem? If Lena could translate the symbols … maybe she’d have her way into the chamber.
Sucking in a deep breath, she pressed her hand against the stone once more, bracing herself for the vision. For the sharp pain in her head and the flood of magic in her veins. But no matter how hard she tried, Lena couldn’t summon the vision again. The agony in her head and on her wrist had ebbed away as her magic receded—a tool she didn’t know how to wield. Not by herself.
“Dammit.”
Lena stepped back from the doors, sweat beading on her brow. Until she figured out what the damned symbols meant and how they worked, she was never going to get them open.
And to do that, she was going to have to do the one thing Dimas had brought her here to do.
She was going to have to learn how to control the Fateweaver’s magic.
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.
Thekoruptedattacking Forvyrg. The first Fateweaver’s warning. Finæn’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 clothinglay 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.
