Page 74 of A Fate Unwoven
Dimas could hardly hear his uncle anymore. The world had turned fuzzy around the edges, the sound of Roston’s voice unintelligible behind the thunderous thumping of his own heart. This wasn’t right. He’d found his Fateweaver. Had passed Næbya’s test and brought Lenora home.
So why was he still being punished?
Because Lenora isn’t the problem,a shadow in his head taunted.You are.
“It isn’t too late to fix this,” his uncle said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Dimas hadn’t even noticed him close the space between them. “The Fist have a lead on where the heretic who claimed to be with theHæstawas staying.”
Dimas blinked against the shadows, his lungs constricting. “Where?”
“Somewhere on the eastern side of the lower city.”
Some of the tightness in Dimas’s chest loosened. Having more than one cultist in the imperial city wasn’t comforting, but with the first fanatic dead, at least it gave them a new place to start. A new lead for Dimas to follow in his quest to find the root of the shadows plaguing him.
He just had to keepthisheretic talking.
But his questioning of the fanatic prisoner had been such a failure that Dimas wasn’t even sure where to start. If he traipsed into the lower city with a handful of hunters at his side, it would give any heretic in the area more than enough warning to hide. No, he needed a distraction. Something to keep the focus on him whilst the Empire’s Fist followed thelead. And then, once they had taken this heretic prisoner and fully searched them for weapons, Dimas would make sure he got the answers he sought.
“Shortly after I returned from the Wilds, you said the lower city was bursting with pilgrims seeking an audience with the Fateweaver,” Dimas said, a plan beginning to form in his mind. “Is that still the case?”
Roston dipped his chin. “Yes. I believe most are offering their services at the temple to Lady Venysa, in the hopes that their … devotion will be rewarded.”
“Their devotionshouldbe rewarded—not with a boon,” Dimas said, backtracking when his uncle’s eyebrow rose, “but with Lenora’s presence. They traveled all this way to meet their Fateweaver, right? If we give them what they came for, if Lenora and I pay a visit to the temple, it will satisfy the pilgrimsandcreate a distraction whilst the Fist search for this accomplice.”
“Why not just send them into the lower city and arrest the heretic’s accomplice openly?” His uncle sneered. “Make a spectacle of it? It would be a show of power, one our enemies would be foolish to ignore.”
It was what his father would have done. But there was enough unrest in the empire already without drawing attention to the fact that another heretic had somehow managed to live undetected within the imperial city’s walls.
“It’s too much of a risk; a public display will only give the people even more of a reason to think Næbya has forsaken us. Besides, if this accomplice gets wind of our arrival before we reach wherever they’re staying, they’ll have time to run.”
Roston was quiet for a long moment. And then a small, rare smile tugged at his lips. “You’re becoming quite the tactician. Your mother would be proud.”
Most people would have meant that as an insult, but Roston had always displayed a soft spot for the late empress, often expressing her compassion was an asset rather than a hindrance. For the first few months after his mother died, Dimas had wondered what life mighthave been like if she’d married Roston instead of Vesric. If her compassion had been celebrated instead of condemned.
Dimas bit the inside of his cheek, pushing the thought away. If that was the life his mother was supposed to have led, then Næbya would have made it so, either when she wove her threads into existence or by having the reigning Fateweaver manipulate them at the time. The fate of the late empress was one she had been meant for, and no amount of wishing could change that.
“Have General Alræn prepare an envoy for a trip into the lower city tomorrow afternoon. Whilst Lenora and I visit the temple, the Fists still located in the city will covertly investigate the location of the heretic’s accomplice. If they’re still there, then an arrest can be made—quietly. And if they’re not … well, hopefully there will be something that can help lead us to theHæsta’s stronghold.”
“And if there isn’t?” Roston asked.
Dimas winced. He should have known the question was coming. After everything that had happened, it was no wonder his uncle was starting to doubt him, too.
We need to ensure what happened with the Furybringer never happens again.
Those were the words he’d said to Ioseph in the Wilds. He tried to gather the same bravery he’d felt when he’d uttered them as he met his uncle’s gaze. “If there isn’t, then I will do whatever it takes to ensure Wyrecia’s future. Even if—even if I will not be here to see it.”
There was the smallest of pauses, the air heavy with silence, before Roston said, “What if there was another way? One that would ensure Wyrecia’s safety without having to sacrifice yourself?” Roston was watching Dimas’s face, searching for any cracks in the mask he so carefully donned.
Dimas would not let him find any.
“Is there?”
“There are … vague mentions of something rather interesting in theZværnaOrder’s archives,” Roston continued, “something that was created by the firstZværnaOrder priests as a sort of … fail-safe, shouldthe ritual to create the first Fateweaver have not gone as planned. The records detail a relic meant to suppress a Fateweaver’s power, made of the very mineral the Verlondians have been hoarding for centuries.”
Clearly not well enough, if theZværnaOrder had gotten ahold of it.
The thought lasted barely a heartbeat before the realization of what this might mean sunk in. Dimas had never heard of such an object. Then again, it wasn’t exactly something the Order would make common knowledge; to even suggest that the ritual to create the first Fateweaver could have gone wrong would be too akin to heresy. But if the itemdidexist, and it could help him save his empire, then surely Næbya would want him to find it? So why had his uncle not told him about it until now?
Trying not to sound juvenile, Dimas asked, “Why have you not shared this information with me before, Uncle?”
