Page 66 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain

“Yes, they will be.”

She tried to imagine what Nakir’s children would look like—would they have his dark hair? His piercing amber eyes?—but she was redirected from the conversation as he led her toward the door of a women’s dress shop. A tiny bell rang as they entered the colorful store.

“Welcome!” a tinny voice from across the room greeted. An older woman with a smile that didn’t quite reach her sharp eyes approached. “How can I help you?”

Alethea turned to Nakir at first before sheepishly realizing she was the one they were shopping for. She quickly rattled off a few needs: stockings, travel boots, a few comfortable dresses, and tights to wear on the road.

“And a winter cloak, as well as some gloves,” Nakir added before the woman disappeared to gather the requested items.

“I hadn’t even considered those. Thank you. For everything. I... don’t exactly have any money.”

Nakir placed a reassuring hand on her elbow, the touch forcing her to bury the thoughts of his hands elsewhere. “Of course.”

The shop was brightly lit with sconces and braziers, and Alethea allowed herself to sort through many of the clothes on display. Most of them were finely made, and many items were quite luxurious. She knew what a privilege it was that she’d grown up with fine things, and that fact was what had motivated her to give away those gems in the first place. Meseira didn’t seem to have the great divide Hyelea did—she hadn’t seen anyone impoverished the way they were in the capital. Then again, Meseira had more food than it did people to feed.

The afternoon passed too quickly. Before she knew it, Alethea had acquired several bags full of items she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. Basic hygiene products, enough socks and gloves to keep her warm, and a new pair of boots were all she’d expected. Nakir seemed eager to indulge her, to the point she’d had to turn him down for fear she wouldn’t be able to fit everything inside her saddlebags.

They met Balthasar just before dinner. He had cleaned up as well, having changed from his traveling clothes to more formal wear, though still in all black. She expected him to stand out wherever he went with his massive form, but he seemed to go by unnoticed. The ability to hide in plain sight was a special talent of his that never failed to amaze her.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” Alethea asked him as they walked toward the front gates of the Aegean keep.

He flashed her a wink and a knowing smile but otherwise pretended he didn’t know what she was talking about.

Alethea had never been to Aegea, let alone inside the keep. The massive structure had been constructed with large white stones, each one expertly placed, creating a sight that spoke of both elegance and power. Its towering walls seemed to touch the sky, leaving her feeling quite small.

As they stepped inside, Alethea was immediately engulfed in the hushed grandeur of the interior. The air was scented with the subtle aroma of polished wood and aged parchment. Ornate chandeliers hung from the ceilings, casting a warm, gentle glow over the marble floors. Despite the opulence, she hardly saw castle guards patrolling the halls, but she knew they were there, lurking in the shadows, vigilant sentinels protecting the heart of Meseira.

An older, pale-skinned man in dark blue robes was waiting for them in the entrance hall to the keep, and he greeted them politely. “The Great Lord and Lady Imanras welcome you to their home. Dinner is nearly served. Please, follow me to the great hall.”

Alethea took one last look at her companions and straightened her posture, summoning what strength she could manage. The fate of Lenorea hung in the balance, dependent not only on her words, but also on the conviction behind them.

“… You never looked upon my child, Yara.

Had you held him, had you felt the weight of what they call a curse, you might have questioned the hands urging you toward treachery.

This was never about sovereignty. It was about fear, and the forces that prey upon it.

I do not ask for your remorse. Only that when understanding finally comes, you do not turn away from it.”

—LETTER FROM EVANTHIA HASAN, WRITTEN ON THE EVE OF HER FLIGHT FROM HYELEA

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hunter’s Moon, Day 27.

They were the first to arrive, which Alethea guessed was intentional on behalf of their hosts. These kinds of power moves were not foreign to her—or her companions, it seemed.

The formal dining hall proudly displayed the colors of the Lenorean flag—white and cerulean—in every detail. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries, each thread meticulously woven to portray scenes from Lenorea’s long history. Since its foundation, Meseira had served as the greatest military seat for the entire kingdom, and that storied heritage was displayed proudly before them.

The table, adorned with fine linen and polished silverware, was meticulously set for five guests. At the head, an ornate chair stood as a symbol of authority, while four elegantly arranged seats awaited their occupants across from each other.

Before they were left to their own devices for too long, a jovial figure cut into the dining hall.

“Welcome, welcome!”

The Great Lord Myron Imanras had grown even more portly since the last time Alethea saw him, but his smile was ever-present. He was a shorter man with a beaming smile and round cheeks, dressed in brilliant green silks with fur lining and gold embellishments that complimented his russet skin tone. His dark hair was cropped close to his head, but his mustache and his beard were extravagantly well-groomed and clearly a source of great pride. Myron greeted Alethea with a bow and then a large, bracing hug. He heartily traded firm handshakes with Nakir and Balthasar as if they were old friends, clearly delighted by the present company despite the fact he was hosting the leader of a treasonous rebellion. Perhaps evenbecauseof that very fact.

“Yes, welcome.” The Great Lady Yara Imanras entered seconds after him, offering the smallest of curtsies to Alethea and nods of acknowledgement to the men. She stood at the head of the table, placing her hand on the back of the chair to signal it was coming time for everyone to be seated. Her flowing magenta robes were more than just clothing—they resembled battle armor. The color of her attire had been carefully selected not only to reflect her noble status, but also to complement her dark, intricately braided locks and her warm, tawny complexion. “Let us sit and dine together.”