Page 40 of The Throne Seeker (Vallorian #1)

A surge of heat and humidity hit Rose like a brick wall—so intense she wanted to rip her shawl right off first thing.

The hut was pitch black, save for the well-stoked fire at its heart—the source of the beating heat.

She paused in her steps, allowing her eyes to adjust. The aroma of burning sage wafted through the air, providing a touch of relaxation to her nerves.

Other than the crackling of the fire, silence filled the air.

The high council sat on benches bordering the rounded hut, all watching her and Tristan with blank expressions, except Lord Barron, who offered a fleeting smile in acknowledgment.

The others, including Tristan’s family, her mother, and Zareb, filled the vacant chairs to their left.

Rose locked eyes with Harriet, but the usual warmth in Harriet’s gaze was gone.

She almost overlooked the stranger sitting on a pillow beside the crackling fire.

Rune markings covered her forehead and body.

Rose’s eyes widened in recognition—a seer.

The woman was old and frail, with soft, leathery pale skin, wispy white hair, and piercing iceberg-blue eyes that seemed to peer right into her soul.

The seer paid her no mind as she entered, remaining cross-legged and focused on the mixture of herbs and oil in the mortar and pestle she was holding—surely preparing the lotus.

Lord Palmish stood to address them. “Welcome to your second challenge. Today, we will evaluate your ability to rule Cathan. Seers can uncover what is hidden from others, understand troubled thoughts, and even foresee potential futures. We will base our judgment on her insights and your responses. Through this, we will determine your readiness to lead Cathan.”

A deep dread rooted itself inside Rose. This was the first time anyone had mentioned that a seer would perform the evaluation. How in Vallor was she supposed to deceive a seer ? Zareb hadn’t prepared her for this.

She glanced at her mother, who looked worried enough for the both of them, fanning herself quickly as she whispered furiously to Zareb. When Zareb caught her gaze, he gave her an encouraging nod as if to say she would be fine.

“Before we begin, you’ll need to remove your clothes and sit by the fire across from the seer,” Lord Palmish said as he settled back with the council.

Of course. She curled her fingers into fists as she peered down at her pink dress. She wanted nothing more than to refuse, but sweat was already dripping from every pore. If she kept this dress on and sat next to the fire, she’d faint—so much for keeping her training a secret.

Tristan removed his clothes, exposing his bare skin to the firelight. His muscular body moved effortlessly through the shadows. She’d already been uncomfortable from the heat, but seeing Tristan so vulnerable made beads of sweat form at her temples.

Accepting her fate, she removed her dress, slipping out of it until she only wore her thin slip, and gave the pink dress to her mother to hold. She felt exposed, out of place, but above all humiliated. All she wanted to do was crawl into a hole and never come back out.

Rose didn’t have to look to see the council’s shock. She wrapped her arms around her waist, trying to cover herself, not daring to look at anyone but Tristan. His eyes explored her, glued like a moth to a flame, worshiping her from head to toe. Another bead of sweat dripped down her temple.

Tristan held his hand out to her. She took it, finding courage in their interlocked hands.

The seer grasped a bowl filled with a substance resembling brown paint.

She approached Tristan first, examining him for a long moment before immersing her fingers in the blend and drawing a mark on his chest. “This rune,” the seer began, her voice as light and airy as the wind, sounding much younger than she looked, “is the emblem that emanates energy to combat unnecessary doubt and insecurity, freeing one from vanity and ambition. It facilitates easy connections with others and helps in achieving one’s goals.

It represents a person who bestows blessings upon others through inner strength. ”

Next, the seer stood in front of Rose, examining her. Her nervous heartbeats quickened.

After a brief search, the seer plunged her fingers into the herb blend, bringing it to her chest, the sticky, cool liquid contrasting against her warm collarbone.

She caught a whiff of the mixture, a sweet aroma that smelled like Tulsi.

“This is a bindrune,” the seer said. “Do you know what that is, child?”

Rose nodded, visualizing the thick books about runes she’d read in the library, though it felt like ages ago.

A bindrune fused two or more runes, amplifying their meaning and power.

Legends claimed they had held a powerful form of magic crafted long ago by ancient kings and queens.

But much of the knowledge had been lost or was destroyed to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.

Although some still believed in their power, she had never witnessed anything magical come from them.

Rose held still as the seer continued to paint. “You carry many symbols within you, some of which you have yet to discover. One of them signifies dawn, an awakening, or a journey you must undertake.”

The seer paused, stepping aside so Rose and Tristan could peer into the water basin on the pedestal.

In contrast to the straightforward design of Tristan’s symbol, which at least looked familiar, her bindrune was completely foreign to her. She attempted to decipher the runes, but her memory grasped at smoke.

“These runes will help guide you to your path,” the seer said. “Whenever you require strength or courage, wear it. Never forget the power your rune holds.”

The council’s murmurs filled the hut as they exchanged whispers, trying to interpret her bindrune for themselves. However, it seemed they were no more knowledgeable than she was. Lord Barron, in particular, stared at it intensely as if committing it to memory.

The seer retrieved a different set of bowls from the ground. “Take this,” she instructed, holding out two separate bowls of green liquid to each of them. “Drink all of it. But once you do, I must warn you, there is no going back. It’ll do you no good to try to resist its effects.”

Tristan and Rose accepted the bowls and examined their contents. “What does it do exactly?” Tristan inquired, his wary eyes fixed on the green liquid.

“It helps us to see you—the real you. It will unveil your soul, urging you to speak nothing but your truth,” the seer said. “You’ll feel it draw out your innermost thoughts, beliefs, and emotions. Be warned, it is powerful; not all who take it can cope with its effects.”

Emmett’s pale face came to the forefront of her mind, making her queasy.

Tristan peered at the green liquid again before raising the cup to his lips. He downed it, his face contorting, then handed the cup back.

Rose poured the contents into her mouth, grimacing at the bitterness. Once she had, they sat on the pillows across the fire from the seer. The intense heat of the thick flames made her undergarments damp with sweat.

As soon as she settled onto the cushion, the effects of the lotus crept in. Her mind twisted and warped, just as Zareb had warned. Rather than resist the pull, she surrendered to it, allowing the power to flow freely through the floodgates.

“Give me your hand,” the seer instructed Tristan, holding her fragile hand out—it appeared he was going first.

Fearlessly, Tristan stretched out his hand.

The seer took his palm, tracing the crevasses with her crooked fingers.

“I see you, Tristan Montague. I hear your thoughts, hopes, and dreams. I feel your desires and cravings. I see your darkest thoughts and greatest fears… Now tell us, what drives your ambition to be the king of Cathan?”

Tristan gazed into the fire, his mouth opening and closing, trying to form words as if he were learning to speak again.

“Because I believe I am what Cathan needs,” Tristan responded.

“I love my province. I find joy in serving and protecting it—from its enemies, even from itself. It’s what I strive to do, and it’s what I will always strive to do. ”

The king and queen’s eyes swelled with pride, their hands clasped together in relief.

“I see you as a natural leader of men,” the seer observed.

“You’ve led before. You earn the trust and loyalty of your men—something that takes a true leader to obtain.

I see you desperately wish to be king. You believe it is your destiny.

You also harbor a lot of guilt—guilt for men lost, guilt for your younger brother almost dying in your place…

Though your true guilt is reserved for what happened to your eldest brother. ”

Tristan’s eyes hardened as they flashed at the woman in surprise. Rose waited for the seer to expand, but to her disappointment, she did not.

“That guilt has guided and driven your need for power and control,” she continued.

“I see you are impulsive and quick to anger. You must learn to control it or you’ll drown in your own self-loathing.

There’s also something that has a firm hold over you…

or is it someone?” The seer’s eyes searched the empty air, then snapped to Rose.

“A woman,” she whispered. “One in this very room. I saw her in the mind of the contestant before you… You love her.”

Tristan’s guarded eyes flickered with fear, sweat dripping off his jaw. It was happening—exactly what Rose was afraid of.

The council leaned forward like greedy beasts honing in on their wounded prey.

Rose stared into the fire to mask her fear. This wasn’t fair. They had no right to pry into their minds. She was a fool to think they wouldn’t twist this to their advantage. They would exploit every weakness they could.

She took deep breaths, steadying her shaky hands, remembering Zareb’s advice to keep her mind clear.