Page 4 of The Ascended
The cooper's son hurried past, nearly colliding with our stall. "Sorry!" he called over his shoulder, not slowing. "Have to tell Keth, he’ll need to begin preparations!"
"It's fine," Thatcher said quietly, reading my tension through our bond, the one we’d had since birth. When we were close enough, our voices could travel down the string connecting us. Otherwise it was just feelings or ghosts of thoughts.
But it wasn't fine, and we both knew it. The festival was always preceded by priests searching for those with gifts. The blessed, they called them.
Dinner that night was a strained affair. Our father, Sulien, had clearly already heard the news about the priests' arrival. Though he said nothing directly, it showed in the extra drinks he poured, in the lines around his eyes as he glanced between Thatcher and me.
"Good haul today," he commented, pushing food around his plate.
"Sold everything," I confirmed. "Got Breen to pay extra for his wedding order."
Sulien gave a strained smile. "That's my girl. Always driving a hard bargain."
Thatcher kicked me gently under the table, a silent signal passing between us. I gave a tiny shake of my head. I knew what he wanted me to say, but I had no intention of bringing it up. Instead, I launched into a story about Dorna's gossip from the market, drawing a reluctant chuckle from our father.
"So, the Priests…" Thatcher said suddenly, shooting me a look.
Sulien's hand tightened around his cup so hard I thought it might shatter.
"They’re early this year," I added when he said nothing.
"It’s an inevitability." he finally replied, his voice low and tight. He refilled his cup, spilling drops of dark wine that looked like blood against the wooden table. "The festival approaches. They always come."
"Two weeks early though," I pressed, unable to stop myself. "That's unusual."
Sulien drained half his cup in one swallow. "Nothing about them is usual. Nothing about them is right."
The bitterness in his voice silenced us all for a moment. We so rarely spoke directly about the gods, about what had happened to our mother.
"What if we left?" I suggested softly, not for the first time. "Go somewhere else."
"Where?" Sulien laughed without humor. "The cities? Where priests walk every street? The mountains? Where every traveler is scrutinized? At least here we're just oyster farmers—no one looks twice at us." He shook his head. "This tiny village is the closest thing to safety you'll ever have."
His words hung in the air like a death sentence. I stared at my plate, appetite gone. Thatcher's hand found mine under the table, a brief squeeze of solidarity.
"He doesn't deserve to still have this power over us," I whispered, the rage I usually kept carefully banked flaring hot in my chest. "Afterwhat he did to her."
Sulien's eyes snapped to mine, but softened at whatever he saw in my face. "No," he agreed quietly. "He doesn't."
She'd traveled inland for the solstice twenty-seven years ago. The grand temple there drew thousands for the God’s descent. She'd gone with other young people from the village, seeking blessings for marriage and healthy children, never imagining she'd catch the attention of a member of the Twelve. Just another faithful worshipper in the crowd when he arrived in all his golden glory—when a young woman could vanish for three days and her traveling companions would be told she'd fallen ill, staying with temple healers.
Sulien said she never spoke of those missing days. Not even to him. But when she returned to Saltcrest hollow-eyed and quiet, when morning sickness came months later, he'd pieced together the truth.
There was only one fate for any mortal woman who carried a half-blood child to term. Death. At least in Elaren.
Only one mother had ever survived the birth, and she had done so in the divine realm.
A heavy silence fell over the table, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire. I could feel the weight of unspoken fears, the same conversation we'd danced around for years finally demanding to be acknowledged.
"You remember what you promised me," Sulien said quietly, his eyes finding mine across the table. It wasn't a question.
My throat tightened. "I remember."
"Never reveal yourself." His voice cracked. "I couldn't survive it. Not after what it cost your mother just to bring you into this world."
I'd made the promise years ago, when my power first manifested. Sulien had made me swear on our mother's memory that I would never seek the priests out, never reveal what I could do. The man who had raised us as his own, who had loved our mother more than anything—I couldn't break his heart.
"I know," I whispered. "I won't."
