Page 86 of A Fate Unwoven
That changed tonight.
Ioseph’s expression softened, the dim light from the candle flame sharpening the lines of his handsome face, and Dimas couldn’t stop the flutter his heart gave in response when the soldier placed his hand on his shoulder, fingers curling in a reassuring squeeze.
“And I won’t letyoudie. Whatever you decide, I’m with you, I just … want you to be sure about this.”
“I am.”
He had to be. This was the only choice he had left. The only thing that had a shot at working.
Ioseph searched his expression for a heartbeat longer before dipping his chin. “Alright, then.”
He carried on walking, leading the way through the winding servant’s hallways, toward the back door of the palace, and across the starlit courtyard leading to the royal church. Brother Dunstan was waiting for them at the church gates, his face hidden beneath his hood. In the shadows, it was impossible to make out his expression. To know what he felt about Dimas’s plan.
Dimas had sent word via Iska after leaving his uncle’s presence, asking the High Priest to meet him just after midnight. And whilst hehadn’t explicitly statedwhy,it was clear from the priest’s stiff shoulders that his cousin had filled him in.
He drew his hood back as Dimas and Ioseph approached, giving Dimas a glimpse at the deep lines at the corners of his eyes and the thin set of his mouth. Dread pooled in Dimas’s vision. If Brother Dunstan refused to let Dimas have access to the relic that would suppress Lenora’s powers—and the ritual that would enhance them once the Rite of Ascension was safely completed—then Dimas’s plan to use Lena’s magic to hunt down theHæstaand secure peace for his kingdom would be over before it even began.
“Brother Dunstan, I—”
“Not here. Come, follow me.”
The priest strode purposefully toward the front of the church and quickly skirted around its left side, leading them silently through the frosted grounds with only a lantern to guide their way.
They came across a wooden door half covered in vines, its hinges so rusted it was a wonder they even held together at all. And above the door, engraved in old Wyrecian, were the words “May Fate Be Your Eternal Guide.”
Dimas paused, his gaze running over each sigil. He’d never been around this side of the church before. Had never had reason to. But he didn’t have to ask to know where the door led.
It had to be the entrance to the holy archives.
Brother Dunstan unlocked the door without a word, the metallicclickof the key in the lock cutting through the night like thunder. There was acreakas the door swung open, followed by a blast of damp, musty air.
“No one has been down here in quite some time; we’ll need to tread carefully,” Brother Dunstan said.
“Perhaps you should stay up here, Your Majesty,” Ioseph said, eyeing the stairs warily.
Dimas shook his head. “No, this was my decision. I have to do this.”
It was why he’d asked Brother Dunstan to meet him tonight, rather than instructing the priest to bring the relevant tome to his rooms; if he was going to prove himself to Næbya, then he had to do every step of this himself.
Ioseph looked like he wanted to argue, the muscle in his jaw fluttering, and Dimas had to stop himself from leaning toward him. From wondering what it might feel like to press his lips to that very spot …
Heat pooling in his cheeks, Dimas pushed aside the distracting thought and turned instead to Brother Dunstan. “Lead the way.”
The priest gave a small nod, and then he was stepping through the tower door, the light from the lantern illuminating a crumbling stone staircase. Despite his age, Brother Dunstan descended the steps with ease, each footstep as practiced as a dance. He’d clearly been here before and had memorized the safest route down. Dimas was careful to match Brother Dunstan’s every step. With the way Dimas’s luck had been going lately, Dimas wouldn’t be surprised if his goddess saw it fit for him to fall and break his neck in a fate-damnedchurch.
No one spoke as they made their way deeper beneath the earth. About halfway down, the stone walls turned darker and more jagged, their formation far less uniform than the usual Wyrecian style Dimas was so used to seeing. There were sconces in the stone, too, the metal barely visible through the rust and cobwebs.
So much history.
He was unable to stop himself from reaching out to brush a hand against the stone, imagining how this hidden place had once looked bathed in the glow of torchlight andlife.A composition for a painting was already starting to form in his mind, smudged charcoal with flecks of burning orange flame, robed figures with ink-stained fingertips. He could almost picture himself there, the smell of smoke tickling the back of his throat.
He was so lost in his thoughts he almost slammed into the back of Brother Dunstan, who had come to a stop at the bottom of the steps. Dimas peered over his shoulder, breath catching as he took in thedome-shaped cavern before him. Each wall was lined with shelves filled with various items, from worn tomes and rolls of parchment to resin bowls and chalices. But it was the large stone altar in the center, its stone engraved with Næbya’s symbol, that made Dimas’s breath catch in his throat.
“Is that …?”
“The altar where the first Fateweaver was created?” Brother Dunstan responded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, yes it is.”
In all his worries, Dimas had almost forgotten it was down here. The place where his future had been manifested. Where the firstZværnapriests and the soon-to-be anointed Emperor of Wyrecia had witnessed Næbya and Her Sisters gift the first Fateweaver a fraction of their power. In the end, Næbya’s siblings had regretted the decision, claiming that the Fateweaver was too powerful, and Næbya had been forced to seal them away to protect both the Fateweaver and the Ehmar dynasty.
