Page 227 of The Ascended
I said nothing, which was answer enough.
Elysia sighed, resuming our walk through the rain-drenched gardens. "The line between necessity and cruelty blurs when yourule a pantheon, Thatcher. Olinthar's actions always serve a purpose."
"And that justifies anything?"
She glanced at me. "Chavore struggles with this too—understanding what true leadership requires."
I thought of Chavore's face when Olinthar dismissed him, the wound he couldn't quite hide. "He wants his father's approval."
"Don't we all?" Elysia laughed, the sound hollow in the rain-soaked garden. A part of me wanted to strangle her, too. Delusional. She was absolutely fucking delusional.
We reached the entrance to the west wing, where my quarters were located. Elysia released my arm and stepped back.
"Consider what happened today," she said. "Not just what was done, but why. Olinthar doesn't create these tests without reason."
"Tests," I repeated, the word hollow.
"Everything is a test, Thatcher Morvaren. The question is whether you're being tested for strength—or for weakness."
She turned and walked away, her hair fading into the misty rain.
I made my way back to my chambers, peeling off clothes stained with Shadowkin blood. I stood under scalding water until my skin turned red, but the feeling of filth remained. I'd killed a defenseless prisoner. I'd taken one more step away from the person I'd been in Saltcrest.
A test. Of course it had been a test. But I couldn't escape the feeling that, whatever Olinthar had been looking for in me, he’d found.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
Chapter 54
Discoveries
The scentof fresh bread and roasted meat tugged me from sleep, my arm instinctively reaching across the sheets before my mind could fully surface. My fingers found only empty space, still warm but abandoned.
I sat up, the silk sheets pooling around my waist. The crimson light of Draknavor bled through the windows, painting the rumpled bedding in bloody shadows. Evidence of what we'd done was scattered across the floor. My discarded dress in tatters, the shattered remains of a goblet neither of us had bothered to catch when it fell.
I pressed my fingers to a particularly sensitive bite mark at the hollow of my throat, the slight pain a tangible reminder that last night hadn't been a fever dream.
I slid from the bed, goosebumps rising on my naked skin in the perpetual chill of the castle. I grabbed the first thing I found—Xül's black silk robe hanging on the back of the door. The fabric slid over my skin like water.
I followed the smell of food, the cold stone biting at my bare feet. Each step made the robe swish around my ankles, the sleeves dangling comically past my fingertips.
I rounded the corner to the small dining chamber and froze.
Xül stood at the table, arranging food on plates. His back was to me, bare muscles flexing as he moved. He wore only loose black pants that rode low on his hips, his midnight braids still mussed from sleep.
"You've developed a habit of staring," he said without turning, his deep voice scraping along my already-raw nerves. "Not that I mind."
I leaned against the doorframe, fighting the ridiculous urge to run to him, to press myself against that bare back and feel his warmth. "You cook now?"
He glanced over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth lifting in that almost-smile that did dangerous things to my heart. His eyes raked over me, lingering on where the robe gaped at my chest.
"I sent the staff away," he said, turning fully to face me. "I wanted to be the one to serve you today."
I crossed to him, nerves fluttering in my stomach. What rules governed this fragile, newborn thing between us?
"Sit," he said, pulling out a chair. "Before it gets cold."
I settled in, the scent of fresh bread making my stomach growl embarrassingly loud. Xül's lips twitched as he took the seat opposite, his bare foot brushing mine beneath the table.
