Page 81 of A Fate Unwoven
“Then more people will die,” Lena finished for him.
“Yes.”
The carriage came to a stop, promptly ending their conversation. It was Ioseph who opened the door, the skin beneath his brown eyes darker than it had been that morning.
Ioseph had privately revealed to Dimas that he’d known one of the pilgrims, a young woman named Adara who had been friends with hissister growing up. The last time Ioseph had seen her, she’d been setting off to visit each of the temples dedicated to every Fateweaver who had ever served, eager to prove her devotion to Næbya and her vessels. She’d had so much hope, he’d said. So muchfaith.
And now she was dead.
Dimas couldn’t bring himself to meet Ioseph’s eyes as he stepped out of the carriage. Lenora followed a heartbeat later, falling into place beside him almost instinctively. The echo of whatever she’d been feeling in the carriage was gone again, replaced by the same glacial wall he frequently found himself brushing against whenever he tried to reach her.
It was only when his uncle rounded the carriage, the regent’s gaze immediately finding the blood staining her hand and sleeve, that Dimas felt her resolve falter. It was a sudden surge of anger and distrust, and beneath it all, so faint he almost missed it, was fear.
It wrapped around his chest like vines, stealing the breath from his lungs, so intense that for a moment he was sure he wasn’t going to survive. And then, just as suddenly as it came, the feeling receded, hidden away from him once more.
Dimas sucked in a breath, his heart thundering. Was this how she felt all the time? This …stormof emotion? If so, it was no wonder she kept her true feelings so closely guarded.
“Are you alright, Your Majesty?” his uncle asked, eyes narrowing. Not at him, but at the girl standing beside him.
“I’m fine,” Dimas said quickly. “It’s just … been a long day.”
Roston’s lips thinned, but all he said was, “Of course. Come with me.”
He turned on his heel, cloak billowing behind him as he ascended the palace steps. Dimas hesitated before following him, his gaze drifting to his Fateweaver. If she knew he’d sensed what she’d been feeling, she showed no sign of it. But as she turned to follow the regent, her expression as unreadable as stone, Dimas could have sworn he saw the slightest glimmer of silver in her eyes.
Silently, they made their way through the thankfully empty palace, the echo of their footsteps strangely eerie in the otherwise soundless halls. Usually, this was Dimas’s favorite time to roam the palace, when most of the staff would be taking their evening prayers. Even the guards were fewer at dusk, the majority of their ranks stationed at the royal church, and without their constant stares and whispers, Dimas was left to wander the halls of his home undisturbed. To forget, even for just a moment, that the fate of an entire empire rested on his shoulders.
Except tonight he could not forget. Not when he’d seen the look in his Fateweaver’s eyes as she’d considered using her power to take a life.
Shadows crept into the edges of his vision as the image of her standing before the cultist flashed in his memory. Once, when he’d been a boy no older than ten winters, he’d found a painting his mother had done of a lone figure surrounded by ink-black threads, the forest behind her filled with the silhouettes of creatures from legend. But it had been the lone figure’s silver eyes, the only bit of color on the painting, that had plagued his dreams for years to come.
It was the first time he’d ever heard of the Furybringer. Of what a Fateweaver could become if she lost control. And it had been the first time he’d ever considered that maybe, just maybe, the Fateweaver’s power wasn’t quite as divine as theZværnaOrder claimed it to be.
It was blasphemy to even consider such a thing, and so he’d hidden the thought away just as his mother had hidden her paintings, hoping that if he ignored it long enough, he’d forget about it entirely. And for a while, he had.
The thought came back to him now, stronger and more insistent than ever, feeding the shadows threatening to swallow him whole. But he wasn’t a child any longer, and this time, he couldn’t afford to lock away his fear and hope it went away.
No, he needed to act. To find out as much as he could about the relic his uncle had mentioned and track it down before it was too late.
But he couldn’t ask about it with Lenora here. And there was still the matter of finding out what the Fist had discovered at the heretic’s hideout. So Dimas held his tongue until they reached the council chamber, waiting until the doors were firmly shut before asking, “Did Milos find the cultist?”
His uncle’s gaze flicked to Lenora once more, as if he’d rather be having this conversation without her. She simply glanced toward the window, shoulders set, a silent sign she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Lips thinning, Roston said, “No. Whoever it was cleared out in a hurry, but my son did manage to seize a number of heretical texts from their home. I was planning to hand them over to Brother Dunstan.”
Dimas wasn’t surprised, but his lungs still constricted anyway. A small part of him had been hoping Næbya would have mercy on him. That they’d find the heretic’s accomplice, force them to reveal theHæsta’s plan and location of their stronghold, and defeat the cult before they could strike again.
A foolish hope, all things considered.
“Brother Dunstan stayed behind at the temple. There was … an incident. TheHæstamust have known we’d be there; they sent one of their own to slaughter every pilgrim there, and …” Dimas paused, a shudder running down his spine as the twisted figure of thewrecenflashed behind his eyes.
“And?” the regent pressed.
“And he’d gotten one of thekor—Corrupted to do his dirty work for him,” Lenora said, finally tearing her gaze away from the window. Her expression was as unreadable as stone, but Dimas couldjustfeel the slight brush of rage and dread through the bond.
“So then the animal Milos and his hunters encountered in the Wilds truly was one of the old creatures.” Roston shook his head. Dimas wasn’t exactly surprised his cousin had disobeyed his orders to keep the information to himself, but it still hurt. “But how could theHæstahave controlled one of them?”
“They must have performed some sort of ritual, one strong enough to interfere with the connection between the Corrupted and the Fateweaver,” Lenora said, her brow furrowed in thought.
