Page 42 of A Fate Unwoven
Standing beside Roston, the High Priest of theZværnaOrder cleared his throat. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to keep the news of Lady Sefwyn’s and your father’s deaths from the public for much longer. Milos informed me you were successful in your mission to retrieve Lady Sefwyn’s successor?”
Dimas winced at the note of uncertainty in Brother Dunstan’s voice. TheZværnapriest was one of the few members of his father’s court who had never believed the rumors people whispered about him, who had taught him all there was to know about the history of his ancestors and the empire he would one day rule with pride in his eyes and encouraging words on his lips. It stung to think he hadn’t believed in him when it mattered most.
“I was,” he said, with a little more force than necessary.
“Bless Næbya.” Brother Dunstan closed a hand around the pendant of Næbya’s symbol hanging around his neck. “Have you determined her affinity yet?”
“No.” Heat flooded Dimas’s cheeks, but he held his head high as he explained, “Lenora isn’t exactly … accepting of her position. I did not want to overwhelm her before we even arrived at the palace.”
Brother Dunstan was not his father, yet Dimas’s entire body still tensed in anticipation of raised voices and biting words. But the High Priest simply nodded and said, “Very well. We shall determine it assoon as we are able. In the meantime, we must prepare for the Rite of Ascension.”
The mention of the rite had the edges of Dimas’s vision darkening. Whilst he was automatically considered emperor now that his father had passed, the rite—a religious strengthening of the bond between the emperor and his Fateweaver—also had the power to strip Dimas of his title. If theZværnaOrder did not deem his connection with Lenora strong enough, then they could declare him unworthy of his right to rule before the entire court.
“Brother Dunstan, Lenora’s control is … weak,” Dimas said. “Lady Sefwyn spent her entire childhood in one of our temples and had five years of training once she was revealed as my father’s Fateweaver. What if …” He swallowed, his fear causing the words to lodge in his throat.
“I will work tirelessly to ensure she is prepared to Ascend, Your Majesty. Do not worry.”
The priest’s smile was comforting, but it did little to ease Dimas’s nerves. The memory of Aldryn’s bloodless face flashed in his mind.
“There’s … something else you should know,” Dimas said, choosing his words carefully. “We were attacked during our search for Lenora.”
Roston cursed, muttering something under his breath about heretics. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Aldryn—our driver—was the only one hurt. He … didn’t make it. We found him dead in his seat. His throat had been slit, and …” He swallowed the rising bile in his throat. “And there was a symbol carved into his forehead.”
TheHæsta’s bloody symbol pressed against the back of his eyelids. It was the reason he’d called Brother Dunstan and his uncle here now, instead of waiting until morning. The attack had plagued him every night during their journey, replaying in his mind in an endless, bloody loop. If theHæstawere back, if they had something to do with the growing rebellion in the empire, Roston and Brother Dunstan would know. As for the problem with his and Lenora’s bond … until Dimasknew the extent of theHæsta’s interference, and whether whatever they’d done to the bond could be reversed, it was safer that the High Priest and regent did not know.
“What sort of symbol?” Brother Dunstan asked, the earlier relief on his face replaced with a frown that deepened the lines at the corners of his eyes.
Dimas sucked in a deep breath. “TheHæsta’s.”
Heavy silence descended upon the room. Dunstan and Roston understood the weight of his words better than anyone. “Are you sure?” Roston finally asked.
“Yes. I mean, I’m sure it was their symbol, but whether cultists are the ones who carved it …” He trailed off. Ithadto be them. Otherwise, the shadows in his mind really were just a result of his own madness. “Did my father say anything to either of you?”
They both hesitated long enough to confirm what Dimas had feared.
His father had known about the return of theHæsta, and he had kept it from Dimas.
The familiar darkness crept back into the corners of Dimas’s vision, and this time he didn’t have time to fight it. It turned his world black. Twisted the faces of Dunstan and Roston into featureless silhouettes. The biggest threat their empire had ever faced was rising again, and his father had thought Dimas too weak to know about it.
“Your father was … aware of a few rumored sightings.” Roston’s voice sounded too far away.
Dimas tried to focus on the words. To focus on anything but the unending abyss waiting for him in his own mind. He had to keep it together. He’d found his Fateweaver. Had brought her home. He could handle a heretical cult.
Letting out a shaking breath, Dimas said, “Tell me everything you know.”
Brother Dunstan bowed his head. “The empire’s spies informed Emperor Vesric of some rumors going around the far western towns.Whispers of men and women in crimson robes, their foreheads inked with theHæsta’s symbol. Some of the townsfolk claimed to have seen them conducting rituals in the mountains. One woman even declared her livestock had been slaughtered in a sacrificial manner.”
A chill traveled down Dimas’s spine. “And my father didn’t think to tell me this before I left for the Wilds?”
Roston placed a hand on Dimas’s shoulder, squeezing firmly. Dimas wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to be reassuring or vaguely threatening.
“He sent some of his best soldiers to investigate the sightings, Your Majesty. He didn’t want to worry you until he knew the rumors were true. He … he was concerned the news would distract you from finding your Fateweaver.”
Dimas clenched his hands into fists, the leather of his gloves straining with the effort. If his father hadn’t thought him too incapable, he might have been prepared for theHæsta’s attack in the Wilds.
He might have been able to prevent Aldryn’s death.
