19. Verdara
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 every step, 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 the others. 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.
His sudden gentleness made me want to snarl.
I wasn't some fragile thing that needed reassurance, and we both knew these touches meant nothing.
He wanted me intact long enough for me to ascend.
Fine. I needed him to train me so I could claim my revenge.
Simple. Clean. What I didn't need was for him to pretend it was anything more than a simple transaction.
"I'm fine," I repeated, the lie bitter on my tongue.
His expression shuttered instantly, that beautiful mask sliding back into place. "Ready?"
"Yes."
“Verdara awaits.”
He carved reality open and gestured me through.
We were in a clearing in the middle of the woods.
Portals opened around the clearing in flashes of light. I spotted Marx immediately—she moved with that sinister gait that had surprisingly become familiar to me now. We shared a nod of acknowledgement as Aelix materialized beside her.
And suddenly, my mind was not entirely my own.
The bond blazed to life, and I was moving before thought could catch up. Thatcher. There—across the clearing, dark hair catching the dappled sunlight.
I crashed into him hard enough to steal both our breath, his arms wrapping around me like coming home. But he'd changed. Muscle corded beneath his shirt where softness had been.
"Well, someone's been eating their vegetables," I said against his shoulder, drowning in the scent of him beneath Bellarium's fragrant oils.
His laugh rumbled through his chest as he pulled back, flexing dramatically. "You noticed? Chavore's been working me like a draft horse."
"I can tell." Relief flooded through me.
Footsteps approached, and I looked up to see our half-brother walking toward us. He moved with the same confident grace he’d shown at the Proving as he clapped Thatcher's shoulder.
"Your brother's quite the natural," Chavore said, extending his hand with a smile. "A pleasure to formally meet the infamous sister."
Looking at him was like staring into a warped mirror—same bones, same bearing, same blood singing beneath the skin. My stomach churned as I shook his hand. And my eyes fell back to where the two of them stood. Too close for comfort.
Someone's gotten cozy , I sent through the bond.
You know what they say. Keep your enemies closer , came Thatcher's amused reply, though he added aloud, "I've only told him the good things. Running out of material fast."
"Oh, I'm sure." I watched Chavore's laughter as ice slithered down my spine.
"I'll give you two a moment," Chavore said, squeezing Thatcher's shoulder again. "Good luck in there. Both of you." Then he was gliding away toward Elysia and pulling her against him.
My eyebrow climbed. "Well, that's interesting."
"Yeah..." Thatcher's voice carried layers. "By the amount of time she spends in Bellarium, you'd think she doesn't have a blessed to prepare. "
It was then that I felt the eyes on us. Other contestants peaking around their mentors. Thatcher must have felt it too, because he glanced over his shoulder.
Well that’s only mildly concerning , I mused.
Thatcher’s gaze fell back on me. Can’t tell if they’re afraid or sizing us up.
I mean, you did explode a god. Word gets around.
He snorted, but I caught the flicker of pain across his eyes. Shit. I probably didn’t need to remind him of that.
A presence materialized at my shoulder. Xül. And suddenly his hand was sliding down my back, past my waist, fingers grazing the curve of—gods, was he really?—
I jerked away from him, heat scorching my cheeks, too flustered to notice anything but the lingering path of his touch.
Speaking of cozy , Thatcher’s mental voice dripped with unholy glee.
I straightened, shooting Xül a look of contempt. "Thatcher, meet the Prince of Draknavor." I drawled flatly.
My brother's eyes widened before he attempted an awkward bow that made me want to sink into the earth. Gods, Thatcher. Really?
"Unnecessary." Xül waved dismissively. "Though your sister could benefit from learning proper deference."
Thatcher laughed at that, but the awkwardness still permeated.
“Well then?—”
A horn split the air—deep, primal, seeming to rise from the earth itself.
See you in there . Thatcher's urgent thoughts pressed against mine as he squeezed my hand. We need to talk. I’ll find you.
You better , I replied, watching him return to Chavore's side.
And then I whirled on Xül.
"Someone has wandering hands," I hissed.
His smirk was sin itself. "Maybe I couldn’t help myself."
Light exploded across the clearing—brilliant, divine, unrelenting as a portal ripped open at the meadow's end, sparks crackling around the edges.
Xül leaned close one last time, and I hated how my body responded to his proximity. "Survive, starling," he breathed against my hair before shoving me toward destiny.
The transition was like being pulled through starlight.
One heartbeat in the clearing, the next surrounded by the thick brush of an ancient wood.
Trees rose impossibly high, their canopy so thick it created a world of emerald shadow and filtered light.
Everything pulsed with Davina's power, so different from Draknavor's death-kissed shores.
Paradise. Beautiful enough to die for.
And most of us would.
"Welcome, blessed contestants," a voice rolled through the forest, "to the first Trial of Ascension."
I spun, searching shadows between trunks, but found only endless green stretching into forever. No contestants. No Thatcher, no Marx, no sign of the thirty-seven souls who'd entered alongside me.
I was completely alone.