10. After the Storm
After the Storm
Well, they hadn't killed us. Yet.
"You two certainly caused quite the commotion," Lyralei said, though she sounded amused.
We'd spent the entire night in that sterile room. Neither of us had slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Drakor exploding. Thatcher had spent most of the night staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else.
When the guards had finally come for us this morning, I'd been certain they were dragging us off to be slaughtered.
My heart had hammered against my ribs as they yanked us through corridor after corridor, their grip tight enough to bruise.
I'd tried to catch glimpses of Thatcher, but they'd kept us separated, different guards flanking each of us.
Until we'd arrived at a door I recognized. And there was Lyralei, standing on the other side with a knowing smile.
They'd taken Thatcher to his own dressing room down the hall, and I'd caught a glimpse of ethereal beings with the same star-filled eyes as my team. More Dreamweavers .
I forced myself to take a breath, to center my thoughts around the pact Thatcher and I had made.
Play the part. Learn everything we could.
Survive long enough to turn their own knowledge against them.
If I was going to gather intelligence, I needed these people to see me as cooperative, even grateful.
"Is he—will they take care of him?" I asked, letting genuine worry bleed into my voice.
"Ember's team is excellent," Lyralei assured, guiding me toward the chair.
"Such a shame." Vesper appeared at my side, eyeing my rumpled, blood-stained clothing with obvious distaste. "That dress was one of my favorites."
"I'm sorry," I said, and managed to sound like I meant it. "Everything happened so quickly."
“At least you’re alive.” He shrugged almost flippantly.
"So," I said, settling into the same chair from before. "I take it Voldaris has opinions about yesterday?"
Novalie practically bounced on her toes, eyes sparkling with excitement. "You have no idea. Everyone is talking about you two. The twins from Saltcrest who?—"
"Who killed Drakor," Vesper finished dryly, beginning to unlace my ruined dress. "Quite efficiently, I heard. One moment he was there being his usual charming self, the next..." He gestured vaguely. "Splat."
I stared at him. "You don't seem particularly upset about it."
"Upset?" Lyralei laughed. "Half the realm is probably throwing parties."
"But he was one of the Legends?—"
"He was a sadistic monster who took pleasure in unnecessary cruelty," Vesper said matter-of-factly, beginning to ease me out of the stained fabric.
"If it had been Miria or Kavik, the Aesymar might actually be mourning.
As it stands, most are just impressed that someone finally managed to shut him up permanently. "
Novalie sighed, applying some sort of cleansing oil to my arms. "He had a tendency to take things too far. Last Trials, he tortured a contestant for three hours just because he found her answers unacceptable.”
My stomach turned. "She survived?"
"Barely. But healers had to spend a good few days putting her mind back together afterward. Drakor thought it was hilarious."
"And the other Legends just... let him?"
"It’s complicated," Vesper said, but there was a warning in his voice.
"Mentors have absolute authority over their contestants.
What happens in those training sessions is considered private.
Even if everyone knows it's wrong. Xül certainly restricted his access in Draknavor afterwards, even though he’s not supposed to retaliate. "
I absorbed this information while Vesper stalked over to the wardrobe, pulling out a deep blue mess of sheer fabric.
He shot me a look over his shoulder. "Also, the fact that your brother managed to do what fully ascended gods struggle with is causing quite the stir. It’s the most interesting thing to happen in centuries. "
"My brother killed someone and it's interesting," I said flatly.
"Your brother killed someone who desperately needed killing," Vesper corrected. "There's a difference. Though I admit, the method was rather spectacular. Very dramatic."
"How are you all so casual about this?" I demanded. "Don't you understand what this means? They'll see Thatcher as a threat now. They'll?—"
"They'll be fascinated," Lyralei interrupted gently. "The Aesymar aren't scared, dear. They're intrigued."
That somehow made it worse.
"How many made it through the Proving?" I asked, needing to distract myself from whatever that might mean.
"Thirty-seven," Lyralei answered, pulling a comb through my hair.
"And how many competed? "
"Close to three hundred."
Gods . I'd known it would be bad, but three-hundred? "That's..." I swallowed hard. "That's a lot of people."
"Sometimes it's higher, sometimes lower. Depends on the quality of the candidates and how creative the Legends feel like being." Novalie’s voice had lost its cheerfulness.
“How do the Legends decide how to choose?”
“Well, traditionally, they are encouraged to choose a contestant that will assimilate easily into their domain. Someone whose abilities complement their own.” Lyralei said.
Vesper shrugged. “Sometimes they abide. Sometimes they don’t.”
"What happens after?"
"Your mentor will explain everything," Novalie said, dusting my cheekbones with a golden shimmer. "They'll train you, guide you, hopefully prepare you enough for survival."
"Train us how?"
"Your abilities," Lyralei cut in. "Hone them. Teach you to use them creatively. Try to bring them to their full potential.”
“But there are other things you’ll need to be prepared for as well," Vesper added, lifting the blue gown. "Basic survival skills. Combat. Strategy. Tracking. And how to navigate divine society of course.”
"Seriously?" I held back an eyeroll.
"Politics, alliances, presentation," he explained, helping me into the gown. The fabric whisked across my skin, falling in sheer waves down my frame. "This process isn’t simply about raw power—it’s about proving you can function here if you ascend."
"Lovely." This time, the eyeroll broke free from my restraints.
“And darling, you could certainly use some of that.” Vesper laughed. “Although, feel free to behave as barbaric and uncouth as you like around us. It’s endearing.”
“You think this is barbaric? You don’t know the start of it.” I shrugged, bit back a grin. “Bar crawls, chugging contests, arm-wrestling matches with dirty fishermen?—”
“Delightful, truly,” Lyralei cut in, blinking tenderly. “Now, be still so I can figure out what to do with all of this.” I obliged, and she got to work.
I caught my reflection in the mirror as Vesper worked on the gown's final adjustments.
The deep blue fabric was structured at the bodice, reinforced with narrow metallic panels that traced down my torso like armor, but the skirt flowed in translucent layers that offered glimpses of my legs through the dark folds.
Soon, I'd be standing before the Legends again, waiting to learn which one would own me for the duration of this nightmare.
Miria seemed like my best option. If I had to be mentored by one of them, at least she appeared to have retained some memory of mortality. The fact that she'd tried to stop Drakor's torture of Thatcher spoke well of her character.
But my preference didn’t matter. It’s not like the decision was in my hands. Even more, there were so many others who had been watching from afar up until now. Thirty-seven mentors would be here today, not just the ones who’d presided over the Proving.
"So," I said, adjusting the flowing sleeves of my gown. "Any predictions on who might want the blood-covered twins as mentees?"
"Oh, come now," Novalie said with obvious delight, "every mentor is going to want you."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
"Please remember, dear, mentorship isn't like mortal teaching," Lyralei explained. "The gods expect absolute obedience and complete dedication. They'll reshape you into whatever they think you need to be to survive, regardless of what you want."
"Well, that sounds completely reasonable."
"I understand your sentiment." Vesper said simply. "But refusing a mentor's guidance is considered tantamount to suicide. Which, to be fair, it usually is. "
I stared at my reflection, watching Lyralei wrap my hair around heated coils.
The thought of being owned—by anyone, but especially by one of them—made fear flare in my chest. But I pushed it down, buried it beneath the mask of compliance I was learning to wear.