Page 140 of A War of Crowns

For now.

He still had one more blade in his left boot and then another spare strapped about his wrist, just in case.

Silence reigned for a few moments more. The queen waited, perhaps to see if any further blades would make an appearance. When they did not, she spoke again to declare, “While I am grateful for your dispatching of the assassin who made an attempt onmy life last night, Your Highness, your…auspiciouspresence in my room does leave some questions which need answering.”

Aldric had expected as much. He had spent the better part of the early morning concocting a fairly plausible story explaining his how and why. It might not stand up to a thorough scrutiny, but…

“And I am requiring you to be Truth-Read while you answer these questions,” hiskireisolemnly concluded, stopping his heart with the words.

“What?” Calix gasped.

Rakon called out in his booming voice a complaint of, “Truth-Reading is for murderers and thieves, Your Majesty.”

“Then there should be little protest over theCrow of Drakmorbeing subjected to it,” the queen’s godmother countered.

Fear was something Aldric had left behind many years ago.

Fear was now a foreign concept to him. What did he have to fear? Ridicule? It was a familiar companion. Death? Death would be a relief most days.

But the thought of being Truth-Read saw, for the first time in a long time, a small trace of that foreign feeling weaving its icy tendrils into Aldric’s heart.

It wasn’t the pain that concerned him. He had known a great deal of pain in his life. Nor was it the thought his lies about what truly happened last night would be so easily laid bare before the queen and her councilors.

It was the knowledge that every secret he held dear—many secrets of which so few knew—could so easily beexposed that saw his pulse quickening.Anythingcould be revealed during a Truth-Reading, if one only asked the right question.

In his silence, the queen continued. “I recognize the severity of this demand. But know this—I, too, have subjected myself to a Truth-Reading but a short time ago.”

Aldric sucked in a sharp breath and narrowed his one eye in a renewed bout of scrutiny for the woman sitting there upon the throne, looking wan and weak. In Drakmor, it was unheard of for a monarch to be Truth-Read.

His kirei but met his gaze unflinchingly when she added on a quieter note, “I am not asking you to do something I myself have not already endured.”

It was the seriousness of her people’s expressions that confirmed the queen’s claim for him. All four of them looked entirely too solemn and shaken for her to be bluffing now.

And that was what ultimately decided the matter for him. IfSeraphina de la Croixcould survive a Truth-Reading, then surely so could he.

“Very well,” Aldric agreed. His attention snapped to the elderly Shepherd standing behind the throne. “Truth-Read me.”

A palpable uncertainty rippled all around as twelve sets of eyes turned to face him all at once. Calix’s frown was particularly deep when he hissed, “Are you certain this is a good idea, Your Highness?”

But it was too late. The queen’s holy man already hobbled toward him.

“Perhaps you should sit down, Your Highness,” the Father suggested when he drew close—close enough that Aldric could better appreciate the paper-white cast of the Shepherd’s skin and the dark circles stamped beneath his eyes.

With a wry twist of his lips, Aldric suggested in kind, “Perhaps you should as well.”

Two stools were procured for the occasion, both settled just in front of the dais. Aldric didn’t hesitate before settling himself on the nearest one and holding out his hand for the Shepherd to accept.

Never had he, the Crow of Drakmor, ever been Truth-Read. Rakon was right. Such an interrogation technique was reserved for only the most dangerous of criminals.

But he had seen enough Truth-Readings performed to know just how badly this was going to hurt. He had seen more than one Truth-Reading end in the one being interrogated dropping dead right then and there.

But for this particular Truth-Reading, there was none of the usual ceremony. No fanfare. No warning. The Shepherd of Goldreach simply sat across from him, drew in a deep breath, and seized his hand.

The moment their fingers connected, an almost unbearable heat sizzled its way through Aldric’s fingers and seared his soul. The brilliance of its light blinded him. No darkness could exist beneath that scorching blaze.

It peeled away every barrier he had ever built within himself in one merciless sweep, leaving him raw and exposed before the Lord on High’s judgment.

Aldric bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He tasted blood as he swallowed the scream clawing at his throat.

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