Page 102 of Realm of Thieves

“Andor,” Torsten’s stern voice says from down the hall.

I look to see him by Steiner’s lab, beckoning for him to come over.

Andor sighs and straightens his shoulders before giving my hand another squeeze and walking off. He wasn’t planning on being in the room with me and Vidar anyway—Sae Belak is adamant about it only being open to earnest believers—but even so I hate to see him go.

I catch Torsten’s eye for a moment and he gives me the slightest nod. It’s a lot more recognition than I’ve gotten over the last few weeks and I’ll take it, only because his complete avoidance of me has been awkward to navigate. Like I’m a ghost in the room. Andor had told me that his father was somewhat impressed that I was going to see the Truthmaster, since it’s something that only he and Vidar do and the rest of the family abstains. I thought maybe he would think I wasn’t good enough for it, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Perhaps yet another reason that Andor suggested I do this: to build up goodwill with his father.

Not that I care. I abhor his father, and his uncle even more so. But I can’t live in a castle where the man in charge wants me dead and gone, especially when that man is my lover’s father. I hate having to look over my shoulder every time I walk down the halls. It makes me feel so small when he addresses everyone at the dinner table except for me, and even though I have Andor’s protection (as well as Lemi’s, and my own skills), I know it weighs on Andor to have such strain between his father and me, even if it’s all his father’s doing.

So I nod back at his father. He holds my eye for a moment and there is no kindness in his stare. But it’s enough for now.

A soft gong sounds from inside the room and I turn to face it just as the door opens, gray smoke wafting out. Sae Belak emerges as if he had been standing in front of us this whole time.

“I am so glad you finally accepted your truth,” the Truthmaster says, pressing his fingertips together, not like prayer, however, since his long, skinny fingers remain bent. His eyes made of gold spheres stare right into me and I can feel myself being observed from the inside out. Can’t say it’s a good feeling. “Sometimes death makes us realize what we’ve always known. Come in.”

He steps aside and gestures for us to come into the room, his long gray robe flowing from his arm like a sheet of water.

Vidar motions for me to go in first, gentlemanly in his manners, but I give him a subtle shake of my head. I don’t care if he knows I’m scared now. He’s going in first.

He gives me a reassuring look, which with him just means less of a frown, and steps into the smoke-filled room. I hesitate for a moment, comforted by the safety of the hallway, which is something I never thought I’d feel, before I square my shoulders and step inside.

“No need to hold your breath,” Sae Belak says as he closes the door behind me. The smoke in here is thick; I can barely see Vidar’s statuesque form, his dark clothes a moving shadow on the other side of the room near red velvet tapestries. “The smoke is what will help you. Breathe it in.”

My jaw is set, my body fighting against the idea of inhaling smoke, until my lungs feel gripped with panic and I can’t take it anymore.

I inhale, greedily, surprised to find the smoke to be cooling and fragrant, like I’m drinking water scented with various herbs and flowers.

“That’s it,” Sae Balek says as he walks across the room, his wavy red hair almost blending in with the tapestry. “Come, take a seat.”

I watch as he sits down on one of three gold-tasseled cushions circled around a firepit, the source of the smoke. Except it’s not quite a pit per se, but rather a large, wide dish made of gold, with a hunk of something waxy and brown in the middle where flames dance and flicker.

Two of the cushions are across from the Truthmaster, and Vidar takes a seat crosslegged on one of them, motioning with his chin for me to do the same.

I’m wearing a dress so I bundle it to the side, sitting on the pillow with my legs tucked under me. I’m a sorry attempt for a lady, but being here at Stormglen has instilled in me that I should at least try. “What is that?” I ask, staring at the burning brown stuff. “Incense?”

“A special resin that’s collected from some of the trees in the area,” Vidar says. “Steiner takes it and formulates it so it can burn for hours. It’s a drug.”

“And I’m just inhaling this drug?” I ask, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the dim, smoky room.

“It does no harm but open your eyes,” Sae Balek says. “It also takes a little while to work. Please relax, Lady Aihr. I can hear your heartbeat from here.”

The fact that he can hear my galloping heart makes it worse, but I will myself to calm down. The last thing I want is to run out of the room because I can’t handle a little mind-altering substance, though I suppose that would be very valid.

“Lady Aihr, please tell the goddesses why you are here,” Sae Belak says, and he must see the consternation on my face because he quickly adds, “and if you have no such beliefs, then tell me and I will relay the message.”

I take in a deep breath. The cool smoke fills my lungs and as it does so, it seems to clear my head, as if it’s blowing away the cobwebs.It strips away the lies, uncovers all I want to keep buried. I feel it pushing out the truth.

“I am…grieving,” I say simply, though it isn’t simple enough. I want to elaborate, but I can’t. My chin starts to tremble, words becoming thick and choked in my throat.

“That much is visible for the whole world to see,” Sae Balek says. “I am sorry about the passing of your aunt. I will not ply you with platitudes about her spirit and better worlds, because I know you are not here for that. You are only here to learn, as Vidar has, to move past your grief.”

“But I don’t want to move past it,” I say, almost snarling, the anger inside me quick and vicious.

“You have the fear of forgetting,” the Truthmaster says. “You are afraid that if you don’t grieve, you will forget your aunt, your father, your mother.”

I suppose there’s no point in asking how he knew about them. “Grief is love,” I tell him. “I don’t want to not feel it, as painful as it is. My grief keeps them alive.”

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