Page 107 of The Ascended
“Obviously not,” Chavore replied, raking a hand through his dark hair. “But there’s discipline, and then there’s overkill.”
Kavik barked a laugh and shoved Chavore’s shoulder hard enough to send a mortal flying. “What can I say?” He spread his arms wide, nearly knocking over his drink. “I’m extreme, baby! Life’s too long to be boring.” His golden eyes caught the lava light, turning them blood-red. “Besides, not all of us lucked into mentees who know how to behave. Your boy here—” he jerked his chin toward me, “—knows when to bow and when to speak. Darian thought his pretty face would save him from consequences.”
I smiled into my drink, letting them see only polite amusement. The contradiction wasn’t lost on me—how easily I’d slipped into the role of the respectful mentee while nurturing very different intentions. People had called me two-faced when I’d charm the village elders by day and slip into taverns by night. Sulien had always defended me: “He’s not two-faced—he just knows how to navigate different worlds.” If only he could see me now, navigating the most dangerous world of all.
I glanced at Nyvora and Elysia. Both had their own contestants, yet neither had brought them along. I was the only mortal invited on this excursion, and I couldn’t help but wonder why.
“Speaking of mentees and their keepers,” Kavik drawled, his attention shifting to Nyvora. “What’s this I hear about you circling around Xül like a hawk these days?”
Nyvora’s laugh was musical, though brittleness edged it. She adjusted the diamonds at her throat. “A woman can change her mind, darling. If our sweet Elysia gets to claim a prince—” she gestured toward Chavore, “—why shouldn’t I set my sights just as high?” She paused, swirling her drink with more force than necessary. “Besides, Mother’s reached new heights of unbearable. I’d rather bed Death himself than spend another year as Mother’s errand girl.”
The table went quiet for a moment, the crude honesty catching even these gods off guard.
“You know I had to lie to her about where I am right now?” Nyvora continued. “Told her I was reviewing fertility reports. Because apparently tracking which mortals fuck during fall equinox is a better use of my time than this.”
Elysia’s eyes widened, while Kavik let out a low whistle.
“Damn, Nyv,” Kavik said, raising his glass. “Tell us how you really feel.”
“I’m simply being practical,” Nyvora said. “I’ll have him wrapped around my finger soon enough.”
“Good luck with that,” Kavik snorted. “The Prince of Death isn’t exactly known for his warm heart.”
“You learn to handle difficult personalities when you’re raised by one,” Nyvora replied, rolling her eyes.
Chavore studied her with new interest. “And here I thought you enjoyed being Davina’s right hand.”
“Oh yes,” Nyvora’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Nothing brings me more joy than organizing harvest celebrations. It’s exactly what I dreamed of when I was young—being Mother’s glorified event planner for eternity.”
“Prince or not,” Kavik said, seeming eager to shift the conversation back to safer ground, “Xül’s still the most insufferable bastard in the whole bloody universe. Struts around Voldaris like he owns it. We get it. You’re special, you ascended, congratulations. Now shut up about it.”
Chavore’s jaw twitched.
“You know what, Kav?” Chavore’s voice was quiet but carried an undercurrent of steel. “He’s the only one of us who actually had to work for his position. The rest of us?” He gestured around the table. “Born into power, never questioned, never tested.”
The comment dropped into the conversation like a stone, creating ripples of tension that even I could feel.
Elysia’s fingers fluttered to Chavore’s arm, her touch light but possessive. “My darling,” she purred, her voice honey-sweet but with an edge of warning, “we can’t help the circumstances of our birth, can we? Divinity is a gift, not a burden to apologize for.” Her smile was radiant but calculated. “And your father showed exceptional grace in allowing Xül to ascend at all, especially after Morthus’s... disappointing choices.” She turned to address the table, her voice taking on a reverent quality. “Our king truly embodies restraint.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. The word “restraint” applied to Olinthar made my chest twist—a complex knot of grief, rage, and the terrible knowledge of what he truly was.
“Yes,” Chavore said, his voice oddly flat as he drained his glass. “My father is nothing if not merciful.”
I glanced over, caught off guard by his tone, and was shocked to see him rolling his eyes. The gesture was so quick I almost missed it, but it was unmistakable.
Before I could process what I’d seen, Kavik stood, pointing toward a group of dancers. A woman with bright red hair moved at the center, her body gleaming copper in the volcanic light.
“Alright, time for the prince of Voldaris to be my wingman,” Kavik announced, nudging Chavore. “I see Teanna over there.”
Chavore scratched his head, hesitating, but finally nodded. “Fine.”
“Don’t be gone long, my heart,” Elysia called, her voice a musical command rather than a request. “I want to dance beneath the eruption at midnight.”
Chavore returned to plant a lingering kiss on her lips, his hand curving around her waist. “Save your best moves for me,” he murmured against her mouth before following Kavik into the crowd.
Nyvora stretched like a satisfied cat, then stood. “Well,” she sighed, adjusting her already perfect gown, “some of us require actual sleep to maintain perfection.” Her gaze swept over Elysia. “Not everyone was blessed with inevitable beauty, after all.” She gathered her things. “I’m expected at dawn for the Awakening Ritual. Gods forbid I’m late.”
The bitterness in those last words was impossible to miss. Even Elysia seemed to catch it, her perfect brow furrowing slightly.
