14. Starling
Starling
I woke up tangled in silk sheets that probably cost more than our cottage back home.
Light filtered through tall windows, painting everything in shades of red and gold.
The room was massive, all black stone floors and walls covered in dramatic paintings.
The bath had been the real shock last night. Hot springs ran right through the room—actual natural springs, steaming and perfect. I'd stayed in there until my fingers wrinkled.
Now, looking around in daylight, I had to admit the whole setup was impressive. Oils and soaps lined shelves carved into the walls, everything smelling like seafoam and flowers. It was luxury beyond anything I'd ever imagined.
Part of me wanted to feel guilty for enjoying it, but when would I ever get another chance? If I was going to die, I’d certainly take advantage of this situation before then. Why not?
I reached out through the bond with Thatcher, that invisible thread that had connected us since birth. Still there—faint but steady. He was alive, and from what I could sense, he seemed almost... pleased? At least one of us was handling this decently.
Thatcher was probably already charming Chavore. And here I was, alone in a castle with a mentor who'd rather be anywhere else.
Thatcher and I had promised each other—play the part, be perfect students, learn what we could.
But how was I supposed to do that when my mentor wouldn't even stay in the same room as me?
The plan only worked if I could get close to him, earn some kind of trust or respect.
Hard to do when he treated me like furniture.
My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, interrupting my mental spiral. Right. Food first, figure out how to salvage this mess later.
I forced myself from the sinful comfort of the bed and padded to the wardrobe. Inside, I found an entire collection of clothing in shades of red, black, and charcoal. The fabrics were exquisite—flowing silks, structured velvets, leather so supple it felt like water.
I settled on a lightweight charcoal dress that fell in soft, gathered pleats from a thick, knotted strap over one shoulder.
The neckline cut diagonally across my chest, leaving my collarbone bare, while a narrow slit traced down the center—not bold, but enough to catch the eye.
The back was completely open and the skirt was split high on one thigh to expose my tanned leg.
It was beautiful, impractical, and definitely not designed for whatever passed for training in the domain of death.
The matching strappy shoes looked like instruments of torture. I left them where they were and padded barefoot from my chambers, following the scent of fresh bread and the faint sound of clinking glass through the castle's winding corridors.
The dining area I found was as elegant as everything else in this place—it held a long table of polished dark wood surrounded by high-backed chairs and tall windows offering views of the black sea.
The table was set with gold rimmed plates laden with fresh fruit glistening with dew, bread still warm from the ovens, and golden honey in crystal jars .
But it was empty.
A Shadowskin appeared as if from nowhere, bowing low when she saw me approach the table. "Good morning, my lady. His Highness has business to conduct in the capital today. He sends his regrets."
“I’m sure he does,” I murmured under my breath. "The capital?"
"The Eternal City," she clarified, pouring tea into a cup. "He expects to return this evening. You are welcome to explore the estate as you wish, though we ask that you remain within the property boundaries for your safety."
So much for training. I grabbed a roll and settled into one of the chairs, trying not to feel disappointed.
"Is there anything else you require, my lady?" the servant asked.
"No, thank you." I waved her away.
A different perspective occurred to me. He was gone for the entire day, which meant I had free run of his castle.
Perhaps it was time to do some investigating.
One thing was certain. This palace was vast.
I spent hours wandering through corridors that seemed to stretch on forever, past rooms filled with purposes I couldn't begin to guess. Chambers that hummed with energy so thick it made my head pound.
The isolation was staggering. I'd passed maybe a dozen servants in all my wandering, ghostly figures in deep red and black who bowed when they saw me but never spoke.
No other contestants, no other Legends, no one who might serve as distraction or ally.
Just me, alone in a castle built for a population ten times its current size.
It was beautiful, certainly. Every room I entered was a masterpiece of architecture and design, flowing lines and organic curves that seemed grown rather than built. But it was also profoundly lonely, in a way that made my chest ache with homesickness for Saltcrest's cramped, chaotic warmth.
The library was on the opposite side of the castle, and I almost missed it in my wanderings.
When I finally pushed open the massive oak doors, my eyes trailed across the display in wonder.
The space was enormous—books stretching up to a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations I didn't recognize.
Floating orbs of pale light drifted between the shelves like lazy fireflies.
A servant was shelving books near one of the massive windows, his movements careful and precise as he placed each volume in its designated spot. He looked up when I entered, bowing slightly.
"My lady," he said softly. "Is there something specific you seek?"
"Just looking around," I replied, wandering closer to examine the titles on the nearest shelf.
The servant continued his work, and I found myself watching him. He was placing books with unusual care. One caught my eye as he lifted it—thick, black leather with silver clasps.
"Quite a collection," I said, trying to sound casual.
"Indeed. King Morthus spent nearly a century gathering these texts from across all the domains. Much of this knowledge exists nowhere else now."
"If these are so precious to Lord Morthus, why are they here instead of... wherever he lives?"
"This was originally a hunting lodge. Given its distance from the capital and its proximity to the Grief Hound territories, it was meant to house important collections in the furthest reaches of Draknavor—the most difficult to access.
" The servant carefully placed another book on the shelf.
"It was never intended as a permanent residence, just a repository for valuable things that needed protection.
When Prince Xül ascended, Lord Morthus offered it to him as his own residence. "
"Grief Hounds?" I questioned. There were certainly other things I wanted to ask, but those words were completely foreign.
He pressed his lips together and studied the floor.
"Large creatures with dark fur and glowing eyes.
They're... complicated beings. While they serve to comfort souls struggling with their transition to death, they can be fiercely protective of their dens.
Dangerous to mortals and divine alike if they perceive a threat.
" He gave me a meaningful look. "That's why we insist guests remain within the castle grounds.
The hounds don't distinguish between friend and foe when defending what they consider theirs. "
That explained a lot. The isolation, the luxury mixed with the feeling of being cut off from everything. This place was essentially a beautiful prison at the edge of the world.
I kept browsing, trying to look uninterested while watching where he placed each book.
"Must be fascinating reading," I said.
"Not for everyone. Rather dark subject matter. But our Prince does have particular interests." He gestured to the section where he'd been working.
"Am I... allowed to read things like that? Being mortal and all?"
The servant turned to look at me directly, pity carved into his face. "Well, we aren't particularly concerned with this knowledge leaving the divine realm."
"Ah, right," I said, the reality hitting me. "Because I either ascend or die."
The servant simply nodded and continued his work.
I waited until he finished before moving to that section. There—the black leather book I'd seen him place.
The Chronicle of the Last Primordial Conflict.
I pulled it down and opened it randomly.
The pages were thick parchment, covered in dense text about beings and powers that no longer existed.
I'd heard whispers of the Primordials growing up—stories passed down through generations, bits and pieces that never quite fit together.
But mortals had no books from that time, just fragments of tales that had been told and retold until truth and legend blurred together.
This was different. This was detailed. Clinical .
Vivros’s power had grown beyond all natural bounds, standing as the final barrier against the corruption plaguing the divine realms. The conflict was so catastrophic that reality itself fractured.
What had once been a single existence split into four separate systems, scattered throughout the Abyss, each cut off from what they had once shared.
I set the first book aside and grabbed another from the same section. More scribbles in the margins. I flipped through frantically.
There—a whole passage dedicated to Cataclysm Incarnate.
Vivros possessed the ability to manipulate all living matter at its most fundamental level. Witnesses described the Primordial as capable of turning a warrior's own blood against them, making their bones brittle as glass.
Gods.
I flipped further.
—a force that could bend matter to its will with mere thought. Mountains of flesh became fluid, plants became dust.
Mountains of flesh became fluid.
I stopped breathing.