Page 95 of A Fate Unwoven
Lenora returned the priest’s greeting, dipping her chin in acknowledgment before her attention drifted back to Dimas.
“Ready?” she asked, and Dimas couldn’t help but feel like it was a challenge despite the neutrality of her voice.
He tried to get a sense of what she was feeling through their bond, only to be met with the familiar, steel shield she always protected herself with.Dammit.Things would have been much easier if he’d been able to read her like he was supposed to.
With no other choice, Dimas simply said, “After you.”
The walk to the church was silent. Most of the palace staff was busy preparing the throne room for tomorrow night’s celebratory ball, or cooking up a feast in the kitchens to feed court members and nobles alike. The foreign dignitaries were still in the guest manor, waiting to be escorted to the church just before the ceremony was due to begin, whilst the high members of theZværnaOrder themselves would be gathering in the main hall, ready to greet Dimas and Lenora when they arrived. Only Brother Dunstan was allowed to leave the church before the ceremony. As High Priest, it was his duty to escort the soon-to-be emperor and his Fateweaver to the prayer chambers, where they would seek Næbya’s fortune—and her acceptance. If she deemed them unworthy, the ceremony would fail, and all of Dimas’s plans to take down theHæstawould be ruined.
There were two of Milos’s hunters waiting for them outside the church, their armor making them look like shadows against the grand wooden doors. They bowed their heads, each pulling one half of the door open as they stepped aside.
Stepping into the church was like going back in time. Gone were the intricate designs of the palace, silver and navy decor replaced with cold gray stone and thick, circular pillars, each one fronted with a stone statue of a past Fateweaver. Their unseeing eyes followed Dimas as he made his way toward the front of the hall, a silent reminder of all the success that had come before him. Aside from the torchlight, the only other light in the hall was the gray early-evening sunlight pouring through the three stained glass windows set at the far end of the hall.Directly beneath them, built into a deep alcove in the wall, was the church’s oldest and largest statue. Dimas drew close enough to see the details of his goddess’s face—the sharp angle of her chin and cheekbones, the spill of waist-length hair adorned with various braids—and offered up a silent prayer.
Please, please do not forsake me today of all days.
Standing silently in the shadows, their robed forms creating a semicircle around the church altar, a half dozenZværnapriests bowed their heads.
“Your Eminence,” the one in the middle said, gaze fixed on Brother Dunstan, “everything is in order for the ceremony.”
“Thank you,” Brother Dunstan said before turning to face Ioseph. “Please escort His Majesty and Lady Lenora to the prayer chambers. I will remain here and make the final preparations for the ceremony.”
“Of course, Your Eminence.” Ioseph bowed his head and then, with one final reassuring glance in Dimas’s direction, led them away from the main hall to the prayer chambers in the western wing.
Dimas and Lenora followed behind him, theclack, clack, clackof their heels matching the steady thumping of Dimas’s heart. One corridor and a set of stairs later, and they arrived outside of the door to Næbya’s prayer chamber.
“Ready?” Ioseph asked, voice barely above a whisper.
As was custom, the heir to the throne would say his prayers first. Something twisted in Dimas’s chest as his fingers reached for the door’s iron handle. This was his last chance to make his case to Næbya. To prove to Her that he was worthy of his title, and he would be damned if he was going to let some ancient cult take that chance from him again.
Wrapping the thought around him like a shield, Dimas stepped into the cool darkness of Næbya’s prayer chamber.
And did not let himself look back.
FORTY-ONE
LENA
So far, everything was going to plan.
Lena had waited until Dimas’s threads were at the farthest end of the prayer chamber before slamming her elbow into Ioseph’s temple. The guard now lay crumpled on the floor beside her, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only thing keeping Lena’s guilt at bay. A bruise was already starting to form at his temple, but his breathing was strong, his threads still bright.
She just had to trust that meant he’d survive.
With one final glance around to make sure she was alone, Lena began making her way back to the main hall. There had been no sign of Casimir when she’d arrived, and with the guards stationed at the front entrance, there was a high chance the smuggler hadn’t been able to get inside. If that was the case, then her plan was ruined. The priests would put her in chains for what she was about to do to their empire.
Her pace slowed as the door to the main hall came into view. There were still a half dozen sets of threads on the other side, their energy strong. With her still-limited knowledge on how to wield theFateweaver’s power, Lena couldn’t tell if they were awake; she just had to trust Casimir had done his job.
Moving as quietly as she was able to against the echoing stone, Lena pressed her ear against the door. There were no sounds on the other side. No footsteps or murmured voices. The fingers of her free hand closed around the cool metal of the handle, and with one small push, the door gave way with a gentleclick.
“It’s about time.”
Casimir stood near the church altar, the ground around him littered with sleeping priests, and as Lena scanned their still forms, the absence of Brother Dunstan constricted her lungs.
“The High Priest, he—”
“—is sleeping safely in his private study. Don’t worry; I got them all.” Casimir’s smile did little to ease Lena’s tension. “What about you? Everything alright?”
“Fine. Ioseph went down easy.” She sucked in a breath, heart thundering in her chest. This was it. There was no going back from here. “Maia and Finæn?”
