Page 72 of A Fate Unwoven
Casimir cleared his throat, his gaze flickering down to the book she’d been reading. It must have fallen to the floor during her episode, and a sketch that she’d made of the symbol she’d seen in her vision floated to the floor beside the table. Casimir bent down to pick it up, his brow furrowing. “Where did you get this?”
Grateful for a distraction from their awkward moment, Lena shrugged. “I drew it. I … saw it one of my visions. The one with theHæsta.”
She’d briefly told him about it when he’d arrived in her room earlier that night. Then, he hadn’t seemed overly concerned, reassuring her that if theHæstareally had returned, they’d deal with it once they were safely in Verlond.
But now there was a tightness to his shoulders she hadn’t seen before. A sharpness to his threads that made her stomach drop. “Do you know what it means?” he asked.
Lena shook her head.
His fingers tightened ever so slightly on the edge of the parchment. “It’s the symbol of the Furybringer.”
Lena’s magic stirred at the warning in his voice. Her throat felt strangely tight as she said, “Well, that makes sense, considering theHæstawere her followers.”
It also explained why she’d recognized the symbol, although she still couldn’t recall from where. She’d absorbed all her mother’s stories by listening to them, and she’d never come across the symbol in the limited old Wyrecian she’d learned.
“Yes, but there’s something … off about it. These lines here …” He moved to her side, close enough for their shoulders to brush, and pointed to the shape in the middle, a diamond with a cross at its center. “They’re old Wyrecian forFurybringer,but these”—he traced the shape beneath the diamond, two crossed lines, the tops long enough to encase the bottom half of the diamond—“these are part of another symbol. It isn’t complete, but … I think it’s the start of the symbol for restoration. Or … resurrection?”
A tingling warning crept down Lena’s spine. “Resurrection? As in, they want to bring the Furybringer back to life?”
Casimir glanced at her. They were close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek, warm and laced with the faint scent of honey. “If that was true, it would require an awful lot of magic, and they’d need a conduit …” He trailed off.
“Me,” she finished for him, her ears ringing.
It was even worse than she’d feared when she’d spoken to Dimas; theHæstadidn’t want to turn her into a new Furybringer. They wanted to use her to bring back the old one. Lena couldn’t—wouldn’t let that happen.
She’d spent most of the night poring through the books Casimir had brought her and had only managed to find two mentions of old Wyrecian within their pages. One of them, the familiar symbol for fate, Lena had already known. The second symbol she’d found was thankfully accompanied by a translation scrawled into the book’s margin by Casimir’s father:balance.
Neither brought her any closer to understanding the symbols that kept her locked out of the acolyte’s chambers. Lena ran a hand through her hair and let out a heavy sigh. So far, all her leads had ended in failure, and with only six days until the Rite of Ascension, she could simply trust that Casimir would find and steal the tome with the correct ritual from Brother Dunstan’s hidden collection, and thenhopethat said ritual would work, or—
Or she could try something else.
It was an idea born of desperation. One every part of the old Lena, the one who was taught that the Fateweaver’s abilities were wrong, recoiled against. But she was running out of time.
“If using my magic triggered my vision of theHæsta,then repeating the process might do the same thing,” Lena said, watching Casimir’s expression for any sign she was going too far. “But to even try it, I’m going to need someone to use my power on.”
Casimir didn’t even take a breath before answering, “I’ll do it.”
Lena faltered. She’d been ready for him to refuse her. To tell her it was a reckless plan. But there was no doubt in Casimir’s eyes. Only a fierce determination that set her blood on fire. Still, she asked, “Why?”
“Because …” His voice broke, pitching toward grief. “They don’t get to win.”
They were the same words he’d shared with Lena after Silah’s death. Lena clenched her hands into fists at her side, her own voice faltering as she echoed the promise back to him.
“They don’t get to win.”
PART
III
“To run from fate is to run
from your true purpose.”
THIRTY-TWO
DIMAS
It had been too long since Dimas had last given an offering.
