9. The Pact
The Pact
The world twisted, and we were somewhere else.
I hit the ground hard. The magical rope bit into my wrists, cutting off the flow of power before I could even think to reach for it. Beside me, Thatcher stumbled.
Gasps. Whispers. Dozens of voices rising in shock and revulsion.
I looked up to find myself in a large room—high ceilings, polished floors, benches filled with other contestants. All of them staring at us with wide eyes and dropped jaws.
Right. We were covered in blood. Head to toe in it. Drakor's blood. I didn’t want to think of what other pieces of him might still be clinging to us. Gods . What had Thatcher done to him?
"Move," the guard behind me grunted, shoving me forward. Another guard grabbed Thatcher's arm, pulling him in the opposite direction.
Absolutely fucking not.
"No." The word tore from my throat. I planted my feet, throwing my weight backward. "You will not separate us."
The guard's grip tightened on my arm, but I thrashed harder. "I will kill everyone here if you take him away from me again. "
More murmurs from the crowd of blessed. Good.
"Not with that rope around your wrists," the guard said, yanking me forward.
The rope. Like the palace, it kept my powers locked away, useless. But he was wrong if he thought that made me harmless.
"You think I can't find more creative ways to take you down?" I snarled, throwing my elbow back into his ribs. He grunted, his grip loosening just enough for me to wrench free and stumble toward Thatcher.
"Just put them in a cell together," huffed the guard holding my brother. "It’s not like they can use their powers."
"Yeah, listen to your friend here," I spat toward my guard, who was already reaching for me again.
They yanked us both through a door, and the guard behind me tightened the ropes on my wrists until I cursed before finally releasing me from their hold. Then, finally, the door slammed shut behind us.
I turned to look at Thatcher, and my heart cracked.
He looked... empty. Blood matted his dark hair and streaked down his face in rusty trails. But his eyes. They were blank. Staring at nothing. Like he'd gone somewhere far away and hadn't found his way back yet.
I rubbed my wrists, watching the rope burns fade.
This place was nothing like the dungeon I'd originally woken up in.
It was clean. Comfortable. Crystal goblets sat on a polished table.
Bottles of various liquids lined the shelves above.
There was one small sitting area and no escape route except the door that had just locked behind us.
I walked directly to the bottles and popped a cork, inhaling. Alcohol. Strong enough to burn. This would do.
I took a long pull, the liquid fire sliding down my throat, then turned back to Thatcher, extending the bottle.
He didn't take it. Didn't even notice I was there.
"Thatcher." My voice came out rough. "We need to make a plan. "
He blinked slowly, like he was trying to force the room into focus.
"Are you not at all concerned?"
I almost laughed. "You could say I'm very concerned. Hence, the drink." I held out the bottle again. "You look like you need one too."
This time he took it, but his hands shook so badly I was afraid he'd drop it. He didn't drink.
"I don't understand what happened," he said finally. "I was in pain and then..." He trailed off, staring at nothing again.
"Well, clearly you're not powerless after all."
"How is this possible? What kind of power does that ?"
The alcohol had started burning away some of the sharp edges of panic. "On the bright side, at least it didn't manifest while we were still in Saltcrest. That could have been a mess."
The dark humor felt wrong even as I said it, but I needed something to pull him back from whatever ledge he was standing on.
"Thais."
"And no one will miss that bastard." I shrugged.
"Please be serious right now."
The devastation bleeding through our bond hit me like a whip. I pulled his arm until we were both sitting on the small couch.
"We're going to figure it out," I said quietly. "We're still alive."
"And you don't think they'll kill us for what I did?"
I chewed my lower lip, unable to give him an immediate answer. The truth was, I didn't know. No one knew how the Aesymar would respond to a power like his. A single thought, and Drakor had simply... ceased to exist.
"I think if they were going to kill us, they would have done it out there. Why wait?"
But even as I said it, I knew I was lying to myself. There were no stories of a mortal ever killing a god. Only fully ascended Aesymar had any chance of taking down one of their own, and even then, the stories of gods fighting gods spoke of catastrophic battles that lasted days.
"You never felt anything like that before?" I asked. "You're sure? "
"Never." He stared at the floor. "And I don't feel it now. It's just... gone."
I didn't understand that, but I didn't press. Not yet.
"If you're not going to drink that," I said, taking the bottle back and draining another mouthful.
"I don't know how you're drinking right now. I feel like I could retch at any moment."
I looked at the blood dried on his neck and face, grabbed a cloth from the table, and began cleaning him up.
"We need to figure out what we're doing next," I said, working at a particularly stubborn streak near his temple.
He nodded but continued staring at nothing.
I turned his face toward mine, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Thatcher, I need you to snap out of this. You can fall apart later. Right now, we need to talk."
"There's no plan we can make, Thais." His voice was flat, defeated. "We're at the whims of the Aesymar. At some point, they'll separate us. And then they'll kill us, or we'll die in the Trials."
A grave finality crossed his features, and I realized he'd already given up. Already accepted that we wouldn't make it out of this alive.
I sighed, looking around the sterile room. Because part of me thought he was right.
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened settling over us like a shroud. The blood, the death, the impossible power that had torn through my brother like an avalanche.
And then, I realized we hadn't even talked about?—
"Sulien."
The name fell between us. Through our bond, Thatcher’s pain struck me. His face crumpled, and suddenly he looked young again. Lost.
"He's really gone, isn't he?" he whispered.
The sob that had been building in my throat finally broke free. " Yeah. He's gone."
"I keep thinking I'll wake up." Thatcher’s voice cracked. "That this is all some nightmare, and I'll open my eyes and he'll be there making breakfast. Complaining about us tracking sand through the house."
I wrapped my arms around him, and he leaned into me the way he had when we were children.
"I can't stop seeing it," he whispered against my shoulder. "The way they killed him."
My throat closed. "He didn't fight back."
"He could have. He was strong. He could have tried to run, could have—" Thatcher's voice was a strained, hopeless thing. "But he just knelt there."
"He was protecting us. Even at the end."
"I should have done something. Should have?—"
"There was nothing we could do." The words tasted like lies. "They had us bound. We were helpless."
"Were we?" Thatcher pulled back, his eyes red and wild. "You had your power. I had... whatever this is that lives inside me. We could have tried ."
"And gotten everyone in that cave killed along with him."
"So what?"
“The Aesymar would have descended on Saltcrest in droves.”
He looked away, shaking his head.
"Thatcher—"
"He raised us. Loved us. And we repaid him by getting him murdered in front of everyone he cared about." Thatcher scrubbed at his face, smearing tears and leftover blood. "Gods." He doubled over like he'd been punched. "Gods, Thais, he's really gone. He's never coming home."
“Neither are we.” My grief swelled.
The words hung in the air, sharp and brutal and true.
I’d felt that so deeply over the last few days.
Knew down to my bones that it was my fault.
That my secrets were the catalyst for his death.
But it didn’t feel like the truth anymore.
Yes, he died for my secret. But there was no justice in that.
It wasn’t right . Nothing about it was right—this brutal thing that sucked us in and spat us out.
“It’s them,” I said, my voice cold and low. "They got him killed. The gods. The priests. This whole twisted system that treats mortals like they’re disposable."
Thatcher looked away, his jaw clenched tight enough I could see the muscle working beneath his skin. "But we're still trapped in it now, aren't we?" His voice was soft enough to disappear. "Die in the Trials or become one of them. Those are our choices."
"I know," I said.
"And if we somehow survive this—" his eyes met mine, haunted and hollow, "—what then? Become like them?" He ran his hands through his hair, a gesture so painfully familiar it made my heart hurt. "Maybe it would be better to just..."
He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to.
"Is that what Sulien would want? For us to give up?"
"Sulien would want us alive," Thatcher countered, his voice breaking on our father's name. "But at what cost, Thais? To serve in their pantheon? To become monsters ourselves?"
I had no answer for that. We both knew there were no good options left.
Then it occurred to me.
Like a key turning in a lock, everything shifted.
Olinthar.
The name blazed through my mind. The King of Gods. The one who'd set this whole nightmare in motion before we were even born. Every loss, every death, every moment of terror—it all led back to him.
My hands trembled.
We were probably going to die. In the Trials, by execution, by ascension—it didn't matter. Our deaths were already written. But what if?—
What if I rewrote the ending?
I had to grip the couch to keep from doubling over. Not just revenge. Not just justice. But balance. He'd created us through violence. It seemed fitting that violence would be what destroyed him.
I saw it then. Purpose. A reason for all this pain that went beyond just enduring it.
I'm going to kill him.
The decision didn't feel like a choice. It felt like gravity—inevitable, inescapable. Like it had been waiting inside me since the moment I first learned what he'd done to our mother.
My whole body went rigid. This wasn't just about us anymore. This was about everything. Every blessed child dragged to their death. Every family torn apart. Every prayer to deaf gods.
Thatcher's eyes sharpened on my face. "What?"
"Nothing." The word came out too quick. I turned away, reaching for the bottle again.
"Thais." His hand caught my wrist. "I know that look."
"There's no look."
He studied me with those eyes that had always seen too much. "What is it?"
I pulled free of his grip. "Drop it, Thatcher."
"No." He moved around me, blocking my escape. "Don't shut me out now."
"Some things are better left unsaid."
"Not between us." His voice went quiet, dangerous. "Tell me what you’re thinking about."
I met his eyes then, letting him see the resolution growing within me. "Justice."
"Justice?" he echoed.
"Yes."
"Thais—"
"I'm going to kill him." I took a deep breath. "Olinthar."
Thatcher went very still. "That's suicide."
"So is everything else." I shrugged, the gesture sharp. "At least this way, my death means something. "
"No." He shook his head, backing away. "No. I'm not losing you to some revenge fantasy."
"It's not a fantasy." I kept my voice reasonable.
"What are you hoping to trigger—some sort of revolution?"
"I don’t know." I leaned forward. "But this is my choice. And you don't get a say in it."
"The hell I don't." Anger flared in his eyes, burning away the grief. "You think I'll just let you march off to die alone?"
"I think you'll respect my decision."
"Your decision to get yourself killed?"
"My decision to make him pay." My heart had relaxed to a steady rhythm. "They murdered our father, Thatcher. Butchered him like an animal while we watched. You want me to just... what? Accept it? Move on?"
"I want you to live ."
"In their world? By their rules?" I laughed, bitter and sharp. "That's not living. That's just a slower death."
"You're not doing this." Thatcher's voice had gone cold, final. "I won't let you."
"You can't stop me."
We stared at each other, neither willing to back down. The bond thrummed between us, a tangle of fear and fury.
Finally, Thatcher spoke. "Fine."
I blinked. "Fine?"
"If you're set on this suicide mission—" He paused, swallowing hard. "Then I'm doing it with you."
"No."
"Yes." He crossed his arms, and suddenly I could see Sulien in him—that same stubborn set to his jaw. "You don't get to make this choice for both of us and then tell me I can't make my own."
"Thatcher, please?—"
"We're twins, Thais. We came into this world together." His voice was low. "If we're going out of it, we do that together too."
"You’re the one who is supposed to survive this, Thatcher. "
"Because you say so?" He grabbed my hands, holding tight when I tried to pull away. "If you're going after Olinthar, I'm going with you. We plan together, we fight together, and if we die—" His grip tightened. "We die together."
The protest faded in my throat. Because I knew that look. Had seen it in the mirror often enough.
"You're an idiot," I whispered.
"Must run in the family."
I wanted to argue more, to dissuade him from this path I'd chosen. But when I looked at him, I saw the same fire that burned in me. The same need for something more than just survival.
"For Sulien?" I asked quietly.
"For Sulien," he agreed. "And for us. On our terms."
I nodded slowly. "Then we'd better be smart about it. Make them think we're broken. Make them believe they've won."
"Let them underestimate us."
"Right up until the end."
"We're going to survive the Trials. We're going to learn everything we can about their world, their weaknesses, their fears.
We're going to be vigilant and cooperative and perfect students.
And when we finally meet Olinthar," I said, his name tasting like rot on my tongue, "we're going to end the force that started this in the first place. "
Thatcher let out a slow breath. "And if we somehow manage to pull it off?"
I thought about that—about a world without tyranny, without the Trials, without the constant threat hanging over anyone who showed even a hint of powers they never asked for. "Then maybe other families won't have to go through what we did."
Thatcher nodded slowly. "Worth dying for."
"Worth dying for," I agreed.
The Aesymar thought they'd captured two terrified mortals.
They had no idea what they'd actually unleashed.