Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
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 even because of 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.”
“Yes!” her husband exclaimed with a warm chuckle. “I’m famished.”
Alethea sat across from him, directly between Lady Yara at the head and Nakir to her right. Balthasar took the remaining seat next to Myron. Alethea scanned his face for what he thought about the seating arrangement, but like a good spymaster, he was unreadable.
Without missing a beat, servants filled all their goblets with dark red wine.
“I must thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” Nakir stated, raising his glass to their hosts. “I understand what such a meeting could cost you.” His eyes met Lady Yara’s, a silent acknowledgment of the risk she was taking.
The Great Lord and Lady raised their glasses in kind, the clinking of crystal against crystal echoing in the hushed room. But shared between them was a glance laden with silent communication—a mutual understanding of the dangers and the delicate balance they were all navigating.
“It is treasonous, yes. But... your mother and I were once friends. I owe it to her to hear what you have to say. Let Nysos bless this meeting.”
Everyone drank to that. Alethea took a small sip, the taste of the wine strong and bold on her tongue.
“But first,” Lady Yara said, setting her glass down and turning to Alethea, who wasn’t sure how the Great Lady’s face could turn more serious, but somehow, it did.
“There is something I need to ask you. Your Highness, there are troubling rumors... Rumors you’ve been kidnapped and held against your will.
Yet you arrive clearly well cared for, so I want to hear it directly from you.
Tell me why I should not arrest these men and return you to your mother. ”
The room fell silent, the gravity of the moment hanging between them like a heavy tapestry as they each waited for her response.
Alethea’s face heated at the sudden attention.
She’d expected more conversation and pleasantries from the Great Lady before delving into such topics of discussion, though maybe she should not be so surprised.
Lady Yara was a direct woman and had never been known to beat around the bush.
“My Lady,” she began, her voice steady despite the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
She placed her clasped hands neatly on the table in front of her and studied each of them for a moment.
“I’ve thought of a hundred explanations for what I might say today.
None of them are as simple as the truth. ”
A heavy silence filled the room, anticipation charging the air like a storm before its break.
“I am working with Nakir Hasan and his company of my own free will. It is true they found me in the woods just outside Hyelea. But what they don’t know is that I only found myself lost in those woods because I had fled the castle.”
Myron let out a soft gasp, a meaty hand coming to rest over his heart. Alethea secretly loved how expressive he was. She guessed he loved a good story, and she certainly had one for him.
“When I met Nakir, I expected... I expected a monster. I expected he would do to me as my mother does to her enemies. I expected that after he found me wandering helplessly in the forest outside Hyelea, he would bring me back to his camp and torture me for every last drop of information I could give him. I expected to be ransomed back to my mother for all the coin in her coffers, or worse.”
Nakir’s gaze was intent on her. He was also hearing this for the first time. She didn’t allow her eyes to linger on him for more than a few seconds. She couldn’t bear to see the surprise mixed with something else—something warm and soft. Something her heart couldn’t handle.
“You can imagine my surprise when I was treated with respect. One of his generals tore him apart when we arrived, believing Nakir had stolen me as retribution for the death of the Great Lord Goran Arranil. This wasn’t who they were, she told him.
She even offered to electrify anyone who stepped a toe out of line with me—and I believed her. ”
Even Lady Yara’s stern expression softened, a glimmer of understanding flickering in her eyes.
“I saw the truth in how bravely his soldiers fought for him, how fiercely his friends defended him. How they stood up not just for him, but to him.” Alethea’s voice steadied, the tremor fading as her conviction solidified.
“I began to see a different future for Lenorea.” She offered a small, determined smile, her words a promise woven from her newfound resolve.
“Trust me when I say that I am here because I want to be. Because I believe in him. Because someone needs to put a stop to the Crimson Queen.”
Alethea allowed herself one long, soothing breath, sitting perfectly upright even in the poignant, profound pause that followed. Myron glanced between her and Nakir in growing delight, realization dawning on his face as he bit the inside of his lip.
“I have always known you to be honest,” Lady Yara said, also folding her hands in front of her. “I will trust you when you say that you are safe. I must admit, the fact he has convinced you, of all people, to join his side is quite compelling. Very well. What do you have to say to us, Nakir Hasan?”
Alethea let go a long breath, and as if on cue, servants arrived with their first course of cheese-stuffed mushrooms. Her mouth watered. They’d been living on camp stew for days. Her first bite had her wishing the entire encampment were dining with them.
“To put it simply,” Nakir stated, “Alethea is not the only one changed by our meeting. She has convinced me of the importance of diplomacy. With your support and the backing of your full military might, we aim to force Queen Zenobia’s hand without bloodshed.” He faced Yara, steady and determined.
Myron stroked his beard thoughtfully, considering his words, while his wife remained stone-faced, keen eyes fixed on Nakir.
“But we must be prepared in case she does not wish to surrender peacefully.”
Yara paused in her negotiations to partake in a few bites of her dinner, leaving the tension in the room to tighten.
When she spoke again, it wasn’t of their armed forces.
“There are rumors of a mage by the name of Roman Kentigern causing a stir in the Realm. A disruption to the Empire could destabilize Lenorea. What do you know of it?” Her voice was measured, probing for Nakir’s knowledge.
Nakir’s response was smooth, his words chosen carefully.
“I’m currently unaware of Roman Kentigern’s plans, but the fact Lenorea is an island kingdom does allow us a certain amount of protection.
While an Imperial takeover could disrupt some of the things we take for granted if it goes poorly, our duty is to our people above all else.
Meseira produces enough food to sustain all of Lenorea, thanks to your Dawn Mother-blessed fields.
We can withstand any disruption as long as those in power aren’t keeping everything for themselves. ”
A tactful answer—one the Great Lady didn’t seem displeased with.
Yet he pressed on with more evidence. “We’ve come to learn the queen is hoarding grain and other supplies in the palace stores.
This past Hunter’s Moon, we aided a small group of Hyeleans in their efforts to determine how much she was keeping for her court and her advisors.
We discovered she had enough grain and other shelf-stable resources in her stores to last years, while many of her people starve.
” His words served as a damning indictment of Queen Zenobia’s rule.
“Horrible,” Myron sighed, shaking his head in disgust.