Page 5 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
Zenobia inspected her nails, cold, unyielding, and bored. “My daughter is the reason we are in this situation, and she knows that very well. How I choose to use her gifts in the name of the Kingdom of Lenorea is my own decision and my right as sovereign.”
“You are a monster,” Goran spat, his words dripping with contempt.
Alethea felt her consciousness fraying at the edges, a strange mix of horror and fascination enveloping her as she witnessed Goran’s audacious defiance toward her mother.
“Aeshma’s vengeance upon you,” the man cursed, his voice carrying an ancient wrath that sent chills down her spine.
“I’mqueen, Goran. Sacrifices must be made. Alethea has everything a princess could ask for. She’s never wanted a day in her life. AndAeshma’s vengeanceis why the Hasan family no longer rules, if you remember correctly. Your concern should bewith your own daughter and that monster of a Hasan you sheltered.”
“The gods will damn you for what you’ve done,” Goran hissed.
Alethea, still unable to muster the strength to rise, hung in limbo, caught between confusion and fear. She couldn’t understand why he was suddenly engaging her mother in this conversation, especially in the face of his execution. Was he deliberately goading her? What was the point?
“I make my own destiny,” Zenobia declared.
“No. You abuse your daughter to do that.”
“You and I both know you never wanted to be queen. It was all Aikat, and despite his treacherous ways, he did well enough while he lived.” Goran’s bitter laugh only added to the mounting tension. “And when he died, the crown passed to you. I hope one day you see how disastrous your rule has been… over the kingdom, and over your daughter.”
His statement forced Zenobia to remember her daughter was present, and she scoffed at the state of her lying on the floor.
“Getup, girl.”
Heat flooded Alethea’s body as she felt her mother’s stare. Too weak to move, she only whimpered pathetically on the ground as her mother crossed the room. Zenobia rapped her bony knuckles on the heavy door three times, and within a moment, it opened, the summoned guard standing ready in the doorway.
“Get her up.”
She couldn’t see any of his features past his full armor, but even as she barely clung to consciousness, she could tell he was quite large. He lifted her easily and with an unexpected tenderness. Her stomach rolled at the look of pity from Goran, and tears blurred her vision, forcing her to close her eyes in shame.
Another figure entered the room then. Though she couldn’t see him, Alethea knew the chilling voice of Lord MelanthiosGregor, her mother’s most trusted advisor. As the queen’s minister, he was responsible for all trade and commerce in the kingdom. His and Zenobia’s partnership was incredibly fruitful for them both. Unalarmed by the princess’s state, he made no acknowledgment of her at all.
“What is your decision, Your Majesty?”
“Goran Arranil is hereby stripped of his title of Great Lord of Ephesus. I find the entire Arranil family guilty of high treason. The punishment for this crime is execution. Lord Gregor, Miss Arranil is a deadly fire mage. Let the guards know she should be killed on sight. The lords and ladies of Ephesus shall also be punished for their crimes. I want the entire household executed, down to every last scullery maid.”
A part of Alethea anticipated Goran’s reaction, some form of protest or outcry, but it never came. The man remained eerily still, his gaze fixed on her and the guard holding her tightly. Alethea wondered what could possibly be going through his mind as her body protested against the abuse she’d put it through.
“And who is to be the new Great Lord of Ephesus?” Gregor pried, not bothering to hide the glee in his tone despite the current Great Lord being alive and present.
“You have a son, don’t you?” Zenobia asked flippantly. “Give it to him.”
Alethea heaved, and vomit splattered over the floor between the guard and Goran Arranil. Her mother scoffed, stepping back.
“Disgusting. Take her away.”
The guard bowed slightly, not nearly as awkwardly as Alethea would expect considering he was holding her in his arms. He stood upright again, exiting the room and carrying her back the way she’d come.
Alethea struggled to breathe, the ache in her chest sharpening. How many times had she been carried back to her roomslike this, an empty vessel after serving her mother’s insatiable hunger for power? Tears of embarrassment fell down her face, mingling with the dirt and grime on her skin from the dungeon floor.
Her purpose was singular: to keep the queen on her throne. She existed on one condition: usefulness. The moment she ceased to be useful, she suspected she would cease to exist at all.
She closed her eyes as fresh tears fell, allowing herself one brief moment to grieve for the life she might have lived; for the girl she had been before she learned survival meant obedience. It cracked her open, that grief, sharp and fleeting, and she clung to it knowing she’d have to stitch herself whole again soon.
This was the cost of her safety; the atonement demanded for her failure.
This was her duty.
Several times on the way to her rooms, the dizziness overwhelmed Alethea to the point she begged to be set down. The guard, whom she was sure she hadn’t met before, carefully held her long hair back while she heaved in an empty corridor. He remained steadfast and silent, which was no small kindness. She had the thought, as she lost the rest of her lunch on the stone floor, he must be new. No one else cared enough to treat her with such tenderness. Her favor was not something to be coveted, as she held no power in court, and her mother was highly suspicious of anyone who got too close to her.
