Page 102 of The Ascended
Before Xül could answer, I met her gaze directly and smiled, saying nothing.
Surprise flickered in Nyvora's eyes—I hadn't taken her bait. She turned back to Xül. "She's well-trained, at least."
"Thais," Xül said, deliberate emphasis on my name, "may I present Nyvora, daughter of Davina and Aesymar of Fauna."
I inclined my head. "A pleasure to meet you, Lady Nyvora."
Her eyes narrowed fractionally, assessing my response for any hint of mockery. Finding none she could openly object to, she smiled. It wasn’t a warm thing. "How delightful to meet a contestant with manners. So many of them forget themselves."
A clear warning, wrapped in pleasantry.
"I'm fortunate to have an excellent mentor," I replied, the words balanced carefully between genuine and ambiguous.
"Yes, well." She placed her hand on Xül's arm. "I'm sure we'll have time to become better acquainted throughout the evening."
Before either of us could respond, a new arrival was announced—Chavore and his chosen, Thatcher Morvaren.
My heart leaped at the sound of my brother's name. I turned to see him enter the hall, looking almost unrecognizable in formal attire of the deepest blue, silver embroidery at his collar. Beside him, Chavore cut an imposing figure—tall and broad-shouldered, golden eyes taking in the surroundings.
Thatcher's eyes found mine across the crowded hall, and the bond between us surged with relief and concern.
You're okay,he sent, the thought tinged with worry.
I'm fine,I assured him.You?
Surviving.
Nyvora's voice pulled me back to the immediate moment. "...dinner soon, I expect. Come, Xül, I’ve arranged for you to sit with us." She tugged his arm.
"Actually," Xül said smoothly, disengaging himself from her grip, "I've already requested a table for my contestant and I. Training never ends, as I’m sure you’re aware. Perhaps another time, Nyvora."
Her smile froze, a crack appearing in her perfect composure. "Of course. But I will find you later. Don’t think I’ll allow this evening to end without a proper conversation."
With a final glance at me—one that seemed restrained—she glided away, rejoining a group of Legends near one of the viewing portals.
"That," Xül murmured once she was out of earshot, "was well handled."
"She’s not exactly subtle," I observed.
"Few are." His hand returned to the small of my back, guiding me toward the tables. "Come. We need to establish our position before the real games begin."
As we crossed the hall, I noticed the careful arrangement of the tables. Near the center, where the arc of the crescent reached its apex, sat a table with Morthus's emblem—a black key crossed with a silver scythe.
Xül pulled out a chair for me, the gesture oddly formal. I sat, expecting him to take a seat across from me, but instead, he settled into the chair at my side. The table was set for four, two places still empty across from us.
"I thought the Legends would sit together," I said, arranging the folds of my dress. "Away from their... charges."
"Some will," he replied, signaling a servant who immediately appeared with glasses of wine that glowed faintly blue. "But tonight is about perception as much as celebration. Who sits with whom sends messages to everyone watching."
"And what message are we sending?"
He handed me one of the glasses, his fingers brushing mine. "That you are worth my personal attention."
Before I could process the implications of that statement, a familiar voice cut through the ambient noise.
"Well, well. I thought you might wait for us."
I looked up to see Aelix approaching, Marx at his side. She looked stunning in a dress of deep scarlet, her expression one of studiedboredom, though I caught the gleam of interest in her eyes as she took in the gathering.
