Page 83 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain

Alethea wanted to crawl into a hole and never come back out. Two Delaneys was too many Delaneys for one evening.

Kerrigan drew the younger royal close and kissed her deeply. Alethea recognized that kind of lover’s embrace for what it was: a long goodbye. She turned away, unwilling to intrude any longer on the deeply personal moment.

“We have togo, Kerrigan,” Nakir commanded impatiently, the only crack in his mask.

The fire mage kissed Olympia one more time before she was finally able to let go of her and leave.

“Not a fucking word,” she shot at them as they broke into a run toward the exit.

Balthasar, Emi, and Dawes were already there waiting for them beside several armed guards standing watch over the festival, now on high alert. Bal was in deep discussion with one, but he greeted them with a curt nod as they arrived.

“There haven’t been any other incidents,” the spymaster reported.

The festivities raged on behind them, the other revelers oblivious to the danger unfolding.

“You really can’t stop a Revel, can you?” Dawes echoed her thoughts, half in awe, half in disbelief.

“All right, everyone. Back to camp—quickly now.” Nakir ushered them toward the gates.

The six of them exited the Revel, Alethea finally starting to sober up. The castle grounds were mostly unlit, so the only light they had for the long journey back to the encampment was the faint illumination of the waxing moon.

They’d barely emerged from the gardens back into the snowy evening when Balthasar halted them with a single extended hand, narrowing his eyes in concern. “We’re surrounded,” he declared, tension cracking in the air around them.

A surge of fear gripped Alethea, her heart pounding in her chest, as Nakir tightened his grip protectively around her.

“Do not go far from me,” he ordered, his tone firm.

She was too panicked to acknowledge his demand as the shadows crawled closer. They stretched and twisted, converging ominously from all sides. More than a dozen menacing figures closed in, their presence casting a dark pall over the courtyard.

Was this like the day Nakir’s parents died? A dozen assassins arriving in the dead of night. Would they take her with them, or kill her along with the others?

Kerrigan’s palms flickered with wavering fireballs, her usual formidable power diluted by intoxication. The once fierce determination in her eyes was now clouded and distant, and she struggled to keep her flames burning.

Alethea’s heart sank with helplessness, a sense of urgency prickling her skin as the figures drew closer still. No one had any blades, as per Revel tradition. There were so many of them, and yet Nakir, Alethea, and Dawes were all defenseless.

Emi stepped forward, placing her friends at her back. Alethea hadn’t ever seen a look on Emi’s face like this one. Every ounceof warmth had been sapped from her, leaving nothing but ice and darkness. She looked back at Nakir with a hard expression that conveyed more than words—her only warning as she reached her hands out to her sides, palms opening wide, radiating an aura of controlled power that hinted at the storm she was about to unleash.

“Get down,” Nakir ordered, his voice a hushed, panicked whisper.“Now!”

In a single breath, he grabbed Alethea and Kerrigan and forced them to the ground. Alethea fell clumsily, her face hitting the gravel. Bal and Dawes were a fraction of a second behind, and then only Emi remained, the air around them beginning to spark. The shadows moved even closer, but before Alethea could process what was transpiring, Emi summoned her power.

Every hair on her body stood upright as a thunderous roar reverberated around them. Emi’s lightning bolts struck down like white-hot whips, one after another, each crackle filling the air with searing brightness. The light was blinding, forcing Alethea to close her eyes and cover her ears, seeking refuge in Nakir’s protective embrace. His frame surrounded her like an impenetrable shield, protecting her from the shockwaves of Emi’s incredible power. Alethea marveled at the sheer impossibility of it all, her mind struggling to comprehend the raw force Emi wielded.

Alethea was certain her friend would burn out, and she was far more afraid for the mage than she was for the assassins as Emi’s entire frame lit up with her explosive power.

Finally, there was silence—though perhaps it was because Alethea had momentarily lost her ability to hear. She blinked, trying to regain her senses, her ears ringing painfully.

Emi stood before them, breathing heavily, her hands still crackling with remnants of the potent lightning she’d unleashed seconds before.

Nakir was the first one up, panting as he peered over at Emi,seeming ready to catch her in case she needed to collapse even as he swayed on his own feet. But Emi hadn’t even broken a sweat. Alethea counted the bodies around them with a slack jaw, her eyes widening in disbelief. How had Emi managed to obliterate their assailants so effortlessly, leaving nothing but lifeless husks in her wake?

Twenty-five. Twenty-five assassins cloaked in black, daggers and blades at the ready. They lay motionless in the melted snow, their life force drained from their eyes, crimson trails marking their demise.

The sight was horrifying. Who else could wield such immense power except the gods themselves?

Nakir clutched a near catatonic Emi by her shoulders, his grip gentle yet firm as he forced his friend to look at him even as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Hey. Emilia.Hey.You’re here. Right now. With me.” He paused, searching her eyes for any glimmer of recognition. “You did it. Now we need to go. Do you hear me? Emi,we need to go.”