Page 76 of A Fate Unwoven
She’d managed to manipulate the fate of Mirek in her training with Iska, and she’d succeeded in altering Casimir’s threads during their nights together in her chambers. But in both of those cases, she hadn’t been surrounded by a crowd like she was about to be now. Singling out just one person’s threads in a room filled with pilgrims wasn’t something Lena was sure she could handle.
“You won’t be using your power,” Dimas reassured her. “Boons can’t be given until after the Rite of Ascension. This is more of a … chance for the people to show their devotion, in the hope you’ll remember them favorably in the future.”
But Lena wouldn’t. Not if she succeeded in severing the bond. And whilst the thought of leaving the Wyrecian royals without a Fateweaver brought Lena no small amount of pleasure, the only thing these pilgrims were guilty of was believing the Ehmars’ lies.
The carriage door swung open, revealing Ioseph and two other guards. The first was a fair-skinned, auburn-haired female she didn’t recognize, and the second was—
“Finæn?” His name came out before she could stop it.
He wasn’t wearing the same royal uniform as Ioseph and Yana, but instead the simple dark tunic and cloak he’d worn the day she’d seen him in the palace. There was a sword at his hip, though. The same kind Lena had seen the guards patrolling the lower city wearing.
“Finæn has been doing well in his training,” Ioseph explained, looking a little sheepish. “He heard about today’s visit and insisted on coming.”
“I’m sure he did,” Lena spat.
She wasn’t sure why his presence made her so angry. Lena couldn’t afford to let her emotions distract her, not when there was a temple full of people who could suffer the consequences if she lost control.
“Brother Dunstan is waiting for us inside,” Dimas said, sliding out of the carriage door with an elegance Lena didn’t even try to replicate.
She practically leaped out into the street, needing to feel the fresh air on her face and in her lungs before she burned up from Finæn’s presence. At the way he seemed to so effortlessly fit in beside the other guards.
Dimas was already halfway up the steps to the temple, his head bent low as he, Ioseph, and General Alræn whispered amongst themselves. The emperor’s threads were darker than usual, shadowed by a sense of unease that made the skin on the back of Lena’s neck tingle.
“This way, Your Worship,” Yana said, leading Lena up the steps.
Finæn trailed close behind, boots scuffing against the stone. Lena could tell he wanted to say something. To clear the tension between them, but the presence of everyone else seemed to force him to silence.
Good.She was too exhausted for another fight.
The moment they reached the temple doors, the mark on Lena’s wrist began to tingle. She’d gotten so used to the steady hum of threads at the edge of her subconscious that theabsenceof them was like being suddenly plunged into darkness.
Ioseph reached for the temple door.
“Wait.” Lena closed her eyes, searching for the faintest trace of threads inside the temple. At first there was nothing. Just an endless stretch of silence. But then—there, a glimmer of—something.
A rush of anxiety came down the bond between her and Dimas.
“What’s wrong?” Dimas asked.
“I’m … not sure,” Lena replied. “I can’t sense any threads inside the temple.”
“That’s impossible. According to our intel, there should be at least a dozen pilgrims waiting for us inside,” said General Alræn, peering at Lena with a mixture of suspicion and disbelief.
“Well, I’m telling you there aren’t.” She hadn’t meant to snap, but with theHæsta’s potential plan looming over her and Finæn’s sudden appearance today, her patience was running thin.
“So they all just left?” Finæn frowned, shaking his head. “That makes no sense. They knew Lena was coming here. They came all this way to see her. Why would they leave before they got the chance to meet her?”
The mark on Lena’s wrist gave another tingle. There was that spark of a presence again, lingering just beyond the reach of her magic, but it was faint, and whenever Lena tried to focus on it, it would slip through her grasp like smoke.
“I think there’s someone in there. But their threads are faint. Too faint.” Lena didn’t need to spell out what she feared that meant. She’d only ever felt the sensation once before, right before Silah’s death.
General Alræn drew her sword, her dark brows drawing together. “I will go in first. Your Majesty, Your Worship, wait here until I return.”
There was a clink of another weapon being drawn, and then the familiar depth of Finæn’s voice. “I’ll go with you.”
Lena’s heart skipped a beat. If something in that temple was the cause of the person’s fading threads, then there was no guarantee they weren’t still in there.
Her magic shifted focus, reaching for Finæn’s threads like light seeking out shadow. She could stop him. Make him stay out here where it was safe.
