Page 49 of A Fate Unwoven
“It was a mistake, and it will not happen again.” Iska’s gaze was hard, her shoulders rigid.
Lena wanted to push her further, to ask her what she knew, if there were records of what had happened during the Furybringer’s reign, but the look in the acolyte’s eyes had her biting her tongue.
Iska’s expression softened slightly. “It’s getting late. We should get you back to your chambers.”
Lena forced a small smile, her nails digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood. Why was everyone in this place so Sisters-damned evasive? It confirmed everything her mother had ever taught her about the Ehmars and the Order that served them.
Their history was a lie, a story they’d made people believe. And they’d do anything to keep that lie hidden.
It was even more of a reason to break her bond with Dimas: to show the people of Wyrecia that their fate could be their own.
Lena reluctantly left the library behind. If Iska had noticed her hesitation, she didn’t let it show. The acolyte simply carried on walking, her chin raised, her steps determined. But there was a heaviness to Iska that wasn’t there before, as if the mere mention of the Furybringer had shaken something within her.
There were hardly any stories about the only Fateweaver to turn against the empire. All Lena knew about her was that she’d been a girl of noble blood, like all the Fateweavers before her, and that her affinity had been for the future. She’d declared war against Wyrecia not long after arriving at the imperial palace. Some of the stories said she’d been driven mad by her power, whilst others claimed she’d dabbled in dangerous magic that had twisted her abilities into something dark.
But no one seemed to knowwhy.
Some of the older villagers Lena had come across still paled at the sound of her name.
Furybringer.
The people of the Wilds believed the Furybringer was the Fateweaver’s true form. The Ehmars had done their best to erase her from history, but every child of Wyrecia knew her name. It was why even those who thought a Fateweaver was a divine figure still looked upon her with fear. Because they knew, deep down, how quickly a being of justice could become one of vengeance.
Lena swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. She was a Fateweaver, not a Furybringer. She didn’t want vengeance or war.
She just wanted to be free.
By the time the sun had started to set on her first full day in the palace, Lena was ready to tear her own eyes out.
After the tour, she’d had a brief moment of respite to eat in her chambers before Iska had returned once again, her arms filled with piles of tomes. Maia had been behind her, carrying yetmorebooks, and it was only her presence that had tempered Lena’s growing frustration.
“One more time,” Iska demanded.
Lena tried not to glare at the pile of tomes on the table beside the fire. Iska had insisted they stop only when Lena could recite—by memory—the house names of all the noble families who had pledged themselves to the empire. She’d only managed to successfully get through all fourteen once, which, according to Iska, wasn’t good enough.
I don’t have time for this.
Iska must have sensed her frustration, because the acolyte sighed, the faint hum of her threads softening. “I know it’s a lot totake in, but this is important. His Majesty’s coronation ceremony and your Rite of Ascension will take place at months’ end. You need to be prepared.”
The news had been waiting for them when they returned to the Fateweaver’s chambers. The prince would announce his father’s and the former Fateweaver’s deaths to the empire at the next full moon, and as Sefwyn’s successor, Lena would be expected to be at his side.
The thought made Lena want to be sick.
“What I need,” Lena said, trying to keep the bite from her voice, “is to learn how to control my power.”
Her head was still pounding from her earlier episode, and the more exhausted she grew, the harder it became to push away the call of Iska’s threads. To make matters worse, the books she’d read had, just as she’d expected, only depicted one version of Wyrecia’s history and the Fateweaver’s role in it. There was nothing in their pages that could help her translate the symbols in the tunnels.
“Brother Dunstan will be here soon. Until then, I’ve been tasked with making sure you know the history of this empire.” She tapped her foot against the floor, her lips narrowing into a thin line. “Again.”
Lena gritted her teeth. Across the room, curled up in a chair beside the window, Maia shot her a sympathetic smile. Lena should have denied her when she’d insisted on staying for Lena’s lesson, but after spending the day feeling like her old life was slipping further and further away, Lena hadn’t had the strength to send Maia away.
Brother Dunstan strode into the room with all the grace of a wolf, his dark eyes glistening in the firelight. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, but there were flecks of gray in his copper hair, and the lines etched into his forehead seemed deeper than before.
“Brother Dunstan.” Iska bowed her head.
Lena was glad she was technically above him in rank, because the thought of bowing to anyone—let alone a priest of a religion her mother had rebelled against her whole life—made her want to break things.
“Sister Iska.” He smiled, and the gesture was so affectionate that Lena felt a tug in her heart. It reminded her of the way her mother would look at her when she’d first started storytelling. The priest turned his head toward Lena, his smile morphing into something far more cautious. “Lady Lenora. How has your first lesson been?”
