The Ascended — Chapter no 40

Chapter 40

Dancing with Death

THE RISING SUN PAINTED THE DINING HALL IN BLOODY HUES, LIGHT SPILLING through the tall windows. I picked at the assortment of exotic fruits on my plate, not truly tasting any of it. Xül sat beside me.

I wasn't sure when he'd started sitting next to me rather than across the table. Perhaps it was after Kavik's attack—his silent way of keeping me within arm's reach. My hand unconsciously rose to my throat, where the bruises had finally faded. The memory was still fresh.

If Xül hadn't arrived when he did… I shuddered. Someone had controlled a Legend—made him try to kill me. And that someone was still out there, perhaps planning their next attempt.

"You should try the blue one," he said, nodding toward a cerulean fruit on my plate. "It's sweeter than it looks."

I speared it with my fork, examining the strange flesh. "It looks poisonous."

"If I wanted to poison you, I'd be far more subtle," he replied dryly.

I rolled my eyes but took a bite, surprised by the burst of sweetness. "It's good."

A servant materialized at Xül's elbow, presenting a sealed envelope on a silver tray. The paper was pale lavender, edged with gilded silver, sealed with an intricate wax design of intertwined moons.

Xül's expression darkened as he broke the seal, eyes scanning the flowing script. "Fantastic," he muttered, the word dripping with sarcasm.

"What is it?"

"They give us longer to prepare for these frivolous events than for the Trials themselves," he said, passing me the invitation.

The silver script shimmered on the page: The Divine Syrena, Aesymar of Illusions and Desires, requests the honor of your presence at the Midnight Revelry, a celebration of those blessed contestants who have survived the first two Trials. All Legends and Divine Beings of appropriate standing are welcome to attend. Three nights hence, in the Crystal Palace of Lunadaire. Attendance is mandatory for all mentors and their charges.

"A ball?" I looked up, finding Xül's expression carefully blank.

"More like an elaborate evaluation," he said, taking a deliberate sip from his goblet.

"Wonderful," I muttered. "So I'm to be paraded around like prized livestock."

"More or less," he agreed, not bothering to soften the truth. "Though with considerably more expensive clothing."

I dropped the invitation on the table. "What exactly will this entail?"

"Conversation. Dancing. Navigating the shark-infested waters of divine politics without getting yourself killed." He set down his goblet. "Speaking of which—you'll need to learn to dance."

"I can dance."

"No," he said. "Court dances are specific, formal. They have rules, patterns."

"I assume you'll teach me?" I asked, pushing my plate away.

"Of course," he said, the words touched with that aristocratic arrogance that used to infuriate me. "Then I suppose we should begin lessons immediately," I said, rising from the table. "I wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of your illustrious peers."

His eyes narrowed slightly at my tone, but he nodded, standing. "We can use the east wing ballroom."

I followed him through the labyrinth of corridors. Each step deeper into this palace felt like another step away from the person I'd been. The Thais of Saltcrest would never recognize the woman I had become—someone who walked beside Death without flinching, who'd survived two brutal Trials, who felt her power growing with each passing day. Was this transformation freedom or corruption? Was I finding my true self or losing it entirely? And why did it feel so natural to follow him, to trust him, when

every instinct I'd cultivated over years of survival screamed that he was the most dangerous being I'd ever encountered?

Xül stopped before a set of double doors and pushed them open, revealing a vast chamber with polished stone floors and mirrored walls. The ceiling arched high above, decorated with intricate frescoes.

"This entire room just for dancing?" I asked, unable to hide my cynicism.

"This is actually one of the smaller ballrooms," he said, removing his coat and draping it over a nearby chair. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the strong lines of his forearms. "The one in the Eternal City could hold three hundred couples."

I shook my head, still struggling to comprehend the scale of luxury. "In Saltcrest, our entire house could fit in this room. When we danced, we pushed furniture against the walls to make space."

"Show me," he said unexpectedly.

"What?"

"Show me how you dance in Saltcrest." His expression held genuine curiosity.

I laughed. "Here? Now? There's no music."

"Imagine it," he suggested, his eyes intent on my face.

I closed my eyes, thinking back to the Last Light celebration—the last time I had danced freely, before everything changed. I could almost hear the fiddle, the stamp of feet on packed earth.

I began to move, letting my body remember the rhythms of home. I spun, arms outstretched, feeling the weight of my hair as it swung around me.

When I opened my eyes, Xül was watching me with an expression beyond his usual calculation or amusement.

"That's not dancing," he finally said, though there was no judgment in his tone. "That's freedom."

I stilled, suddenly aware of how I must have looked to him. "Well, it won't do me much good at Syrena's ball, will it?"

"No," he agreed, stepping closer. "There's only one dance you need to learn for that."

He positioned himself before me, one hand extended. I placed my hand in his, trying to ignore the warmth that spread through me at the contact.

His other hand settled at my waist, firm but light.

"Your hand goes on my shoulder," he instructed.

I complied, acutely aware of the solid muscle beneath my palm.

"Now, follow my lead. It's three steps and a pause, repeated in a pattern."

He began to move, guiding me. I stumbled almost immediately, my foot catching on his.

"Sorry," I muttered, frustration building.

"Try again," he said, his patience surprising me. "Keep your back straight, chin up."

I met his gaze and we began again. This time, I managed several steps before faltering.

"Better," he murmured. "Keep your focus on me, not on your feet. The body follows the eyes."

I looked up, finding myself caught in his mismatched gaze. The contrast had unnerved me once. Now, I found it oddly mesmerizing.

"What was the first thing you ever stole?" he asked suddenly.

The question caught me so off guard I nearly tripped again. "What?"

"You heard me." There was a hint of amusement in his voice. "I'm curious."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What makes you think I've stolen anything?"

"You’re a rather talented locksmith," he said smoothly. "One does not acquire such skills for no reason."

I flushed. "A fisherman's knife," I admitted. "I was eleven. It had a handle carved like a leaping dolphin." I concentrated on the steps, remembering. "The fisherman was cruel to his children. Used to beat them with a strap when they didn't clean the catch fast enough."

"So it was vengeance?"

"Not exactly." I shrugged. "I just wanted him to feel what it was like to

lose something he valued."

"Did it work? Did he change?"

"No," I said. "If anything, he got worse. I didn't understand then that some people just… break something else when they're broken."

Xül guided me through a turn, his hand steady at my waist. "An early lesson, then."

"I suppose," I said. "What about you? What's the first rule you ever broke?"

His lips curved into the ghost of a smile. "Who says I've broken any

rules?"

I gave him a flat look. "Please."

He considered for a moment. "I was seven. There was a library section I wasn't permitted to enter until I was older."

"Let me guess," I said. "You found a way in."

"Of course. I spent months observing the patterns of the guards, learning which books the scholars requested, mapping the layout from

glimpses through the door."

"All that just to read some books?"

"Forbidden knowledge is always the most tempting," he said.

"Eventually I discovered a hidden passage—a maintenance tunnel."

"What did you find?"

"Disappointment, mostly," he admitted. "Most of the 'forbidden' texts were just tedious political histories and diplomatic records. Though there was one shelf of love poetry that proved educational in other ways."

I couldn't help but laugh at the image of a serious child-Xül sneaking around to read poetry. "Did you get caught?"

"Eventually," he said. "Though not before I'd memorized several of the more explicit verses. My tutor was rather scandalized when I recited them during a lesson."

"I bet," I said, finding it easier now to follow his steps. "Did you get punished?"

"Three days in isolation," he said matter-of-factly. "Though I considered it worth the price."

As we continued to dance, Xül adjusted his hold slightly, drawing me into a closer position.

"This section requires more precision," he explained. "And trust."

"Trust is in short supply these days," I remarked.

"Indeed," he agreed. "Tell me something you've never told anyone else."

I eyed him curiously. "Why?"

"Because it's easier to tell secrets to someone you're not looking at." He spun me so my back pressed against his chest, one arm wrapped around my waist. His lips nearly touched my ear as he spoke. "And because I want to know."

"I almost ran away once," I admitted quietly. "When I was sixteen."

His steps never faltered, but I felt a subtle shift in his attention, a new focus. "From Saltcrest?"

"Yes. I had everything planned. I'd saved money from odd jobs around the village, packed a bag with essentials, mapped out a route inland." The memory was sharp, sudden—the desperate need to escape after my powers manifested. "I was going to leave the night of the autumn harvest."

"What stopped you?"

I swallowed, remembering the night clearly. "Thatcher got sick. Really sick. Some kind of fever that the village healer couldn't break. I couldn't leave him, not when he might…" I trailed off. "He recovered, eventually.

But by then, something had changed. I realized I couldn't just abandon the people I loved."

"You stayed out of duty," Xül observed. "Even then."

"Love," I corrected. "I stayed out of love. There's a difference."

"Is there?" His voice was contemplative. "They often feel the same."

"Your turn," I said. "Tell me something you've never told anyone."

He didn't answer immediately, leading me through several more steps before speaking. "I once saved a mortal child's life."

There it was again—that glimpse of a softness beneath the hardened exterior. Every revelation made him more real to me, less the untouchable deity and more a being capable of compassion. And that made him more dangerous.

Of all the possible confessions, this wasn't what I'd expected. "And that's a secret because…?"

"Because I wasn't supposed to interfere," he explained. "My mother used to take me to the village in which she grew up, where her distant family still remains. I saw a girl fall into a canal. The current was too strong, carrying her toward a waterfall."

"So you saved her."

"I did," he confirmed. "Though not openly. I manipulated souls beneath the water to push her toward the shore, made it appear as though a fallen tree had diverted her course." His voice was carefully neutral. "My father would have considered it inappropriate interference in mortal affairs."

"You risked his disapproval to save a child," I said softly.

"The paperwork would have been tedious."

I couldn't help but smile. "Of course. Purely practical."

The dance ended, but neither of us moved away. I loved hearing about his past, these small glimpses of what he’d been like in a different time—a different world. When he was a different Xül. But a part of me couldn't help but feel he was simply filling the silences we didn't want to replace with other things—harder things.

His hand lingered at my waist a moment longer than necessary before he finally stepped back. I watched him cross to the window, his profile outlined against the blood-red sky of Draknavor.

"You know, Thais," he said suddenly, still gazing out the window, "you never ask me about what happens after."

I stilled, uncertain what he meant. "After?"

"After the Trials." He turned to face me. "You've never once asked what becomes of you if you ascend."

The question caught me off guard. I'd never seriously considered it—a future beyond all of this. Those possibilities had never seemed real enough to contemplate. The truth was, there was no after. Not for me. Not for Thatcher. We knew what we’d signed up for when we made that pact.

Killing the King of Gods was not something we ever expected to survive.

"I…" I hesitated, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. "I never thought that far ahead."

He studied me with that penetrating gaze that always made me feel exposed. "I find that difficult to believe."

I crossed to the opposite window, needing distance from his scrutiny.

The black sands stretched out below, meeting the dark ocean like two realms of shadow colliding. My reflection stared back at me from the glass, a stranger with my face.

"I suppose I never planned to make it out of this alive," I admitted.

I heard Xül's sharp intake of breath. "That's the first time you've ever said something like that."

"I try not to think about it." I kept my eyes on the horizon.

"And does your brother share your pessimism?" His voice had taken on a careful edge.

"Thatcher has always been the optimist," I said, offering a version of the truth that concealed its heart.

"But you’ve always seemed so confident, so sure of yourself," he pressed. “People who expect to die in the Trials don’t have those qualities— not normally.”

"It’s simply the truth, Xül." I turned towards him finally, offering a knowing smile. “You said it yourself, when we first met. The likelihood of me surviving is laughable.”

"Don’t do that." His voice had gone dangerously low.

“Do what?” I asked, shrugging. “Your words, not mine.”

Xül closed the distance between us in three swift strides. "This isn’t a game to me, Thais. Perhaps it was in the beginning. Before I knew you— before I knew who you really were. But it's not anymore. And you’re perfectly aware of that."

"Just because I impressed you doesn’t mean anything has changed," I countered, lifting my chin. "There are still two Trials to go, and then the forging."

He simply stared at me, mouth opening and then closing. He dragged his hand down his face.

“Relax, it’s not like I have some death wish,” I added, realizing how serious the conversation had become. “I’m just trying to be realistic.”

"And what about those who care about you?" he demanded. "Have you considered what your death would mean to them?"

"There are few left that do," I said simply. “The rest are dead because of me.”

Xül's jaw tightened. "So what? You view this as some kind of atonement?"

"In a way, I suppose that’s right." I turned back to the window, avoiding his gaze. He was dragging something out of me I’d been pushing down. A truth I’d been too weak to face. That perhaps the idea of death had settled over me so easily because in some twisted way, it felt like justice for everything my existence had led to. My mother’s death. Sulien’s death.

Thatcher getting taken and forced into the Trials alongside me.

He was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was tempered. "Don’t be absurd."

His tone made me turn back to him, and the glare on his face sent a chill down my spine. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you’re being ridiculous,” he nearly snarled. “I don’t even recognize you right now.”

"Then what picture have you painted in your head of me?"

His eyes flashed.

"I see someone who looks gods in the eye without flinching," he said, his voice taut. "Someone who calls out every lie, who slices through pretense effortlessly. The woman who stood on that beach her first night here, utterly exposed and completely unashamed. Defiant."

His words left me momentarily speechless.

"That woman doesn't cower behind fatalism," he continued. "She doesn't hide behind martyrdom. She fights—not because she expects to win, but because surrendering isn't in her nature."

"That's not fair," I said, finding my voice at last. "Acknowledging reality isn't surrendering to it."

"Isn't it?" He took another step closer. "The Thais I know would spit in the face of inevitability. She wouldn't accept death as a foregone conclusion —she'd rage against it, challenge it, find a way to beat it through sheer stubborn will."

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think," I countered, crossing my arms.

"Or maybe I see you more clearly than you see yourself." His voice softened, though the intensity in his eyes remained. "This defeatism—it's beneath you, Thais. It's not who you are."

"And who am I, exactly?" I demanded, anger flaring. "Since you seem to have it all figured out."

"You're the woman who stood in this very room and showed me what freedom looks like," he said without hesitation. "The one who refuses to play by rules she didn't make. You're…" He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "You're the most honest person I've ever met. Even when it costs you. Especially then."

I swallowed, suddenly finding it difficult to meet his gaze. "You've built quite an impressive image of me."

"Not built. Observed." He moved closer, his voice dropping. "And that's why I cannot accept this. It doesn't fit the woman I've come to know."

I turned away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze.

"Fine," I said finally. "You're right. I don't want to die. Is that what you

want to hear?"

"I want to hear the truth."

"The truth?" I laughed, the sound brittle even to my own ears. "The truth is that I'm terrified. The truth is that even if I dreamed of surviving

this, of finding some way through, dreams don't change reality, Xül. And the reality is that people like me don't get happy endings."

He was silent for a long moment.

"Endings aren't written in stone, Thais."

My restraint might has well have been nonexistent. Because the hypocrisy of his words burned like acid, and I couldn’t hold my tongue for another moment.

"Really?" I spat. "That's rich coming from you."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"You stand there talking about hope, when you've already resigned yourself to a hollow, empty life." The words spilled out. "You've already accepted that your father will broker your future to the highest bidder. So don't lecture me about hope when you've abandoned it for yourself."

His expression stilled, and for a moment I thought I'd gone too far.

"We're not talking about me," he said quietly. "We're talking about you."

"Convenient deflection."

"No," he countered. "It's not the same. I've accepted certain realities of my position, yes. The political necessities of being Morthus's heir. But that's different from surrendering to death."

"Is it?" I challenged. "You're giving up your chance at happiness, at a life you actually want. How is that any different?"

He stepped closer. "Because I'm still fighting for something bigger than myself. For change that I hope will outlive me. What are you fighting for, Thais? If you've already decided you're going to die, what's the point of any of this?"

I was fighting for something, just something I couldn’t tell him. But his words resonated deeper than I wanted to admit. I'd spent so long believing my death was inevitable—the only possible conclusion to the path I'd chosen. What would it mean to challenge that belief? To fight not just for vengeance, but for a future beyond it?

"I should warn you," I said, attempting to steer the conversation away from the cliff we were nearing, "I'm not very good at hope. It's never served me well in the past."

"Hope isn't something you're good or bad at," he said. "It's a choice you make every day. Sometimes every hour."

I studied him, trying to reconcile this Xül with all the other versions he had shown me. "You’re quite complex, Warden," I observed.

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Perhaps. Or maybe you're finally seeing what I’ve always been."

He reached out slowly, giving me time to pull away, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was achingly gentle, at odds with the deadly power I knew those hands possessed.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I think the world would be poorer without Thais Morvaren in it."

I didn't know how to respond. Every retort or deflection died on my lips, leaving only raw truth.

"My father used to say that," I admitted.

"Wise man," he said, his eyes never leaving mine. "And I assure you, Thais—I am very rarely wrong."

A small laugh escaped me, part disbelief, part something dangerously close to that hope he'd spoken of. "Your humility continues to astound me."

His lips curved into a genuine smile that made him look so young. "One of my many virtues."

"We should continue practicing," I said finally, needing to return to safer ground. "I still have much to learn before this ridiculous ball."

He extended his hand once more, and I took it, allowing him to guide me back into the proper position. For the first time since we’d been forced into these Trials, I found myself wondering what it might be like to survive.

To actually live beyond what was to come. It was a dangerous thought.

Yet as Xül guided me through the steps, his hand warm and steady at my waist, I couldn't quite banish it from my mind.