Page 98 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
“I’m here for you, whatever you need. We’re leaving in the morning for Edysos, but Nakir mentioned you might not be coming. I’ll stop by in the morning to say goodbye if that’s the case. Until then, you should probably get some rest. Drink your tea. Xytharia said it would help.” Emi gave her a warm smile before slowly extracting herself, leaving Alethea alone with her battered heart.
She drank her tea slowly, not quite recognizing the number of odd tastes and smells. She had no reason not to trust Xytharia, but she had no idea what kind of herbs a High Priestess of the Primal god of Death would give her. She sipped slowly, trying not to miss Nakir or wish he’d burst through her doors and wrap her up in his arms and tell her everything would be okay.
Alethea watched the fire die as she slipped away into unconsciousness, her empty teacup forgotten at her side.
The sunlight hit her face late the next morning, and with a sinking dread in her heart, she feared Nakir and his court had left without her. She sat upright suddenly, ignoring the searing ache that tore at her bones.
She knew she should stay. She should let Nakir move on without her. But the voices had visited her in the night and whispered the truths of the universe, and as she awoke, she finally remembered one of them. A single word.
Go.
A plea. A warning. A threat. A promise.
Alethea shoved all her belongings into her saddlebag, pushing past the way her body protested in anguish. It didn’t matter that Nakir was angry with her, or that he may never draw her close to him again. All that mattered was that she went with him to Edysos, to see the Great Lord Emre Volkan in his Cerulean Keep and face whatever threat she knew loomed ahead. Darkness was coming, and not the kind Xytharia wielded. Not the kind that embraced or soothed. The kind of darkness that ruined and shattered and destroyed.
Heart racing and palms sweating, she rushed to the great hall of the Keep. Several servants bustled about as the morning sun filtered in through the massive stained-glass windows, where she saw Nakir’s soldiers nearly packed up and ready to leave.
She still had time.
Alethea steeled herself and dashed toward the courtyard, searching for the familiar steed that would take her back to Nakir and her friends.
“Not so fast, Princess.”
“Bargain-magic is not forbidden so much as ignored.
The Orders have never known what to do with a power born of love,
or desperation, or the simple unwillingness to let another fall.
A bargain bends the Weave not by force, but by devotion,
a truth the Archmages still refuse to acknowledge.
Such magics cannot be taught; they reveal themselves only to those who keep their promises.”
—LOVE AND OTHER UNRULY MAGICS, BY BERNADEA HAWTHORNE
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Before she could even make it to the stables, just outside the courtyard, an older man wearing dark robes and a cold expression halted her with a single look. His eyes, heavy-lidded and devoid of warmth, bore into her with an intensity that sent a shudder down her spine. She could feel the prickling sensation of magic in the icy air around them.
He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was muscular and broad-shouldered, his presence exuding a quiet but undeniable strength. He wore black leather gloves, reaching up past his wrists, and his every movement seemed deliberate and controlled.
“Come with me, and come quietly.”
His soft words held her in an iron grip. His very voice was woven with magic, compelling her into compliance.
Alethea followed him out of the courtyard, away from the keep. Away from the soldiers and the castle guards. Away from her friends.
“Do not shout or scream,” the man continued, like a lullaby. In a fluid motion, he draped a cloak of the deepest black over hershoulders. The hood, when drawn over her head, obscured her vision, casting the world into shadows—and hid her from the world.
“Do not speak at all or make any noise. Walk quietly, keeping your head down, and do not attract attention. Stay close to me.”
Her heart thudded in her chest as she thought of what Nakir would tell her.“Do not go far from me.”She wanted to run away, to cry out for him, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything except what this man bade her.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recalled Talia’s words about Enchanters, and a chilling warning echoed in her head. How Enchanters were the worst kind of mage, because they had power over your senses. The most skilled of them even had power over your ownfree will.
Alethea had the thought she wanted to do all those things he’d instructed her not to, but she couldn’t force her consciousness to obey.
