Page 38 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
Alethea tucked the cloth-wrapped shards of the vial underneath her pillow and managed to haul herself back up into bed before unconsciousness overwhelmed her.
“In tyrannies, the innocent are never just collateral. They are currency—spent freely by those who fear losing power.”
—THE CHRONICLES OF THE UPHEAVAL, VOLUME III: THE LENOREAN REVOLUTION
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hunter’s Moon, Day 21.
When she opened her eyes again, Alethea was vaguely aware some amount of time had passed. It didn’t feel like morning anymore, but it wasn’t quite evening yet. She wasn’t alone; Nakir’s looming presence had a gravitational tug of its own, and she turned her head to see him sitting in a chair next to her, arms crossed and amber eyes directly on her. His expression was grave.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m... tired.”
Nakir studied her wordlessly, as if he’d been expecting as much. He didn’t seem to know what to say next, but he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
The two of them sat there in the quiet for a few minutes while she studied the hard lines of his face. Everything about him was breathtaking, and yet it was the smaller details she found herself catching now—a faint scar along his cheekbone, soold it had nearly disappeared into his skin, and the way his expression seemed caught between two things at once, concern and something that hadn’t quite cooled to patience yet. His full lips. His broad shoulders. He would still be gorgeous without them, but his horns only made him more fearsome.
“Is this welcome?” he asked, his thumb brushing over the back of her palm.
Alethea nodded, unwilling to admit exactly how much she was enjoying his touch. She thought about his phrase:—“Is this welcome?” not, “Is this okay?”—like he wanted this small display of affection to be more than okay. He wanted her to desire it too. She placed her other hand on top of his.
“I’m sorry for earlier. I shouldn’t have pushed myself so hard...” How was she going to tell him, if he attacked the capital, he’d lose someone close to him? How could she ask him to choose between everything he’d fought for and the people he loved? And how was she supposed to carry that knowledge, the weight of what was coming, when she could already feel it pressing down on her chest like a stone? Guilt gnawed at her stomach, and she wrapped her blanket tighter around herself like a shield.
“Don’t be sorry,” Nakir told her. “I shouldn’t have let you. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I can see your grasp on your magic is tenuous. You need to be more careful in the future. You could...” He swallowed, and their gazes met again. “Your life is worth more than anything your visions could ever tell you, Alethea.”
His words made her heart race. No one had ever said those words to her before.
Both of his hands were now holding hers, and he stared at them for a long moment. “I need to tell you about the day my parents died.”
Alethea waited, unsure if she could trust herself to speak about such a difficult subject.
“Ten years ago, we received word your father had passed away. We knew Queen Zenobia was desperate to seal the vacuum of power. She saw us—me and my parents—as a lingering threat, even though at the time we’d made no moves for the throne. I don’t think she ever understood why your father exiled us instead of... instead of doing what she thought needed to be done. We were traveling then, staying in a villa in the deserts of Rai’Sharr when they found us. Twenty-five assassins came to our home in the middle of the night. I called for help, but it was already too late.”
Alethea tucked herself in further, her grip on him tightening.
“We had a secret weapon they didn’t know about. I could see it in their eyes when they faced me for the first time. Being an Aeshlien wasn’t the only thing that marked my birth... I was gifted with a powerful, rotting magic.”
Necromancers had a difficult reputation. The mages could communicate with and raise the dead, but their real destructive power came from their lethal ability to siphon life energy.
“I struggled with controlling my magic in the beginning, until my mentor found me. I spent years honing my skills, deepening my well. I thought my magic would be what allowed us to take back the once great Kingdom of Lenorea. But my instructor warned me, time and time again, about the dangers of burning out. Of delving too deep into my magic...
“The night my parents died, when the assassins came, I knew I didn’t stand a chance. I was twenty-four, and even though my magic was deadly, I was still just a kid. Many of them had magic as well, and the ones who didn’t made up for it with deadly skill and precision with their blades. But I didn’t run, no matter how my parents begged. I couldn’t. I fought them using everything I had. I dove deeper, and deeper, until I reached the very bottom of the limits of my powers. It wasn’t enough. There were still more of them, so I kept going.”
Nakir’s strong, rough hands trembled, and she held them tightly.
“What they don’t tell you, Thea, is there is no limit to the amount of power you can pull from the Weave. It’s endless. After I broke through the final barrier at the bottom of my well, I was unstoppable. They nearly all fell before me, and the raw power... it was incredible. Until I realized the terrible price to pay for taking what isn’t yours. My mentor had warned me... but I didn’t understand what he truly meant until the magic began to take back from me. Itconsumedme. It rotted away every part of me until there was nothing left. Then I saw the last two assassins left standing slit my parents’ throats. It all was for nothing. I took their lives, and then my last breath left me.”
Alethea stared into those amber eyes, trying to understand what he was saying.
“I died. In those last moments, all I could think of was every foolish decision I had made. I thought of every second I’d wasted. Every word I’d ever left unsaid. I thought of my friends, my family. How deeply I’d disappointed them. Then it all slipped away.”
Nakir took a deep breath. “There are very few people with the power of resurrection. I’m fortunate that one of them was my mentor. He’d heard my call after all. He came in time to see the aftermath—to pull me from Aevensor’s clutches. But when I awoke, death on my lips... I realized I had nothing left. The magic was gone. I couldn’t summon a single ounce of it. I’d lost my parents and my powers in one day...”
Alethea couldn’t imagine the pain he must have felt. “How did you go on?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
“I held onto a single shred of hope my mentor had given me that day, and I powered through. But mostly... mostly, it was my friends who kept me alive after that. Emi lost her sister two years later, so I came home to be there for her. I can’t tell you how many bars we shut down or were kicked out of. Goran was stilltrying to get me to take my place in the budding rebellion. I met Bal, too, and Dawes. I made it back, and I found my way. But I need to set expectations with you.” His tone shifted. “I don’t have anyone in my command who can resurrect you if you burn out. I’m the only person I know of who’s been brought back to life after being consumed by magic, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemies, let alone... Let alone you.”
