Page 69 of The Ascended
My mind immediately drifted to my true goal—the pact I'd made with Thatcher, the promise I'd given to end Olinthar's reign permanently. My stomach dropped. Had I just handed Xül the weapon to destroy me?
"I don’t understand," I said finally, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"Secrets are much more valuable when they’re kept close to the chest," Xül countered. "Only used when the time arises."
For the briefest moment, I found myself wondering if Xül and I might actually be on the same side in all of this. The enemy of my enemy, and all that. But I quickly reminded myself that there was a world of difference between having leverage over the King of Gods and killing him. Xül wanted to wound Olinthar's pride. I wanted to stop his heart.
A chill ran down my spine. "What does that mean for me?"
Xül leaned back in his chair. His eyes gleamed. It was the look of someone who had just discovered a particularly valuable chess piece.
"It means, starling," he said slowly, the words crashing into the silent room, "that we make absolutely certain you don't die in the Trials. It means we make sure you not only survive—but that you ascend."
Chapter 19
Verdara
Everything changed after that.
If Xül had been distant before, now he was relentless. Dawn after dawn, I met him on that black beach, my muscles screaming protests that went unheard. I knew what I was to him. A pawn. But I'd use him right back—had always planned to.
The week became a blur of exhaustion and adrenaline. Mornings of brutal combat where he forced me to forge new weapons from starlight—throwing knives that whistled through the air, axes that could split stone, bows that shot arrows of pure celestial fire. Now that my secret lay bare between us, I held nothing back. Power blazed through my veins unchecked, and I wondered—gods, I wondered what I might have become if I hadn't spent the last decade choking on my own potential.
Afternoons in that domed laboratorium became their own form of torture. Xül drilled formulas and compounds into my skull until knowledge leaked from my ears. Plant signatures, mineral properties, arcane combinations that could save or damn. Too much, always too much for the time we had. But I devoured what I could.
At night, we hunted and tracked. Xül complained with everystep, his fragile sensibilities offended by a simple puddle or muddy path. But Marx—Marx moved through those shadows like she'd been born to them, and when her dry humor cracked through the darkness, even Xül's perpetual sneer couldn't quite hold.
Now, as dawn painted Draknavor's crimson sky in shades of gold, I stood on that black shore and wondered if any of it would be enough.
"These colors are absolutely revolting." Xül tugged at his formal jacket with the kind of disgust reserved for true atrocities.
We'd been dressed in Davina and Thorne's colors—deep forest green accented with gleaming silver. My outfit, delivered by Lyralei's team the night before, was practical but elegant—leather pants that stretched along with my movements, a fitted jacket with silver threading, boots designed for running through rough terrain. Even Xül, despite his complaints, looked striking in his formal suit.
"I've done my part," he said, adjusting his cuffs. "The rest is up to you."
Cold, distant, clinical. I suppressed an eye-roll, biting back the retort that was hiding behind my lips. There was no use in fighting now. Not when every nerve in my body was on edge. I let out a long breath, looking out over the sea, wondering if this would be the last time I ever saw it.
"Have you gone mute?" The question sliced through my silence.
I kept my eyes locked on those wine-dark waves, watching them crash and retreat. My mind spun through every lesson, every technique beaten into my bones, every possible way this could end.
Then his hands were on my shoulders, spinning me to face him. "And here I thought you were incapable of silence. Have you finally run out of sharp words to throw at me?"
I swallowed past the desert in my throat. "I'm fine."
"You're ready." His tone made me focus on his face.
Somewhere, Thatcher was preparing too. Gods, let Chavore have done what he was meant to do.
Xül's hands moved to frame my face. "You're stronger than theothers. Faster. Deadlier." His touch ghosted down to my neck, and I hated how my pulse leaped beneath his fingers. "You know how to track, how to hunt. You understand the basics of alchemy. You're going to survive this."
I nodded.
"Don't go soft on me now, starling."
For a moment, the gesture reminded me of someone else—calloused hands gentle against my skin, whispered reassurances in the dark. Marel. Gods, when was the last time I'd even thought of him? I hadn’t. The realization stirred confusion in my chest.
But Xül's hands were still on me. I jerked away before I could do something monumentally stupid.
