24. The Waiting Game
The Waiting Game
The next two weeks flew by in a mix of training and nights spent alone. Xül traveled often to the Eternal City, muttering about administrative inconveniences whenever he returned, shadows gathering beneath his eyes with each passing day.
We settled into a strange rhythm—mornings on the black sand beach, where I fought his summoned souls until my limbs trembled with exhaustion, afternoons in his library, where he filled my head with knowledge of the pantheon until I felt my brain might burst.
"Again," Xül commanded, his voice carrying across the sand as another damned soul materialized before me, twisted by whatever sins had condemned it.
I raised my star-blade, ignoring the protest of muscles that had been pushed beyond their limits hours ago. "You realize normal mentors give their students breaks, right?"
"You're hardly a normal student," he replied, unmoved by my exhaustion.
The soul lunged with unnatural speed. I pivoted, bringing my blade up in an arc that sliced through its torso. It dissolved with a wail that sent shivers down my spine .
Xül stepped closer, his expression critical. "Your left side is still open. If that had been a real opponent?—"
"I'd be dead. Yes. So you've mentioned." I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. "Repeatedly."
His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile I'd seen in days. "At least you're listening."
Without knowing which two of the twelve Aesymar would combine their domains for the next trial, we couldn't prepare for specific challenges. So instead, we prepared for everything.
"The waiting is part of the game," Xül explained one evening as I collapsed into a chair in his library, every muscle screaming. "It's deliberate. The anticipation of pain is often worse than pain itself."
"Spoken like someone who's never been stabbed," I muttered, reaching for the book he'd assigned—a tedious tome on the twelve domains.
"On the contrary," he replied, his voice oddly distant. "I've experienced both. The waiting is worse."
I looked up, surprised by the admission, but he had already turned away.
On the fourteenth day, as we finished our afternoon studies, Xül paused, his head tilting slightly as if hearing voices I couldn't.
"What is it?" I asked, closing the volume I'd been studying.
"We've received correspondence," he said, his expression unreadable. "Two, actually."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "The next trial?"
"Not exactly." He materialized an envelope between his fingers—thick parchment sealed with wax the color of dried blood. "An invitation."
"To what?"
"A banquet celebrating the surviving contestants." His tone suggested he found the entire concept tedious. "A tradition after the first trial."
"And the second?"
His expression darkened. "My presence is requested in the Eternal City. Again."
"When is the banquet?" I asked, eyeing the envelope with trepidation.
"Tomorrow evening," he replied, breaking the seal with a flick of his thumb. "Which means we need to prepare you."
I groaned. "More training?"
"Of a different sort." His smile held no warmth. "The Dreamweavers will return tomorrow to assist with your... presentation."
My heart gave a small leap at the thought of seeing Lyralei and her team again. They’d been so kind to me before the choosing, and that sounded like the exact thing I needed now. Kindness in the face of the unknown.
"Don't look so pleased," Xül admonished, though amusement flickered in his eyes. "Divine gatherings can be as dangerous as the Trials themselves."
"You certainly know how to make a girl look forward to a party," I muttered.
"It's not a party, starling." He leaned forward, suddenly serious. "It's a performance."
"So I smile and nod and try not to get myself killed. Sounds familiar."
"Indeed." He rose, tucking the invitation into his coat. “Now, off to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When morning came, I awoke to a flurry of activity outside my chambers. Voices carried through the stone corridors—excited, nervous, distinctly out of place in the somber atmosphere of the Bone Spire.
The Dreamweavers had arrived.
I barely had time to dress before my door burst open, revealing Lyralei in all her silver-haired glory, flanked by Novalie and Vesper. Their expressions as they took in my chambers were comical—a mixture of fascination and thinly-veiled horror .
"Well, don't you look... alive," Lyralei quipped, her eyes sweeping over me.
"Lovely to see you again, dear," Novalie clarified, already unpacking various containers and implements from a bag that seemed to contain far more than its size should allow.
"What they mean," Vesper cut in, pushing past them both to grasp my shoulders, "is that we're thrilled you survived." His eyes narrowed as he examined my face. "Though I could do without the whole death domain chic aesthetic you've adopted. Those shadows under your eyes are tragic, darling."
I laughed, surprised by how much I'd missed their chaotic energy. "Good to see you too."
"So," Lyralei said, taking charge as she always did, "we have approximately six hours to transform you from 'recently escaped death' to 'divine vision of perfection.' Novalie, start with her hair—it looks like it's been cut with a dull knife."
"It has," I admitted, earning horrified gasps from all three. "What? Practical trumps pretty when you're training twelve hours a day."
"Barbaric," Vesper muttered, already rifling through my wardrobe.
Lyralei snapped her fingers, and a fourth Dreamweaver I hadn't noticed before hurried forward with what appeared to be a garment bag. "Fortunately for you, we came prepared with an entirely new collection of gowns to choose from."
What followed was hours of pampering that felt surreal after weeks of brutal training. They washed my hair with scented oils, massaged creams into my battle-worn skin, and applied glittering cosmetics.
"The banquet will be held at the palace where the Proving was conducted," Lyralei explained as she worked on my hair. "It's neutral territory between Elaren and Voldaris."
My stomach tightened at the thought of returning to that place. "Lovely. "
"All the Legends will be there with their contestants," Novalie added as she applied some shimmering substance to my skin. "Though none of the Twelve will attend."
That, at least, was a relief.
"So it'll just be us lesser beings, then," I said, earning a laugh from Vesper.
"I don’t know if I’d call you a lesser being, Thais Morvaren," he said. "Your performance in the trial has everyone talking, you know."
"I saw you learned quite a bit about alchemy during your time in Draknavor," Lyralei interjected, her voice carefully neutral.
"Xül stuffed my brain with so much information I'm surprised it hasn't leaked out my ears."
"Those wards you created during the Hunt were quite impressive," Novalie said, her eyes wide and earnest. "Though it looked as if they didn't work properly?"
I tensed, remembering the way the creatures had ignored my friends' protection to focus on Thatcher and me. "Just didn't make the distillation strong enough," I lied smoothly. "First attempt and all that."
Lyralei's gaze lingered on me a moment too long.
"And how is it, working with the Prince of Draknavor?" Vesper asked, not bothering to hide his curiosity. "He’s known to be... difficult."
"That's one word for it," I replied, unable to suppress a smile. "He's a decent teacher when he's not being an insufferable ass."
They laughed, the sound brightening the gloomy chamber.
"The Choosing certainly didn't go as anyone expected," Lyralei remarked, her fingers nimble as she wove small jewels into my hair. "Many thought Xül would select your brother after that display with Drakor."
"So did he," I admitted. "But at this point, I can't imagine being paired with anyone else. Despite his... techniques and sharp tongue, I don't think any of the other Legends have his breadth of knowledge. The years he spent in libraries clearly paid off. "
"We're proud of you," Novalie said suddenly, her expression turning serious. "Surviving the first trial is no small feat."
A heavy silence fell over the room, tension creeping in where lighthearted banter had been moments before. We all knew the truth. This was just the beginning. There would be more Trials. More death. More pain.
I saw it in Lyralei's eyes as she finished my hair—a sadness that couldn't be masked by her professional demeanor. She had prepared countless contestants over the years. How many had returned?
"There," she said finally, stepping back to admire her work. "Let's show you."
They turned me toward a full-length mirror.
My black hair was swept up in an intricate style that left my neck bare, small blue-black gems woven through the braids like droplets of night.
The dress they'd chosen was neither black nor blue but somewhere in between, the fabric shifting shades with every movement.
It draped over one shoulder, leaving the other bare, and fell to the floor in a cascade of melting darkness.
The cosmetics they'd applied hadn't masked my features but enhanced them, turning my eyes into indigo pools deep enough to drown in, my lips stained the color of bruised plums.
I looked dangerous. Beautiful, yes, but in the way of finely honed blades—something to admire from a distance, never to touch.
"What do you think?" Novalie asked.
Before I could answer, a deep voice came from the doorway.
"Adequate."
The Dreamweavers scattered like startled birds, turning to find Xül leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He wore formal attire—a coat that fell to his knees, its fabric as black as a starless night.
Beneath it, a vest of deep crimson, and at his throat, a single ruby that caught the light like a drop of blood.
"My lord," Lyralei managed, dipping into a hasty bow. "We were just finishing."
His eyes never left mine. "So I see."