Page 17 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
She faltered, her confusion raw and fully on display. “Why aren’t you... interrogating me?”
Wasn’t that what men like him did? Wasn’t that what she deserved? He clearly knew about her involvement in Goran’s execution—why wouldn’t he also blame her for his fate?
“You mean torture? If you’re into that kind of thing, darling, all you have to do is ask.” The sarcasm curled off his tongue as a twisted smile tugged at his lips.
Alethea wished the ground would swallow her whole. Heat shot through her, mortification burning all the way to her toes. “No!” she cried, shaking her head. “No, I just...” Her voice thinned to nothing, embarrassment choking the rest.
Anger flashed across his face, sharp enough that she wondered whether he was finally about to snap and reveal the monster she assumed him to be. His grip tightened around the glass, knuckles whitening. “Thought I’d carve up a helpless princess who wasn’t evenbornwhen my parents were overthrown?” His mask slid neatly back into place, that same smirk tugging at his mouth again. “My reputation does precede me, doesn’t it? You’ll have to keep this one between us.” His tone was laced with dark humor, though there was an underlying warning in his words.
Alethea started to unravel in her confusion, anxiety gripping her chest. How could he stand there, unruffled, with someone like her dropped at his feet? After every interrogation Alethea had been forced to take part in, this felt wrong.
It felt like more mercy than she deserved.
“You don’t understand...”
Nakir got down on one knee in front of her, bringing their eyes level. The movement sent her pulse skittering. He was close—too close—his presence a heat she could feel, as if the space between them had become charged. She could reach out and touch his face if she dared, and the awareness of that possibility tightened something low in her stomach.
When he spoke again, his voice was a calm, intimate murmur, each syllable brushing along her nerves. “What don’t I understand, Alethea?”
Tension coiled tight in her chest, her palms damp as she clutched her dress, pinned in place by his gaze. For several long seconds, she wasn’t sure what to say. But then, as they often did, the words tumbled out of her.
“You were betrayed.” Her eyes glowed a faint white, and her vision blurred around the edges, but she could still see Nakir’s face in perfect detail. That was unusual—her most powerful visions usually made her sight turn completely white. “Goran Arranil shared his plans with another, a shadowed figure in the dark, who fed him whispered promises of a better world.” Her head throbbed as the prophecy spilled from her, each word weighted with destiny. “He did it for you, the promised son of the promised daughter, who bears the mark of Aeshma’s curse. He didn’t know he was taking part in his own undoing.”
She somehow reined herself in, taking a steadying breath. She waited for the bile to rise as it normally did. Waited for the world to tilt, or for darkness to close in. But nothing came. She felt oddly steady, as if releasing the vision had anchored her more firmly in the present.
She hadn’t forced it; the vision had come unbidden. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, aside from the vision that had driven her to flee the castle in the first place.
Nakir stared at her, lips parted in disbelief, amber eyes widewith astonishment and something perilously close to reverence. After a long moment, he blinked, the movement small and almost dazed.
“You’re an Oracle.”
She swallowed thickly, waiting for the familiar spike of fear that came whenever someone discovered what she was. This was her mother’s worst nightmare: her powers laid bare in the hands of their enemies. There was no way Nakir would let her walk away now—not for any ransom. Dread crept up her spine, but she kept her expression still despite the tremor in her hands.
“Does it pain you to have a prophecy?” he asked, the question touched with gentleness. There was a warmth in his tone she didn’t trust, something almost careful. The contrast between his calm curiosity and the panic twisting inside her left her unsteady.
Alethea imagined there was little danger in telling him this much now he already knew her secret. “Only when I force it,” she confessed.
Something like concern crossed his expression—a flicker of empathy she didn’t expect. “And when you do it too much, you feel sick, dizzy, like you might pass out,” he added quietly, as if he weren’t guessing but remembering.
Alethea’s eyes narrowed. He’d described her experience exactly, in a way that felt uncomfortably shared.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice steadier than her pulse.
“Do you come close to burning out often?” he asked, his amber eyes searching hers.
Her stomach hollowed, a sense of foreboding spreading in her chest. She may not have much in the way of a formal magical education, but she certainly knew what it meant for a mage to burn out. The Crimson Queen had never accepted anything less than everything she had, so she had given it, no matter the risk.
Alethea nodded, her throat tight with the admission of her vulnerability.
Burnout occurred when a mage drew too deeply from their reserve of magic. As their well neared depletion, illness and weakness would set in as an unmistakable warning. If a mage fully exhausted their magic, it usually returned after a day or so. But if they kept casting after the well had run dry, the Weave reclaimed what had been taken. This was called “burnout” because when the Weave had finished with a mage who’d overextended themselves, little remained but a husk, its reclaimed magic burning through them from the inside out.
How many times had Alethea pushed herself to the edge and had to be carried back to her room? How many nights had she stared into the darkness wondering if this would be the night her body would finally succumb to the relentless demands placed upon it?
Too many to count.
“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Nakir stated calmly, in contrast to the storm of emotions brewing within her.
She frowned, the knot in her stomach tightening. That was it?
