Page 63 of A Fate Unwoven
For a little while, at least.
Dimas led their small group into the throne room, and Lena’s urge to turn around, to run from all of this, slowed her steps. But there was no turning back now. She had already stepped in front of a crowd of elegantly dressed strangers, a hush falling over the room as every eye fixed on her and pinned her with an awful mix of curiosity and uncertainty. The doors at her back clicked shut.
No one spoke as the emperor’s procession made its way down the center of the room, but the energy of everyone’s threads gathered around Lena like an impending storm. By the time they reached the far end of the throne room and came to a stop before a slightly raised dais, Lena had opened fresh half-moons in her palms. It wasn’t the best wayto deal with her emotions, but for now, the pain was the only anchor strong enough for her to latch onto.
She followed Dimas up onto the dais with her heart in her throat. The rest of their group followed a moment after, forming a semicircle around her and the emperor as, together, they turned to face the people of Wyrecia.
Dozens of threads, from silvery white to icy blue, wove around the crowd, a shimmering, intricate web connecting them all. Lena waited for the overwhelming surge of her power. For her fear to wrap its fist around her and take hold. But it never came. Instead, as the Fateweaver’s magic inside of her rose, as power flooded her veins in front of all of these people—people who had sat idly by and reaped the benefits from the empire’s sins against those it deemed unworthy—Lena’s fear was replaced by something new.
Strength.
“Thank you all for gathering at such short notice,” Dimas said, his voice echoing against the stone. “As you all know, my father and his Fateweaver, Lady Sefwyn, are no longer with us. Whilst their passing is a great loss to our empire, we must find comfort in the knowledge that they have met the fate Næbya wove for them, and that their spirits now rest peacefully at her side. I know some of you have begun to consider that the rumors surrounding my right to the throne might be true,” he said, his gaze traveling over the crowd, “but have no doubt: Wyrecia is as strong as it has ever been, and Næbya has not forsaken us. To that end, may I introduce you to Lady Lenora. Your new Fateweaver.”
That was her cue. She tried not to pay too much attention to the web of threads glistening through the crowd as she took a slight step forward, her chin raised.
“I am blessed to stand before you today.” She recited her words carefully. “Before His Majesty showed up at the temple where I resided, I was unaware of my fate …”
Lena paused, heat creeping up her neck as she took in the varying expressions of the people staring back at her. She’d expected the uncertainty, the doubt. Had prepared herself for it.
She had not prepared herself for the awe.
It shone in the eyes of more than half of those in attendance, a reverence so pure, so devout, that Lena’s knees threatened to buckle beneath it. The fact that she’d done nothing to deserve it didn’t seem to mean anything to these people; to them, her mere presence was enough.
Swallowing hard, Lena found a pillar in the center of the crowd to focus on. She was grateful that Maia had been too exhausted to attend tonight, and that Finæn’s new duties meant he was stationed elsewhere. If they had been in the crowd, she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to get through this.
“Næbya herself concealed my identity from Prince Dimas these past few years as a test. One that His Majesty has passed, proving that he is the rightful heir to this empire.” Lena paused, letting her words sink in before she continued. The reverence in the room only seemed to grow, and as Lena continued, it took every ounce of control she had to focus on her words and not the web of silver threads dancing before her. “It is an honor to be the vessel for Næbya’s gift, and as your chosen Fateweaver, I promise to do everything in my power to protect Wyrecia. Bless Næbya.”
Lena bowed her head, hoping the action hid the tears those words brought to her eyes.Mada, forgive me.
“Bless Næbya!” The crowd echoed her words back to her, a divine chorus that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
When they had fallen silent once more, Dimas spoke. “This evening is one of mourning, but also one of celebration.” He paused, his gaze sweeping pointedly over the crowd. “Tonight, we honor my father and Lady Sefwyn in memory and welcome Wyrecia’s next Fateweaver. To Lady Lenora!”
Dimas raised his cup in a silent signal and music soared, a beautiful blend of lutes and wooden pipes as a handful of servants with traysfilled with spiced cakes and various pastries began circling the room. The space filled with lively chatter, but every now and then gazes from the crowd would drift toward Lena, threads flickering as the court of Emperor Dimas Ehmar decided what to make of their new Fateweaver.
The prince himself was currently eyeing the three thrones situated upon a raised dais before a large, tri-paneled window. After a moment of hesitation, he slid into the center throne, the lines of his body tense as he gestured to the seat to his right. “The Fateweaver sits to the right of the crown,” he said.
Lena forced herself to move toward the seat. To lower herself into it whilst simultaneously hoping the prince could not tell she was secretly picturing what it might be like to set it on fire. How many previous Fateweavers had sat on this very throne, surrounded by luxury whilst innocent people fought to survive? How many of them had passed judgment on the very people Lena sought to protect?
“You did well.” Dimas’s voice cut through her growing panic. Some of it must have slipped down the bond between them, because he was watching her as if she might flee at any moment. “I think our display was enough to get the court and most of the foreign ambassadors on our side again.”
It was a subtle reminder of why she’d agreed to do this. Lena gripped the edges of the throne’s arms. “At least now you don’t have to worry about rebellion.” The emperor’s brow creased, his threads flickering. It was obvious he was hiding something, and if Lena could get him to tell her what, then she was another step closer to earning his trust. She shifted in her chair, making a show of worrying at her bottom lip. “You don’t, right?”
Dimas opened his mouth. Closed it again. “The threat of rebellion has always hung over Wyrecia.”
Lena bit down on the inside of her cheek. It was a courtier’s answer, vague and dismissive. It was going to be harder to get him to talk than she’d first thought.
Think, Lena.It was clear he was worried about his people rebelling, and whatever had happened at his father’s funeral had been bad enough for him to risk revealing her tonight. She just needed to push him a little further. To play on that fear.
Frustratingly, General Alræn approached before Lena could come up with anything. She bent down to Dimas’s level, whispering so only he could hear. A second later Dimas straightened in his throne, his lips thinning into a tight line.
He gave a curt nod, and the general retreated. Dimas waited until she was a few feet away before speaking again. “The ambassador of Verlond has arrived. He wishes to formally introduce himself.”
Verlond. The kingdom the Raven was smuggling heretics into. “That’s the continent that refuses to join your peace treaty, isn’t it?” she asked, her mark tingling. If Verlond made an alliance with Wyrecia, there would be nowhere safe for those who refused theZværna’s teachings to go.
Nowhere safe forherto go, once this was all over.
Dimas didn’t get the chance to reply. The general was walking toward them again, her expression pinched. But Lena wasn’t looking at her.
