Chapter 15 #3
Beside the crackling fire, a small bookshelf stood proud, its shelves lined with various tomes. The scent of old parchment mingled with the fragrance of burning wood, creating a comforting aroma. Alethea’s bags had been brought up and set neatly beside the entryway.
Nakir closed and locked the door behind him. She was aware of the guards stationed just down the hallway, but she felt safer knowing it was just the two of them present. He lingered in the entryway while she studied her new surroundings.
He spoke first, nearly startling her when he asked, “Did you mean what you told them?”
She shot him a pointed look across the room. “You know I can’t lie.”
He stalked closer, his footsteps measured, deliberate, resonating in the quiet room. His gaze—that familiar burning intensity she’d grown accustomed to—remained fixed upon her, demanding every ounce of her attention.
“I want to hear you say it.”
Her heart caught in her throat. She wanted to give him anything he desired.
Alethea felt her cheeks flush, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic whirlwind of emotions. “Yes,” she breathed. “I meant every word.”
Nakir stepped even closer, now only a foot or two away from her. “It’s difficult for me to imagine sleeping alone too.”
Nakir crossed the final distance between them, everything about him graceful yet purposeful.
He gently took her hand in his. His fingers were warm against her skin, firm yet tender.
With a gentle, deliberate motion, he raised her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her fingers.
The gesture sent a fluttering sensation throughout her body.
Her gaze unwillingly fell to his lips, trying to recall the memory of them against hers.
Nakir took a step back, his eyes still holding an intensity that sent her heart into a frenzied rhythm. The heat of the moment slowly dissipated, leaving her feeling empty and chilled.
“You should get some rest. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
Her stomach sank again, and she swallowed thickly, turning to the bed.
Alethea tried to get a handle on her disappointment as she slipped out of her gown, leaving her in nothing but her thin, pale pink slip.
She chided herself for her sudden awareness of her own body and how much skin was exposed to him—he’d already seen parts of her that would make any maiden blush.
Alethea slipped under the luxurious covers, drawing them up to her chin and settling in.
Nakir took up residence in a dark blue velvet armchair, where he sat with his elbows on each arm and his fingers interlaced over his mouth. He appeared relaxed, but she could see the darkness brewing behind those molten amber eyes.
“Nakir?” Her voice wavered slightly.
“Yes, Thea?”
“Are we... safe here?”
“Are you asking if I think the Imanrases will betray us, or if I think your mother is sending her army this way now?” he inquired calmly.
Alethea’s ears flushed red at the foolishness of her own question. “Either?”
“Balthasar is keeping a pulse on the Great Lord and Lady. It’s very difficult to deceive an Empath without first deceiving yourself. If he detects any sign they might wish to betray us, we will deal with that accordingly.”
It was as if they were discussing the weather. There wasn’t a hint of concern in his voice as he continued.
“If they had not agreed to help us and sent us on our way, and if your mother had sent her forces to meet us in this valley, it would likely be a very bloody battle.”
Alethea opened her lips, sitting up to try to force a prediction about what would happen, but she was silenced by a single look from him.
“Don’t. There’s no need. Her spy network is as expansive as Balthasar’s.
It’s likely she already knows we have the Imanrases’ alliance.
To meet us on the battlefield now would not go well for her, which is why she is likely sending for reinforcements from the Empress.
” He offered a small smile. “We will be discussing more of this tomorrow, when we regroup with the others. For now... know that as long as I draw breath, you are safe.”
Alethea slipped back underneath the covers as his words clung to her. “As long as I draw breath.”
His voice cut through the darkness once more. “I never properly thanked you for what you did that night Gregor’s mercenary army attacked.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You somehow granted me the gift of foresight,” Nakir reminded her.
The memory appeared of his blades glowing in the dark as he parried each attack perfectly, stepping out of the way at exactly the right moment.
He leaned forward in his chair, fingers interlaced over his chin. “How did you do that?”
“I... I don’t really know. It just happened,” she admitted. It was close enough to the truth to at least make it past her curse. “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything like that before.”
“That one night, when you first came to us, you were having nightmares. As soon as I touched you, I saw things—things I’d never seen before. I saw...”
“Goran’s death,” she finished for him, guilt quickly threatening to send her spiraling into shame.
“Yes. But then, during the attack, it wasn’t like that. I only saw the opportunities. Well, it would be more accurate to say I felt them.”
Alethea drew the covers tightly around herself, wishing she could shove the memories away.
“What did you see?” he asked, quieter still.
She turned to him, almost pleading with him not to ask her—but instead of deterring him, it seemed only to concern him more.
“Thea... tell me.”
There had been many times she wished she could lie, and this was one of them.
“For every opening you felt, I saw what happened if you failed.” She couldn’t bear to see whatever it was on his face, so she stared at his chest, his arms—anywhere but those darkening eyes.
The weight of his gratitude and the burden of her own abilities pressed down on her shoulders, making it hard to breathe.
The violence was hard enough for her to witness against strangers who meant to take her, but it had been another level of terrifying to see all the ways they could have cut down Nakir—the source of her hope for the future.
“You... watched me die.”
“Yes,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper, the word carrying the heavy weight of truth.
“How many times?” he pressed further, and she could feel his heavy stare even as she avoided it desperately.
“I don’t know.” Her throat tightened, her words caught in the suffocating grip of the memories. “Many.”
Nakir finally rose from his armchair, coming to kneel beside her. He took her hand and held it in both of his as if she were something precious. “The gifts of an Oracle are incredible and awe-inspiring, but they can have terrible consequences. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I need you to live,” she confessed, adding swiftly, “for our plan to work.” But it wasn’t the whole truth.
She needed him to live because she cared about him.
He had shown her kindness when it had not benefited him; when it would have been better for him if he hadn’t.
He could have easily used her powers to help overthrow her mother.
She may not have even hated him much for it.
But instead, he’d pushed her to protect herself; to only use them when necessary or when the Weave sent her a vision.
Nakir traced small circles against her hand with his thumb.
“It has never been easy for me to accept help, but I want you to know that I am grateful for everything you’ve given.
I can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like to be in your place.
My family’s throne was taken, and I dedicated the rest of my life to restoring their legacy, yet here you are, aiding in a rebellion that would take your own birthright. ”
Alethea shook her head and let go a long, heavy sigh. “Maybe a throne shouldn’t be a birthright. Maybe it should go to the one who is most fit to rule.”
Nakir captured her gaze. “What makes you think you aren’t fit to rule?”
Everything, her heart said. The burden of her mother’s legacy, the doubts that had always plagued her—they all echoed in her silence.
“What makes you think you are?” She hadn’t meant it to be callous or cruel. She half-hated herself for asking it aloud. But if Nakir was ruffled, he didn’t show it. He only regarded her quietly, his thumb running slow circles against the back of her wrist.
“Would you like to know a secret?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.
She watched his long, dark eyelashes flutter as he glanced at her fingers before meeting her gaze again.
“I don’t. Not all the time, at least. This monumental task of taking back the throne and restoring the Hasan legacy was something I vowed when I was practically a child.
People whose convictions were stronger than my own pushed me to seize this destiny.
So I surrounded myself with people who see the deserving in me, who push me to be a better man, who hold me accountable for my mistakes and my ill-conceived notions.
If Emi wasn’t willing to threaten my life for kidnapping a princess, if Dawes couldn’t tell me when we’d be wildly outnumbered and outmatched, if Balthasar...
if he’d told me a choice I would make would cost me my honor, I would know I was in the wrong.
My secret is, I’ve never been deserving of it, not for a single day...
except for maybe once.” His eyes held a distant glimmer, lost in a memory he didn’t offer up.
She bit the inside of her lip. “When was that?”
His smile softened—a bittersweet expression. “It’s late. Get some rest. I’ll be right here,” he said gently, his thumb brushing her hand as he released his hold.
“Until I fall asleep?” she asked, her words barely audible in the quiet room.
“Yes.”
He settled back into the armchair, silhouetted by the flickering firelight. The room embraced her in its warm silence, and sleep found her moments later.