Page 190 of The Ascended
I pressed the blade harder, feeling his pulse flutter beneath the edge. It would be so easy. One quick slice and he would pay for what he'd done. Kyren would be avenged.
But even through my rage, I could see the man was too far gone to reason with, lost in a grief that consumed him as surely as the flames had consumed others.
"Thais!" Thatcher's voice cut through my murderous haze. "The fire—it's coming. It's now or never!"
I looked back to see flames licking at the terrace's edge. The choice had been made for me.
With a final, disgusted look at the broken man beneath me, I shoved myself to my feet and ran to join Thatcher and Marx. Behind us, the man made no move to follow, still lying where I'd left him, as though waiting for the flamesto claim him too.
We stood at the precipice, the three of us, looking down at nothing but stars and clouds stretching endlessly below. Thatcher took my hand in his right, Marx's in his left, binding us together.
"If this doesn't work," Marx said, her voice steadier than it had been since I'd found her, "I just want you both to know?—"
"Save it," Thatcher interrupted. "You can tell us when we survive this."
We shared one last look.
Then, together, we stepped off the edge of the world and into the oblivion below.
Chapter 45
The Landing
Falling.
True freefall. The wind tore at my clothes, my hair, screaming past my ears as our bodies cut through cloud and sky.
I kept my eyes open at first, watching the burning palace grow smaller above us, its golden flames a funeral pyre against the night. My hand remained locked with Thatcher's. Marx's scream had faded to shocked silence, her body a blur of movement on Thatcher's other side.
Time stretched and compressed, impossible to measure. Seconds? Minutes? There was no reference point in the endless blue-black, just the rushing air growing colder, the pressure building against my skin as we plummeted faster.
I wondered if we had misunderstood the rules—if instead of a test of restraint, this had been a test of sacrifice. Perhaps there was no salvation waiting, only the inevitability of impact.
Or perhaps we’d fall forever.
I closed my eyes then, seeking some shred of peace in what might have been my final moments. My thoughts scattered like the cloudswe tore through—fragments of memory, of regret, of things left unsaid and undone.
But if this was death, at least I was not alone.
The air around us shifted, pressure building against my back, slowing our descent with such abruptness that my body jerked against the resistance. For one wild moment, I thought we'd hit ground—but there was no impact, no shattering pain, just a strange sensation of being cradled by the air.
Our fall gentled. My stomach lurched as we drifted and finally touched down on solid ground with unexpected gentleness.
My legs buckled immediately, muscles unprepared for the sudden stability. I climbed to my knees, dragging in ragged breaths as my body remembered how to exist in a world with boundaries again.
"What the—" Thatcher's voice broke through the ringing in my ears. "Thais, look."
I raised my head, blinking away the moisture the wind had whipped into my eyes—and froze.
We stood on the same terrace we'd just leapt from, except there were no flames, no destruction, no evidence of the inferno that had consumed the palace moments ago. The elegant architecture gleamed pristine and perfect in the starlight.
More shocking still were the figures that lined the terrace, watching us. The Legends and Aesymar from the ball—all of them untouched, unharmed, dressed in their finery as though they'd been waiting for our arrival as some perverse welcoming committee.
My gaze darted frantically from face to face, searching for guards, for some sign that I was about to be seized. Every muscle in my body tensed, ready to flee, though there was nowhere to go. They must have seen it—the illusion of Olinthar's body, my starblade buried in his chest, the evidence of my darkest desire for vengeance. If the viewing portals had shown my shame to the masses in Voldaris, then surely justice would be swift and merciless.
"It wasn't real," Marx whispered beside me, her voice cracking. "None of it was real."
But that wasn't entirely true. The terror had been real. The choices had been real. And my desire to plunge a blade into Olinthar's heart—that had been real too.
