Page 101 of The Ascended
"There is no kneeling protocol at divine gatherings, Miss Morvaren," he said, his voice carefully controlled again. "But I must say, you're a remarkably quick study."
I stepped away, my body still humming with the ghost of his touch.
"Well played," I said, the words cool and precise. "I'd applaud, but I wouldn't want to feed that monstrous ego of yours any further."
I turned away from him and moved toward the entrance. "But next time you invent elaborate excuses to get your hands on me, at least make them believable."
The silence that followed felt like its own kind of triumph—brief but satisfying, before he collected himself and followed. I didn't look back, but I sensed his presence like a shadow at my heels, his momentary discomposure a small revenge.
I pushed through the massive doors and into the cool evening air. "Are you going to open one of your death portals, or shall we swim to this wretched banquet?"
He joined me, amusement lingering in the set of his mouth. "Patience, starling. The night has only just begun."
With a flick of the wrist, he tore reality open before us, revealing the swirling darkness. He offered his arm, suddenly formal. "Shall we?"
I hesitated, then placed my hand on his forearm. "Let's get this over with."
Chapter 25
The Banquet
The palacefrom the Proving loomed above us, its alabaster spires cutting into the night sky like teeth. Lanterns floated overhead, seemingly untethered to anything physical, their golden light casting strange shadows across the gathering crowd. Servants moved gracefully, their forms blurring at the edges.
"Remember," Xül murmured, his hand resting lightly on my lower back, "everything is a performance. How you present yourself tonight affects not just the trials, but your potential place in the pantheon should you ascend. The divine have long memories."
I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry. I hated being back in the place where so many contestants had died screaming, where I'd first glimpsed the true cruelty of the Trials.
Ahead of us, Legends and their contestants formed a loose line, awaiting entrance into the grand hall. I scanned the crowd, searching for Thatcher but couldn't spot him among the sea of finely dressed strangers.
"He'll be here," Xül said, reading my thoughts. "Chavore never misses an opportunity to peacock."
I started to respond, but the words died in my throat as I noticedthe viewing portals—dozens of them, shimmering like heat distortions in the air around the entrance. Invisible eyes watched from across Voldaris.
"A larger audience than I expected," I said quietly.
"The domains are hungry for entertainment." Xül guided me forward as the line began to move. "They want to see who thrives, who might pose a threat, who shows promise."
"And who stumbles over themselves tonight?"
His lips curved. "Precisely."
We reached the entrance, where a herald stood beside a massive ledger. With meticulous care, he inscribed something in the book.
"Xül, Warden of the Damned, Prince of Draknavor," the herald announced, his voice carrying unnaturally far. "And his chosen, Thais Morvaren of Saltcrest."
We stepped into the grand hall. Crystal chandeliers hung from impossibly high ceilings, their light fracturing through prisms that sent rainbows dancing across marble floors. Long tables arranged in a crescent occupied one half of the space, while the other remained open.
"Where do we—" I began, but Xül's sudden tension cut me off.
Following his gaze, I saw the source of his discomfort. A woman approached—tall and lithe, with wild beauty that seemed barely contained by her formal attire. Her eyes locked on Xül.
Nyvora.
"Prince Xül," she purred, reaching us in a few graceful strides. "What a pleasant surprise. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to leave your little island."
"Nyvora." He inclined his head. "I see you've managed to escape your mother's watchful eye for the evening."
Her laughter was like venom, beautiful but with a sharp edge. "Mother understands the importance of social connections." Her gaze shifted to me, assessing and dismissive in the span of a heartbeat. "And your little star-wielder, how adorable."
