Page 23 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
Her eyes widened in surprise as she faced the enigmatic stranger. The woman’s piercing gaze seemed to bore into her very soul, a unique shade of lilac that held the wisdom of ages. Lines etched deeply into her weathered face told tales of a life fully lived. Her silver-white hair hung down her back in loose waves, and a worn cloak of midnight blue hung from her frail shoulders, seemingly untouched by the dirt and the dust of the camp, billowing around her like a shadow in the wind.
Her voice, when she spoke, carried an eerie resonance that made the hairs on the back of Alethea’s neck stand on end. As the camp buzzed with the noise of soldiers and the clanging of weapons, the witch remained an island of quiet mystery, her presence both calming and unsettling.
“Here I am,” Alethea replied nervously, the breath leaving her lungs as she fought the fear of having done something wrong.
“Alone.”
She couldn’t tell if the older woman’s words were a threat or an observation.
Alethea toed a patch of grass beneath her boot. “Yes.”
“An unusual move on the would-be king’s part.”
An awkward silence passed as Alethea’s blush spread up her neck.
“I’m Bernadea. I’m an Augur. I served the former king and queen for many years.”
Understanding washed over her. She’d heard about Augurs. They performed divine magic rituals to gain the ability to know a person, place, or thing for what it was. They could often identify magical items or even scry upon a person or a place. Some called them fortune tellers, as they were usually skilled in reading cards or omens. The Crystalline Academy called them ‘lesser mages’ and refused to allow them to study at the prestigious institution. Alethea had heard stories of Augurs in large cities selling ingredients to access rituals—spells anyone could use, regardless of their magical ability. Mostimportantly, they weren’t cursed for their connection to the Weave like Oracles.
Her mother had never allowed an Augur to come to court after the king’s death.
“I’m Alethea,” she confessed, her grip on the plates tightening.
“Yes, yes, I know. When Nakir came to me for a reading last week, I had no idea he would take my suggestion toseize his destinyso literally. Well, you’re here now.”
Alethea opened her mouth to ask what exactly the woman meant but was silenced with a single warning glance.
“You should know better than to ask questions when you aren’t prepared to hear the truth.”
She shut her mouth. The Augur hobbled closer.
“Now. Kidnapping is bad business. Nakir knows that. I don’t know your history or what you’ve been taught about your own abilities, but I know someone such as yourself should always have options. Take this.” Bernadea shoved a glass vial into her already full hands. “It’s a Sending Ritual. Break the glass and say the name of who you want to send your message to. Keep it brief.”
Alethea balanced her plates to study the small bottle full of herbs and... was that an animal tooth? She glanced back up at Bernadea, struggling to understand why she’d offer her such a gift. A Sending Ritual could cost as much as thirty gold pieces in Hyelea—an entire month’s wages for a skilled craftsman.
“Isn’t this...” She struggled for the words.
“Treasonous?” Bernadea asked, almost playfully. “If Nakir is truly a man of honor and you’re not a helpless hostage, he shouldn’t be concerned.” She raised a brow. “I trust you’ll do the right thing.”
Alethea gawked at the vial, brows knitting. When she looked up, Bernadea was already hobbling away.
“Wait! Where do I take these?” she called after her, holding the dishes up.
The Augur gestured vaguely in the opposite direction from where she was walking. “Walk that way for ten paces and you’ll find the nearest mess on your right!”
Alethea juggled the plates and the cup in one arm so she could pocket the Sending Ritual and pushed her unruly hair behind her ear before following Bernadea’s instructions.
She understood why Augurs and Oracles were often confused. Their powers seemed closely aligned on the surface. Her understanding was the nature of the connection to the Weave: Augurs underwent rituals to understand the nature of the universe; Oracles were directly connected to the Weave, for better or worse, and such a powerful blessing always came with a powerful curse. For Alethea, it was her inability to lie in any capacity—something her mother hated. Alethea was cursed to tell the truth, even when it was inconvenient or troublesome, or even dangerous.
She followed Bernadea’s guidance to the nearest mess area, where she noticed the familiar faces of Dawes, Emi, and Balthasar gathered at a large wooden table. The clearing bustled with the activity of soldiers milling about cooking breakfast, washing their laundry, and making various equipment repairs. One soldier worked at mending a wagon wheel, while another scrambled eggs in a massive frying pan over an open flame. Behind him was a large, barred cart filled with hay and a few clucking chickens picking through the straw.
Alethea found the washing station and quickly rinsed the dishes she’d made from her meal, the back of her neck flushing as she felt eyes on her. She kept her head down as she washed them in buckets of soapy water—she had never cleaned her own dishes at the palace, and there was something quietly wonderful about the smallness of it, her hands in the warm water, doing something so ordinary and so entirely her own. She tucked herhair back with an elbow for the third time as it threatened to trail into the suds, not wishing to interrupt or cause a stir while she set the dishes on a large drying rack. Still, she could sense the way everyone was watching her, painfully aware of their suspicion in the way the whispers rose whenever she turned her back.
Once her task was complete, she was confronted with her lack of a plan. Nakir had encouraged her to wander camp and speak to the company before making a decision, but the prospect of interrupting others in their conversation to ask probing questions left her with a stomach full of rocks.
Just as she resolved to turn around and leave, a massive presence came into view, standing directly in front of her and blocking the way forward.
“Balthasar,” she said, squinting into the morning sun to look up high enough to see his face.
