Page 54 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
She could give him the gift of foresight.
“Draw your blades,” she commanded, her voice suddenly ethereal and otherworldly. “Do it now, Nakir.”
He had no choice but to obey, especially as a pack ofsellswords came rushing toward them, and Balthasar was nowhere to be seen. Nakir unsheathed his second blade, and the glow stopped him—both blades lit the same way her eyes did, and she watched him put it together. His jaw tightened. The would-be-king did as she ordered, lifting his swords against the oncoming wave.
She leaned back against the wooden cart for support as she dove deep into her well for enough magic to not only summon prophecy, but to also let it flow through her into Nakir’s consciousness. She could only hope he’d be able to make sense of what he saw, or else it would be for nothing.
But then she witnessed it: a brilliant flash of white light emanating from Nakir’s swords. It was a beacon of foresight, a glimpse into the intricate dance of combat, revealing the perfect moment to strike, the precise instant to block, and the exact path to survival. One by one, the enemy soldiers fell before his unstoppable onslaught.
She was so absorbed in her vision and protecting Nakir she hardly noticed when someone snatched her away from the safety of the cart. She cried out, blinded by her powers and weak against their hold on her. In the chaos, a sharp blow to her side sent her sprawling to the ground. Nakir stepped in again, covered in blood, and thrust his blade into the chest of the mercenary who’d grabbed her.
And then... quiet.
Alethea pushed herself weakly out of the dirt, scanning their surroundings, only to see there were no more enemies left standing. Only bodies. Nakir kneeled beside her, eyes full of wonder.
“Are you all right?” he asked, but she couldn’t answer. “How... how did you do that?”
Her mouth dry, she blinked up at him. Something wet was trickling down her side, and she glimpsed bright red blood pooling against her dress.Herblood. Nakir watched in horror,clamping a hand down over the wound. “It’s all right,” she promised faintly as a chill ran down her spine. “I saw this too.”
Everything faded to black.
The voices returned. Those terrifying, haunting voices whispered the secrets of the universe like a sweet promise. Dark, powerful, terrible secrets, enough to drive anyone mad. They floated around her, whispering prophecy into her ears. Every vision she’d ever had flashed by in sequence until she no longer recognized them. She saw new visions of a great battle between the gods and the mortals, the greatest war in hundreds of years. A pair of dragons soared high into the sky while the sun rose over a bloody battlefield, Anya’s light shining upon faces that had accepted their end. Forces fighting for Death, against Death, alongside Death. A woman made of pure white light rising into the sky, reaching higher and higher, until she touched the Weave of Life itself. It was—would be—the greatest war the Realm had ever seen.
“Alethea.” She slowly opened her eyes to see Nakir and Emi standing over her. She was in a tent alongside dozens of other wounded as Healers worked tirelessly around them.
“There you are,” Emi breathed, her smile weary but warm. The mage’s face was smudged with soot and dirt, and her clothes were singed, but she was otherwise unharmed.
Alethea opened her mouth to tell them something important—something critical. Her dreams. She had to tell them. Had to warn them. But they slipped from her mind like sand between her fingers. Her eyes filled with tears of frustration, especially as the pain from her side flared. The throbbing ache served as a cruel reminder of the enormity of what she’d witnessed.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Emi soothed, trying to smile but unable to hide her worry. “You’re okay. You just need to take it easy.”
The storm mage’s words washed over Alethea like a distant echo, barely registering in the whirlwind of her thoughts.
“I saw...” Her voice trailed off as she discovered a frustrating inability to articulate the profound visions.
“What did you see?” Nakir asked, hovering just behind Emi.
Alethea struggled, desperately trying to grasp the fleeting remnants. “I... can’t remember.” The words hung heavily in the air, a profound sense of loss weighing down her voice.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, but it didn’tfeelokay. It seemed so important, so vital, yet the threads slipped away, leaving her with only a haunting sense of unfinished purpose.
“Is everyone all right?” she asked quietly.
Dawes approached them, placing his hand on Emi’s back reassuringly. “The attack on the encampment was largely unsuccessful. Thanks to Emi and Kerrigan, we sustained minimal losses.” He turned to Nakir. “We captured Leandro Gregor. He’s waiting in my tent for questioning.”
“I’ll be there shortly.” Nakir clasped Dawes on the shoulder before leaning down next to the cot where she was resting. “You don’t get to sacrifice yourself for me after all.”
Alethea touched the edge of the bandages around his arm. “Nor you for me.”
Nakir chuckled, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. She was aware of Emi’s eyes on them, and her cheeks burned, but the storm mage held only warmth.
That was when she realized Balthasar and Kerrigan were there too, each looking over at her in concern. It was so strange to be cared for by these people who’d been strangers to her not so long ago. She didn’t understand how she deserved any of this. But perhaps she didn’t need to understand it. Maybe... maybe she could just accept it. She may not consider herself worthy of being sacrificed for, but for some reason, Nakir did. Maybe one day, she would ask him why. And maybe she would believe him when he told her.
“I want to come with you,” Alethea stated, daring to take upspace for the first time since she joined the rebellion. “Gregor. I want to be there.”
Nakir glanced at his spymaster. Whatever passed between them was unreadable to Alethea, but when Nakir turned back to her, he seemed to accept her wishes. “Very well. Can you sit up?”
She could, though not without some pain. Alethea eagerly pushed past it, unwilling to be left behind while they questioned the son of her mother’s most trusted advisor.
