Chapter 4 #4
Alethea took a deep breath and settled back in the bed, but his troubled look concerned her. “What is it?” she asked quietly.
“It’s hard to say... Were you dreaming of your mother just now?”
Unease sank like a pit in her stomach, and she felt a chill run down her spine. “Why?” she asked, sharp and defensive as she avoided his question.
Nakir tilted his head in thought, seemingly unbothered by her tone. “When I tried to wake you, as soon as I touched you, my vision... it faded, and I saw it. There were... flames burning all around. I could feel them—”
“How could you have seen that?” Alethea tried not to panic, but she’d never had anyone see her visions alongside her before, and she often provoked visions about others by touching them.
The fear she could unwillingly transfer her visions to others—especially the horrifying ones—was an icy claw around her heart.
“I don’t know. I saw your mother. She said...” He couldn’t bring himself to finish.
“She said it was my fault. Goran Arranil, my father—all of them.” Alethea shifted away, pulling her knees to her chest.
Nakir knit his brows. “How was it your fault? Goran was executed for treason,” he pointed out.
Alethea braced herself. This was the moment he would learn what role she’d played in the Great Lord’s demise. This was the moment he would realize the truth: they were enemies. She closed her eyes as if that might shield her from the pain.
“She had me use my powers to determine if he’d committed treason,” she admitted. “She had me bare each of his secrets—your secrets—until...”
“Until what, Alethea?” His tone turned dark, and fear welled in her chest, as she believed his anger was directed at her. Who else would it be pointed at? He had all the evidence he needed to understand the truth.
She would never forget Goran Arranil’s look of pity and disgust.
Her mother was right. She was helpless.
“Until she got what she wanted. Until I couldn’t anymore.”
She dared to open her eyes and was immediately confronted with Nakir’s rage.
“How often does this happen?” His fists balled so tightly his knuckles whitened. Terror filled Alethea at the way his eyes had darkened. Was she finally going to meet the monster?
“Anytime she needs,” she admitted in a whisper.
A long, tense silence stretched between them, the only sound her thundering heart.
When he spoke again, it was low and grating, anger seeping into every word. “When I met you that night, you were still exhausted from pulling too much from your magic, weren’t you?”
The accusation stung, but she nodded, her gaze dropping to her lap.
He released his grip on the covers and stood, rage rolling off his shoulders like a dark energy. “Nearly burning out from playing inquisitor’s assistant to the Crimson Queen.”
He didn’t bother to hide his disgust, and she tucked her chin tighter against her knees. She could feel him staring down at her, the sharp line of his jaw hardening.
“Don’t worry. I understand it more than you know.” Without warning, he broke away from her and made as if to exit the tent, stopping just shy of the flaps. When he glared back at her, he was still seething. “This is why I will never stop fighting. I don’t care what it costs me.”
He left her there, alone with her spiraling thoughts.
Alethea sat there in the darkness listening to the faint sounds of the encampment around her as tears fell from her eyes.
The world outside her tent seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the dawn to break and the world to awaken.
With a heavy heart, she drew the covers up to her chin, cocooning herself in their comforting warmth.
In the solitude of the early morning, she allowed herself to drift into a different realm—a realm of hopeful possibility. She let herself dream of a future where Nakir Hasan won his battle against her mother. In this fantasy world, she would be free, her destiny forever changed.
Could he win? Could he really defeat her mother? And if she helped him... surely he would reward her. Perhaps with her help, Nakir Hasan had a shot at victory. Maybe he was desperate enough to work with her—someone who should be his enemy, but whose powers could be the tipping point in a war.
Her mother had always made it clear that without her, the Onasis line was over. That if her powers fell into the hands of their enemies, they would be finished.
If she could find a way to survive the oncoming war, she could leave Lenorea and go anywhere she wanted, free from her mother’s grasp. Free from being forced to use her gifts to line the pockets of the already exceptionally wealthy. Free from the responsibility of ever being queen.
Nakir didn’t scare her. There was little he could do to her that her mother hadn’t done already.
If he won the throne back... it could free her, and not just in some far-off fantasy.
Alethea lay awake for hours in the fading darkness, braiding and unbraiding her hair, all the while crafting a dangerous plan that was just as likely to get her killed as it was to save her. But it was far better than remaining a princess in a gilded cage.