RE: Monarch

There was anticipation in her expression, in the way she was leaning forward. Of my answer and the violence that would inevitably follow.
My mind wandered, revisiting her words and replaying the memory of their telling in greater detail.
Out of the three, there were no obvious outliers toward truth or fiction. No tells that immediately registered. The tale of the demi-human urchin, as told by a being of nearly limitless power, was conveyed with an undercurrent of embarrassment that imbued authenticity. Yet compared to the other two, it was somehow the least personal despite the desperate circumstances. Perhaps enough years had passed that its sting faded with the distance of time.
The tale of the teacher was from just as long ago—potentially far longer, the conveyed timeline wasn't clear—yet in comparison it felt immediate, rich with the regret of one who lived long enough to see the folly of her ways and acknowledged them openly. To a degree, it was too much of an overcorrection, the emotional poignancy retroactively eroding the viability of the first story. Unless that was intentional and they were both false, the first underacted and the second overplayed.
Then came the tale of the harbinger. A person with secret potential and something she treasured. It was simple, believable in the accounting of fractured memories. Straightforward in its tragedy, connecting and confirming many of the small bits of information I'd gathered over the years.
Every fiction is inspired by truth. Experience precipitates a well for the mind to draw from. One cannot speak on life if they have not lived. An actor cannot convince us of their grand love for another if they have never experienced an echo of what they depict, the same being said for joy, hardship, and sorrow.
Thoth was perhaps the only person who had lived long enough to see everything life had to offer.
I folded the parchment once, to hide the writing, then crumpled it into a ball and let it drop to my side.
"Speak."
"Accept what?" She cocked her head.
I hopped to my feet, brushing past her, using the excuse of dropping a few more split logs onto the fire to create distance from her. The last dropped with a hard thump, buried in an upswell of embers.
"An arm is nothing in the face of where we stand. We both know that, though you seem to think me ignorant." I murmured.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
"There is no joy in tribulation without stakes." Thoth jibed.
"Yes. But the best kind of wager is the sort you're guaranteed to win. You've shown that side before." I thought it over one more time. "And if there was a truth among the lies, I'd still know something even if I got it wrong. A lie and a truth. Even though I wouldn't know which was which, that wouldn't be enough for you. You've still given something for what is effectively nothing. And generosity is alien to you."
I looked up, holding her gaze, searching for confirmation. "So instead of a whole, you've threaded fragments. There is no right answer. I don't believe you were an elven urchin with manic aspirations. As likely as it sounds, I simply don't. There was a time in your life you experienced great loneliness and sorrow that directly informed the person you are today. Following that same line, there was also some period in your life where you offered others instruction, likely in swordsmanship or magic. Maybe some of those recruits you called inferior in the third tale."
Shadows of her hair obscured her face, shielding her reaction. But the violence I'd felt from earlier remained.
Still bridling my nerves, I carried on. "I believe you, that we were both there at the beginning. That I offered you false comfort out of kindness, believing the best of our circumstances because I was—am—maybe always have been… naïve. In retrospect, perhaps that was cruel. But the reaction does not match the iniquity. You have not revealed what fell ill between us. Nor have I placed much weight in the rest of that particular account."
"You…" She barked out a laugh, her golden eye glimmering. "This was a waste of time."
"We had a wager." I glanced at the blade in her hand. "If I'm wrong, you have a toll to exact. Otherwise, it's my win."
"You refused to answer."
"No." I shook my head. Fear radiated through me, even as I stood firm. "I gave my own."
Her face froze, emotionless.
The chill of night cut through my leathers, nipping down my arms and legs. I waited a while for a response, then walked away, eventually flattening my bedroll near the fire.
In truth, Thoth going back on her word wasn't the worst result. I'd gained a wealth of new insights and expanded on old ones. Not to mention, I still had my arm. As willing as I'd been to lose it, the truth was it would have slowed me down a great deal.
Possibly led to an early death.
I closed my eyes tightly, praying for sleep.
"Ask your question." The voice was terse. As close to an admittance of defeat as she was ever going to get.
Alongside vindication, a great many came to mind. How she'd crossed vast distances and find me so quickly. The peculiar magic that accompanied her arrival. What her plan for my coronation had been. Why she'd chosen to come here at all. Some I couldn't ask, because they were too suspicious. Thoth wasn't stupid—and would be the first person to think of chronal magic as a possible explanation for targeted inquiry.
Others had more straightforward answers likely easy to uncover later.
All this to say there were far more pressing questions than the one rattling around in my head. I tried to shove it down. Suppress it for the good of the mission. But as I'd so clearly learned, grief often manifested in unexpected ways. I'd been managing so far.
Yet right there, it tore out of me in four clipped words.
"Why kill Lillian Grey?"