Page 90 of A Fate Unwoven
There was blood on his hands, still warm from where he’d pressed them against his abdomen. He could still feel the slice of his fellow acolyte’s athame through his stomach as he stepped up to the door, copper filling his throat, the power he was borrowing keeping him alive longer than he should have been. The torn page in his hands was stained with his own blood, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was keeping it safe.
The acolyte’s bloody fingers brushed against the door. Against the symbols he had carved into the stone during his years of devotion in the palace. A place to keep his work hidden from the eyes of the otherZværnaOrder members.
A place where he could find a way to free her from her fate.
Tracing his finger along the symbols, the acolyte whispered, “Freedom awaits within.”
And as magic met magic, the symbols began to glow, burning as brightly as the threads his Lady commanded.
The door swung open, wood giving way to ancient stone. And then Lena was back in her own body, the ghost of the priest’s wound, of his rage and his grief, still echoing through her blood. She stumbled forward, her own weight suddenly too much to bear.
A hand on her arm was the only thing stopping her from crashing face-first into the ground. She whirled, still caught between her own mind and another’s, her power surging up, up, readying itself to protect its vessel—
“Lena.” There was a note of warning in the voice. A pleading that tugged at something in her chest. “Lena, it’s me.”
Casimir.
Brown eyes swimming with worry peered down at her. Even in her state of confusion, he hadn’t backed away. His hand was still firm around her arm, anchoring her to the present. Keeping her centered through the storm.
There was a moment where she simply stared up at him, at the flecks of gold in his eyes and the star-like freckles on his flushed cheeks. She saw the future in which the arrow hit its mark. Saw Casimir’s lips parted and bloody. The urge to lean forward, to close the space between them and reassure herself that he was here and alive, was as strong as the acolyte’s power had been.
Casimir’s own gaze flicked to her lips. Just for a heartbeat, but it was enough to tell Lena he was feeling the same pull as her.
She allowed herself half a second to imagine what it would be like to kiss him before she pulled away.
It wouldn’t be fair to kiss Casimir now, when her emotions and her power were so intertwined. No, if shedidkiss him, it would be when her mind was clear. When she knew it was what she really wanted.
There was the briefest flash of hurt in the smuggler’s eyes before he cleared his throat. “Are you alright?” he asked.
“I … yeah, I’m fine.” She took a deep breath, pushing the last of her magic—and her guilt—back down. “I saw the acolyte who sealed the chamber. If I can just replicate what he did, I should be able to open the door.”
“You don’t have to,” Casimir said, his gaze fixed on something behind her. “It’s already open.”
THIRTY-NINE
LENA
She’d opened the door in a trance, the blood from where she’d dug her nails too hard into her palm replacing the blood from her vision. It had only been a small amount, but it was enough for the magic keeping the door closed to recognize who—what—she was.
Lena peered into the darkness, still dizzy from the vision and the rush of the acolyte’s emotions. She couldn’t keep from glancing down at her stomach to reassure herself thatshehadn’t been stabbed, but instead, it had been an acolyte long lost to history. An acolyte theZværnaOrder had murdered for working with Venysa to break the Fateweaver’s bond.
If the memory was real, then it was clear evidence that the history they preached was a lie, and it confirmed what her visions of Venysa had been telling her all along: Venysa was not a willful devotee to the goddess Næbya.
She searched for Venysa’s presence inside her mind, still absent since that night in the trader’s outpost.What aren’t you telling me?
She hadn’t expected a reply, but the silence that followed still made her stomach sink. Mystified as Lena found herself by the first Fateweaver’s history, it would have to wait. For now, she had a bond to break.
“Let’s go.” Lena picked up the discarded lantern from the floor, stepping into the chamber before her doubt could take hold.
The space itself was small, barely the size of Finæn and Maia’s hut back in Forvyrg. A wooden workbench was pushed up against the far side, the surface cluttered with glass bottles thick with dust and various pieces of parchment, each covered in scrawling black ink. There was a wooden bowl there, too, an instrument Lena recognized as a tool that thebodenhad once used to mix their potions. A half dozen tomes were stacked up against the other wall, their leather bindings cracked and worn with overuse.
And in the corner, blank except for the same symbol that marked her wrist, was a stone chest.
“That’s it.”
Lena didn’t knowhowshe knew. Maybe it was the aftereffects of using her magic, or the remnants of the priest’s memories in her mind. Whatever it was, she didn’t care. Her feet were already moving toward the chest. Unlike the door, it wasn’t magically locked. Only a single chain had been wrapped around it, held together by a rusty, iron lock.
Behind her, Casimir let out a breath. He’d already picked up one of the tomes, his eyes wide as he eagerly flipped through it. “This place is incredible. Justoneof these tomes includes more notes on theZværna’s magic than my father found in a lifetime.”
