Page 71 of The Ascended
Speaking of cozy, Thatcher’s mental voice dripped with unholy glee.
I straightened, shooting Xül a look of contempt. "Thatcher, meet the Prince of Draknavor." I drawled flatly.
My brother's eyes widened before he attempted an awkward bow that made me want to sink into the earth. Gods, Thatcher. Really?
"Unnecessary." Xül waved dismissively. "Though your sister could benefit from learning proper deference."
Thatcher laughed at that, but the awkwardness still permeated.
“Well then?—”
A horn split the air—deep, primal, seeming to rise from the earth itself.
See you in there. Thatcher's urgent thoughts pressed against mine as he squeezed my hand.We need to talk. I’ll find you.
You better, I replied, watching him return to Chavore's side.
And then I whirled on Xül.
"Someone has wandering hands," I hissed.
His smirk was sin itself. "Maybe I couldn’t help myself."
Light exploded across the clearing—brilliant, divine, unrelentingas a portal ripped open at the meadow's end, sparks crackling around the edges.
Xül leaned close one last time, and I hated how my body responded to his proximity. "Survive, starling," he breathed against my hair before shoving me toward destiny.
The transition was like being pulled through starlight. One heartbeat in the clearing, the next surrounded by the thick brush of an ancient wood. Trees rose impossibly high, their canopy so thick it created a world of emerald shadow and filtered light. Everything pulsed with Davina's power, so different from Draknavor's death-kissed shores.
Paradise. Beautiful enough to die for.
And most of us would.
"Welcome, blessed contestants," a voice rolled through the forest, "to the first Trial of Ascension."
I spun, searching shadows between trunks, but found only endless green stretching into forever. No contestants. No Thatcher, no Marx, no sign of the thirty-seven souls who'd entered alongside me.
I was completely alone.
Chapter 20
The Hunt
Weapons and toolsdotted the ground before me.
I dropped to my knees, hands flying over scattered steel and wood. Each bow hummed with life beneath my fingers. My thumb found Thorne's brand burned into every grip.
Move. Fast. Now.
The command roared through my bones. Instinct. My hands obeyed before my mind could catch up, snatching a compact snare from the pile and clipping it to my belt.
The forest spread before me in all directions, but I forced myself to stop and orient. The sun hung low in the west behind me, its light filtering through the canopy. To the north, glimpses of a distinctive triple-peaked mountain showed through gaps in the trees. Eastward, beyond the endless green, came the faint but unmistakable sound of running water—a river or large stream.
Light exploded through the forest.
It poured between the trees in ribbons. Birds fell silent. Insects stilled. And through that blinding brilliance, she came.
Davina.
