C.E. Murphy - Truthseeker

Hairs rose, prickling Lara’s arms and neck. She tilted her head, searching his words for the untruth. “Do your people only become truthseekers when they’re adults?”

Skin tightened over the bones of his face, making him ghoulish. “We do not reckon childhood the way your people do.”

“You’re not answering me. I’ve been able to do this my whole life. When does the power show up in your people?”

The king’s lip curled. “In childhood.”

“Hah!” Lara rocked back on her heels, pleased with herself. The motion brought a sensation of warmth, Dafydd closer to her than he’d been. Siding with her, she thought; protecting her. It took an unusually long moment to tamp her smugness over catching the Seelie king in his exaggeration. In her own world she wouldn’t stand her ground against a man like him, but in this one, he was expected to—did—inherently understand her gifts. “There’s not much point in being theatrical. If you’re familiar with truthseekers at all, you should already know dramatizing just sets my teeth on edge.”

“But the truthseeking talent does not mature for centuries.” The king sounded petulant, like a child unaccustomed to being thwarted.

“Maybe among the Seelie,” Lara said. “But I’m human.” It took everything she had to not glance back at Dafydd, seeking reassurance for that statement. His hand touched the small of her back, warm and comforting, as if he understood her hesitation. Bolstered, Lara went on. “I don’t have centuries to mature. My talent would have to grow up faster, too. I can stand here all night picking apart your half-truths, but I’m here for a reason. Dafydd thinks I can help you find a murderer. I’m willing to do that.”

She lifted her chin, eyes narrowed as she studied the king, and the certainty of knowing when to make a challenge came over her. “I mean, unless you don’t want to find the killer.”

Ice built in the king’s eyes, turning them from pale blue to clear. Lara felt color rise in her face and wondered abjectly if the Seelie blushed, or if she looked all the more human and alien for the sudden color in her skin. But she refused to look down; refused even to blink, meeting the monarch’s fury with her own forthright challenge. She was an invited, if not entirely wanted, guest. She wouldn’t lose face and risk her tenuous status, not when she had only one certain ally in a very strange place.

Dafydd might have warned her, though. The dour thought sent a trace of humor through her and her blush faded as she glowered back at the Seelie king.

Whose gaze faltered, just briefly, lids shuttering his eyes. A trace of tension left Lara’s shoulders, surprising her; she hadn’t known she had the ability to stare a man down, much less recognize when he so subtly capitulated.

“What I wish,” the king snarled, “is to have an end to battle. We do not ride to greet my wayward son, but to make haste back to our citadel ahead of the black armies that dog us. Tell me, Truthseeker. Can you see an end to our battle? Can you tell me who is victorious?”

Lara’s spine straightened, drawing her taller than she normally stood. “All I know is if someone’s telling the truth. I’m not a prophet.”

The king sneered. “There were once truthseekers of such power they could speak a thing and it would by force of their will become true.”

Dafydd, at her side, stepped forward as if to defend her, but Lara lifted her fingers to stay him, studying the king cooly. “Really. And what happened if both sides of a war had a truthseeker predicting they’d win?” She turned away, feigning disinterest, though nerves clutched her stomach.

Dafydd caught her eye, and laughter blossomed within her, burning away the fear created by her boldness. She saw herself suddenly from his eyes, saw them both from his perspective, and from the king’s as well.

She was merely mortal, and had the audacity to turn her back on an elfin king. The man who’d brought her there was half naked, wounded, and had been caught dallying with her very mortal self. It took very little imagination to name them both a disgrace, and yet in the face of good sense, in the face of soothing his father, Dafydd ap Caerwyn grinned at her. It was a broad, open expression, full of approval, and she tried not to laugh as she wondered how often anyone put the king in his place, never mind a human woman chastising an immortal monarch.

Shock seized that monarch, leaving a silence into which Lara said, “You didn’t say anything about a war when you asked me to come here. Do you think that’s why we were attacked?” with accusation carefully tamped out.

Almost, at least: there were notes of anger and fear well buried in her words, but airing them would show a weakness that she didn’t want the king to see. Guilt twisted Dafydd’s expression, washing away his glee, and he shook his head, honest admission of fallibility. “I didn’t know it had come to this. If I’d known—”

He broke off, visibly aware of his phrasing and of Lara’s interest sharpening on him. “I still would have asked you to come,” he finally said. “But I would have warned you. I didn’t mean to bring you into a hornet’s nest.”

Lara pursed her lips, studying him, then nodded. “Good choice,” she said quietly. “Platitudes and reassurance wouldn’t have been as good an answer, even if you meant them well.” She turned back to the king, well aware she’d dismissed him once already and that he would be unhappy with her.

Fair enough; she wasn’t especially happy with him. “You don’t look like you’ve been fighting, and this doesn’t look like an entire army. Are you really at war already, or are you just a vanguard?” Just , she realized an instant too late, was a poor choice of words: a king would not appreciate being just anything.

“My host and I have ridden to see our enemies’ numbers,” Dafydd’s father said tightly. “They’re far greater than our own, and the magics I have left behind will only stymie them for so long. Until dawn, if we’re fortunate. The battle will happen then. You spoke of an attack.” His attention went from Lara to Dafydd, as though she was unworthy of answering.

“Nightwings,” Dafydd said. “At least a dozen of them. When was the last time they plagued us, Father? Not since Rhiannon died, I think.”

The king went still, as though his iciness had taken over even himself. “They have come forth a time or two since then, but never in force. They’re mindless creatures and must be controlled by someone of strong will.”

“You mean royalty,” Dafydd said softly, and his father’s lip curled.

“The Unseelie court is a blight on this land. Come dawn, we will wipe them from it.”

“Dawn,” Lara repeated. “How many hours away is that?” She heard Dafydd’s indrawn breath, and wondered at it before realizing she had repeatedly spoken to the king as an equal. That was almost certainly not to be done, and he gave her a cold look before deigning to respond.

“Some ten or eleven. Moonrise is not so far behind us yet.”

“Then by your majesty’s leave,” Lara said, and for a rarity was able to revel in sarcasm and sincerity as one, “I’d like to go to your headquarters and see if I can’t get to the heart of this mess before an army shows up on your doorstep.”

Any sensible choice, Lara thought, would have put her on horseback with one of the armored guard who rode with the king, and Dafydd on another. One unarmored person riding with an armored one had to be more comfortable than two armored people riding together.

Still, one of the guard had chosen to ride with another, leaving her horse free for Dafydd and Lara to share. Lara was mostly grateful: her sole experience with horses was a childhood memory of one stepping on her foot. It hadn’t hurt much. The ground had been soft and its broad hoof had simply pushed her sandaled toes into the earth, but it had left a lasting impression of the animals’ size and strength. She had been wary of them ever since, much to the disapproval of her horse-crazed classmates in elementary school.