Page 80 of A Fate Unwoven
The cultist’s hold on her began to fade. Lena wasn’t sure if it was his doing or hers. Her magic was strong enough now that the rest of the temple fell away, leaving nothing left but fire and rage. All she had to do was direct it toward the cultist, a blade of justice meant just for him.
Do it,her magic urged, pressing against the insides of her body until she thought she might burst. Holding it back was like bracing herself against a blizzard. Let go, and the storm would swallow her whole, devouring what was left of her and leaving a monster in its wake.
A monster theHæstawould no doubt be ready and waiting to use.
She couldn’t let that happen.
The dagger up her sleeve was a cold pressure against her skin, a silent lifeline against the pull of her magic. She had no choice but to kill the cultist, but she could still decide how to do it. She’d regained enough control of herself now that she could feel Dimas’s fear in her gut and the tether of the bond between them. She was so used to fighting the sensation that reaching toward it felt like wearing skin that didn’t fit, but she couldn’t afford him trying to stop her. Iska’s lessons had said emperors and their Fateweavers had the ability to communicate telepathically. It wasn’t a skill Lena had learned, so she just had to hope Dimas heard her.
Trust me.
There was no time to wait for a sign that he’d received the message. It was now or never.
With a small shimmy of her arm, the dagger dropped. She forced her fingers to uncurl, gripping the hilt before it could clatter to the floor. The cultist was so focused on her power that he didn’t notice she’d raised her arm until it was too late.
His eyes widened a split second before she plunged the blade into his chest. He dropped to his knees before her, blood bubbling from his lips as the final remnants of his magic ebbed away. As the shadow-encased threads around him guttered and went out like dying flames.
But it wasn’t his scream that pierced the air. It was the inhuman screech of thewrecenas it stumbled away from Finæn, releasing himfrom its hold, its clawed fingers grasping at its chest. Finæn wasted no time in reaching for his discarded sword, fingers white as bone as he brought it up in a wide, sweeping arc that sliced the creature from hip to shoulder. Thewrecenhowled, and then, with one final, awful screech, it slumped to the ground, its blood staining the stone beneath it an inky, unnatural black.
No one spoke. No onemoved.
Lena could still feel the remnants of desire in her magic. Not for justice, but forvengeance.
She’d come so dangerously close to corruption. It was only the dagger up her sleeve that had given her another choice. Next time, she’d need to be more prepared. More in control.
Because if there was one thing she was now sure of, it was that theHæstawould try again.
And when they did, she would be ready for them.
THIRTY-FIVE
DIMAS
They arrived back at the palace just before dusk.
It had taken most of the early evening to have the casualties moved to the temple’s lower level, where Brother Dunstan, Iska, and another acolyte sworn to secrecy would prepare the bodies for burial. In the meantime, Dimas had ordered General Alræn to track down the families of any of the deceased who were identifiable, on the condition they were told nothing until Dimas had come up with a solid story for what had happened.
He’d spent the entire carriage ride back to the palace trying to think of one, and by the time they rolled through the familiar golden gates, the sky above them dark with the promise of snow, he’d come up with approximately zero ideas.
“You’re giving me a headache,” Lena said from her side of the carriage, the first words she’d spoken since they’d left the temple—and the man she’d killed—behind.
“What?”
“The bond. Your anxiety is screaming through it.”
Right, the bond. The one she seemed to be mastering when he still couldn’t sense more than a faint echo of what she was feeling at any one time. And right now, that echo was harder to find than usual.
“Sorry, I was just … thinking about what to do next.”
Lena’s entire body tensed, those storm-gray eyes flashing silver in the dim light. “About theHæsta,” she asked quietly, “or about me?”
Dimas shifted in his seat, his eyes drifting to the now-dried flecks of blood staining her pale hands. They hadn’t spoken about what had happened between her and the cultist. About how close she’d come to using her powers to end that cultist’s life. But now the carriage was pulling up to the palace entrance, where his uncle and the rest of the court would be waiting for a report. Telling them the truth about the attack was inevitable, but only he had sensed the sudden shift in Lenora’s magic, inher.Even with all her training, she was still too vulnerable to corruption.
And theHæstaknew it.
What a mess.He’d asked Næbya for guidance, andthisis what had come of it. Maybe he really was cursed, after all.
“About everything,” he finally answered, resisting the urge to run his hands through his hair. “We can no longer deny the fact that theHæstaare back and that you are their target,” he continued. “Nor can we deny that your control over your powers is still … unpredictable. It was a manageable problem when theHæstawere still in the shadows, but now they’re actively killing innocents to get what they want. If we don’t find where their stronghold is soon …”
