I can't believe this is happening, Sitara lamented as she hurried toward the sanctuary of her own room. The world has gone mad.

She walked fast, ignoring the people she passed, not caring that many of them turned to stare after her. She was unable to hide the tears streaming openly down her face.

She had to get back to her room, had to be alone. It seemed like an eternity before she reached the Emperor's Palace and the keisara's tower. With a sigh of relief, she made her way toward her own small room.

Just in front of her, the door to the keisara's study opened and Keisara Fideima stepped into the hall.

There was nowhere to hide.

"Sitara," her mistress exclaimed in surprise when she caught sight of Sitara’s tear-streaked face. "Whatever is the matter?" She placed a comforting hand on Sitara's shoulder.

"Oh, Your Majesty," she sobbed. It was useless to try to pretend nothing was wrong, and the touch of a hand extended in friendship broke down her restraint. Tears started flowing anew. For a moment she could do nothing but sob into the taller woman’s shoulder.

"What's the matter?" the Keisara repeated in a deeply concerned tone.

Sitara wiped her eyes and caught her breath. She could not deny how good it felt to release some of her pent-up emotions, but the fact that it was the keisara's shoulder twisted her gut. She wished she were alone so she could be sick.

"I’m sorry for this terrible display of emotion," she apologized.

"Nonsense," her mistress said softly. "Tell me what is the matter."

"It is a private matter. I should not bother you with it."

"Sitara," the Keisara's voice held a threat of reprimand. "I wish to know what causes you to weep."

"I received word today that my grandmother is very ill," Sitara lied. "She may be on her deathbed."

"I thought you told me you had no family to speak of."

Oops.

Of course she had. The lie had seemed so appropriate at the time. Claiming to have no family was the best way to avoid any future questions regarding them.

If only she had remembered. She should have said she was weeping in sympathy for all the keisara herself was going through.

"I don't," Sitara said, wiping her nose on her handkerchief.

"Sitara, you’re not making sense," Keisara Fideima said sternly, assuming that regal look she adopted when displeased.

"How can you have a family and yet not have a family?"

A woman stepped into the hallway behind the keisara. The blonde, blue-eyed woman could have easily been mistaken for one of her majesty’s relatives. She stood a little taller than Sitara, with a full figure and clear complexion unmarred by lines or blemishes.

The Keisara turned to the newcomer and frowned. "Sentinel Omolara, you may be here at the command of my husband, but I must insist that you stop skulking around behind me."

Omolara made a graceful curtsy and retreated a step. "I am very sorry, Your Majesty. I did not intend any harm. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and I find myself intrigued."

The Keisara turned back to Sitara. "Sentinel Omolara has been assigned as additional protection until my attacker is found."

Sitara had not imaged things could get worse.

"A pleasure to meet you," Omolara said with a warm smile. "I am also assisting with the investigation, so I'll want to speak with you privately as soon as time permits."

"First," Keisara Fideima said, "you will explain yourself, Sitara."

Sitara nodded as panic-driven thoughts rang through her mind like a death knell. She used the excuse of wiping tears from her face to buy another second to think. "I must ask your forgiveness, Your Majesty," she said humbly. "I fear I misled you when I first entered your service."

"What do you mean?" The Keisara's expression settled into an unreadable mask.

"You see," Sitara kept an eye on Omolara while appearing to give her full attention to the keisara, "my family disowned me when I left home, so I find them a painful topic to discuss. That’s why I said I had no family to speak of. I meant it exactly as I said it. I do not speak of them. I did not mean that I did not actually have a family."

Keisara Fideima regarded her for a moment, but it was the sight of Omolara's face tightening in concentration that set Sitara's heart skipping a fearful beat. She knew that look. Omolara was preparing to use magic.

She couldn’t fight the sentinel. Instead, she focused on a mental image of her grandmother lying sick in bed.

There. She felt the tickle of Omolara's mind touching her own. It was a feather-soft touch, but she recognized it. She wasn’t sure how much the sentinel could sense with such a light probing, but she forced herself to focus only on the thought of her sick grandmother.

"That’s a very convoluted explanation," the Keisara said finally. "I am displeased with you."

Sitara bowed her head and said nothing.

"You have always served me faithfully," Fideima added, "so I find it uncharacteristic of you to do something to warrant your family disowning you. What was your crime?"

"I . . . my parents believed very strongly that a young woman should be a maid when she is married, and I. . .well, I. . ."

Again she felt the touch of Omolara's mind, and she cast about for an image of a young man to create as the partner in her alleged crime.

Remiel.

His image in her mind was so surprising, she nearly cried out, but it was too late to change it. Omolara might have already caught a glimpse of him. She clothed him in the simple garb of a farmer, and forced herself to generate feelings of affection for him.

The pig.

Then she switched to an image of her parents, her father furious and her mother weeping. It was easy to do. Her brothers had provoked such a scene on many occasions.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"I see," Keisara Fideima said.

Sitara looked up to see an expression of pain flit across the Keisara’s face. Her eyes stared off down the hallway, a single tear in one of them.

Sitara hadn’t consciously chosen a deed so similar to what she had been tempting the keisara to commit, but she could not have chosen a better one.

The taller woman stepped away slowly. "I am sorry you were so foolish."

"So am I. I vowed never to tarnish the family's honor again, even though they refuse to know anything more of me. While I bear this shame, I do not speak of them."

She watched her mistress carefully as her words had the intended effect. Fideima seemed to shrink within herself, her own pain clearly evident before she turned away to hide her tears.

"Thank you for clarifying the matter for me."

Sitara curtsied to the Keisara's back. "Yes, Majesty."

"You are relieved of your duties for the afternoon to grieve in private. Omolara will attend me."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"I too am sorry for your grief." Omolara’s eyes shone bright with the reflected light of her gift.

Sitara took her leave, trying not to run.

"Oh, Sitara," the Keisara called after her.

"Majesty?"

"Perhaps this provides an opportunity to repair relations with your family. If you wish to visit your grandmother, I will pay your passage home."

"Thank you," Sitara replied, surprised. "I had not considered that."

"Let me know tomorrow what you decide."

When Sitara reached the safety of her room, she threw herself on her bed as a wave of grief swept over her. It was a long time before she finally rolled onto her back and wiped the tears from her face.

All hope was lost. Bajaran was dead. The cold finality of that thought brought fresh tears to her eyes, but she forced herself to face the reality of it. He was dead. He was never coming for her. They would never rule together. She would never again feel his arms holding her.

That sentinel, Omolara, would be around constantly, searching for clues. How long could Sitara fool her? The initial fear of discovery had just started to dim, replaced by a tiny glimmer of hope that she might remain undiscovered.

That hope was now dashed. Omolara already considered her a liar. One more slip, and surely she would be exposed.

After a time, Sitara roused herself to wash her face. Almost immediately, a soft knock came at the door. It opened and the blond-haired sentinel poked her head in.

Omolara smiled. "I'm glad to see you up and about." She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

Sitara suppressed a flash of irritation at the intrusion. Omolara was a sentinel with the emperor's own commission. She could do whatever she pleased. Sitara, a lowly handmaiden, had no right to object.

The woman seated herself at Sitara's small desk, motioning Sitara to perch on the bed. "I have a few questions I'd like to ask you."

"Of course."

"The keisara has been the victim of a very subtle mind attack."

"It's terrible." Sitara adopted a look of innocent terror. "I'm so glad you're here to protect us."

"This suggests a well-trained assailant possessing a deft touch with magic."

Sitara felt a flash of pride at the compliment. Perhaps her training had progressed farther than she’d thought.

"Assaulting a mind is delicate work," Omolara continued. "It is most effective when one knows the victim or can strike from close proximity."

"So the attacker came here?" Sitara glanced around as if someone might be hiding in the room.

"That is what I need to determine. Has anyone unusual visited these apartments lately?"

"No, not that I can remember."

Sitara regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. What a fool! She had just squandered a perfect opportunity to invent someone for Omolara to chase.

"No one else remembers any strangers either,” Omolara said. “Which is the most puzzling part of the mystery. How did they approach close enough to strike?"

"I don't know," Sitara replied, then frowned thoughtfully. "The only time we've left over the past few days was to visit the audience hall."

"When?" Omolara leaned forward. "When did she go?"

Sitara managed to look surprised and made a show of thinking. "Several days ago, and then again just the other day."

"Is that unusual?"

"Yes. The keisara rarely goes to listen to petitions. They're so boring."

"Don't you see?" Omolara exclaimed. "That's it! That's where the attacker struck."

"Do you really think so?"

"Of course." Omolara sat back, lost in thought. After a moment, she rose. "I'll check with the office of records. They'll have a listing of everyone who attended on both days. Our attacker is probably on those lists. Thank you, Sitara. You've been wonderful."

Omolara gave her a little hug and hurried for the door.

Sitara beamed. Omolara had taken the bait. She must be new to the palace. Sometimes hundreds of people attended a single audience session, and many of them came to every one. The list of possibilities would be enormous. Omolara was going to be very busy chasing down false leads, probably for weeks.

The door reopened and Omolara popped her head back in. "Oh, I almost forgot. I've been ordered to cast a simple Truth spell on everyone who has spent time with the keisara over the past month, to see if anything has been overlooked."

Sitara's smile fell, dragged down by the burning avalanche of recent hope.

Truth.

That single word resounded like an executioner's drumbeat in her heart.

She fought to keep the look of horror from her face, but Omolara must have noticed something. "Don't worry. I'll explain it to you later. It won't hurt, and it'll only take a few minutes."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

Omolara gave a final wave. "I don't have time for it now, and I expect I'll be busy tomorrow, so let's plan on the day after.

"That will be perfect," Sitara said with forced cheer.

The closing of the door was like the sealing of a coffin. Sitara threw herself back on the bed and pounded on the sheets with her fists.

Two days.

In two days, her life would end. She might have fooled Omolara for now, but had no illusions that her secrets could remain hidden against the power of Truth.

Under its power, Truth denied anyone the ability to speak falsehood. Through its influence, conflicting accounts could be resolved, and spells of darkness dispersed.

Black despair washed over her, and Sitara tugged at her hair in terror. She could think of no good option. If she tried to fight, she would die. She might take Omolara by surprise, but she could never conceal the deed. Other sentinels would destroy her.

No, Sitara was alone and surrounded by enemies. She could not escape.

If you wish to visit your grandmother, I will pay your passage home.

She sat up, fear driven back by a spark of hope. This was her chance. She could depart the capital on the next ship headed for Freyarr. She could leave before the impending interview and not look like she was fleeing. Once she landed in Parthalan, she could disappear. They would never find her.

Sitara sank slowly back onto her pillow as the full ramifications of this plan sank in. If she left, she would be admitting defeat and throwing away everything she and Bajaran had worked so hard to accomplish. Instead of leading the revolution, she would be running from her destiny.

Worse, she could never use her gift again. Ever since she had discovered her gift, it had been a glorious light burning inside her soul, warming and strengthening her. Could she turn away from it forever?

She would have to. She could not return to the sentinels and resume her studies as an accepted. After learning of their evil ways, she could never join them. That meant she could never reveal her powers and risk discovery.

She lay pondering the kind of life she could build for herself, and it was not encouraging. She could never approach any of the seats of power for fear of someone recognizing her from her years at the palace. That meant a life of obscurity in some remote village. The more she considered such a future, the less it appealed to her.

What other option did she have?

Only one. Remiel.

She rose, splashed water on her face and looked in the mirror. Her face was a mess, her eyes puffy and red, haunted by fear and grief. She sat on the bed and for the first time seriously considered Remiel's offer.

That made her punch one of her pillows in frustrated anger. Why did he have to make it so difficult?

He was the only other option available. Doing nothing would guarantee discovery within two days, followed by torture and death. Worst of all, the keisara would know of her betrayal. This triggered such a wave of anguish that Sitara clutched her midsection and moaned.

She could not leave. Tempting though it might seem, she could not accept the life of mediocrity that would result from running. She knew that life and could never return to it.

No, her destiny included greater things. Bajaran had opened her eyes to her potential, and although he lay dead, murdered before his lofty goals could be realized, she could not throw away the destiny he had laid out for her.

He was a great man, but only she remained to see his dream realized. She couldn’t turn away from it. She had to reach for it, to grasp for victory. She might die in the attempt, but her soul would die inside her if she didn’t at least try.

That meant dealing with Remiel.

At least he was very handsome. Other women would have accepted the invitation eagerly. Still, she hesitated. Bajaran was her one great love. The thought of giving herself to Remiel made her feel dirty. Could she really make such a sacrifice for the good of all?

She lay awake long into the night, steeling her heart for what she had to do.