Page 118 of The Ascended
The dining hallwas nothing like I had imagined. Instead of the macabre spectacle I’d half-expected, the space was elegant in its restraint. No skulls for goblets or chairs made of bones. Dark walls rose to meet a ceiling covered in silver-gilded appliqués, while the table was carved from a single slab of dark wood, polished to a mirror shine. White candles burned in bronze holders, casting just enough light to see the faces of those gathered.
I sat opposite Xül, with Morthus and Osythe at either end of the table. The God of Death was even more imposing up close—handsome with black hair and pale skin that seemed almost luminous in contrast to his completely black eyes. When he looked at me, it felt like being examined by the universe itself.
And then there was Osythe. Though clearly mortal, she possessed a presence that rivaled her divine husband’s. Her rich dark brown skin held the vibrancy of youth; she appeared no older than her early thirties despite the centuries she had lived. She had sage-green eyes and wore her hair in intricate braids that flowed all the way down her back, the ends transitioning into soft curls. Unlike thegods, who seemed to exist slightly apart from reality, she was vibrantly, definitively present.
The silence stretched as servants moved soundlessly around us, placing plates of food I couldn’t identify before each person.
“You are the star-wielder my son has chosen to mentor.” Morthus said finally, his voice a low rumble.
I straightened, feeling the weight of his gaze. “Yes, my lord.”
“Tell me,” he continued, lifting a goblet to his perfect lips, “what do you make of our Xül as a teacher?”
Xül shifted in his seat, his discomfort almost palpable. He hadn’t touched his food.
“He’s...” I paused, considering my words carefully. “Effective, even if not particularly patient.”
“That sounds like our son.” A low, rich laugh escaped Osythe. “Always rushing ahead, expecting everyone to keep up—a trait he inherited from me, I’m afraid,” she said with a look toward Morthus that held such affection it momentarily transformed the God of Death into something almost soft.
Morthus’s lips twitched. “Indeed,” he conceded, turning his attention back to me. “I’m the one blessed with restraint. Immortality tends to make one forget how quickly time passes for others.”
“You survived the trial of Davina and Thorne,” Osythe observed, changing the subject with graceful ease. “No small feat. What was it like?”
I felt Xül’s eyes on me. Warning me. The memory of his earlier threat still burned beneath my skin.
“Terrifying,” I answered truthfully.
“As the best Trials often are,” Morthus said, cutting into his dinner. “What have you learned about yourself in the process?”
The question caught me off guard. I had expected interrogation about my abilities, my strategy, perhaps even my background. Not this probing into my soul.
“That I’m capable of more than I thought,” I said finally. “For betteror worse.”
Morthus nodded as if I’d confirmed something he already knew. “And what do you hope to gain from these Trials, beyond mere survival?”
Vengeance. Justice. The downfall of your entire corrupt pantheon.
“The opportunity to become more than what I was,” I said instead. “To transcend my limits.”
“A diplomatic answer,” Morthus observed, the faintest hint of amusement coloring his tone.
Xül cleared his throat. “Father?—”
“Oh, let the poor girl eat, both of you,” Osythe interrupted, shooting a quelling look at her husband and son. “She’s been through quite enough without enduring an interrogation over dinner.”
To my surprise, both men acquiesced immediately.
“My apologies.” Morthus inclined his head toward me. “Osythe is right, as usual. Please, enjoy your meal. There will be time enough for questions later.”
The food before me smelled delicious. It was some kind of roasted meat in a wine reduction, accompanied by colorful root vegetables browned to perfection. I took a bite, and flavor burst across my tongue—tangy and sultry and warm.
“This is incredible,” I said, leashing my desire to devour everything on my plate with unseemly haste.
“You’re too kind.” Osythe smiled. “Though I can take no credit for the preparation. That belongs to our chef.”
Throughout dinner, Xül remained uncharacteristically silent, offering only brief responses when directly addressed.
I’d never seen him so subdued. Here, in his family home, surrounded by the trappings of his birth, he seemed almost uncomfortable. As if he were wearing clothes that didn’t quite fit.
