25. The Banquet #2
"They're definitely fucking," Marx observed bluntly. "Rather enthusiastically, from the looks of it."
Aelix choked on his drink. "Your tact is, as always, remarkable."
"Am I wrong?" she challenged.
"Not at all," Xül replied, amusement coloring his tone.
More couples joined the dance floor, each moving with that grace that followed all the Legends.
"Xül." A feminine voice broke into our conversation. Nyvora had returned, her expression set in determined charm. "Surely you won't deny me a dance now that the formalities of dinner have concluded?"
I felt rather than saw Xül's hesitation. But he rose, perfect courtesy masking whatever reluctance he might have felt. "How could I refuse such a gracious invitation?"
Nyvora's smile was triumph itself as she took his hand and led him toward the dance floor. I watched them go, telling myself the tightness in my chest was simply concern.
They moved together with sultry cadence, her body pressed against his like she knew every piece of him. And he was leading her with confidence. His expression remained carefully neutral as she spoke into his ear.
"Well, that's nauseating," Marx remarked, following my gaze.
I forced myself to look away, focusing on my now-empty glass. "Seems like some kind of political maneuvering."
"Mmm." She studied me with unnerving intensity. "Is that what we're calling it?"
I narrowed my eyes at her, a silent warning she completely ignored.
"Careful, Thais," she continued, her voice pitched low enough that only our table could hear. "Your face gives away more than you think."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I replied coolly.
She kicked me under the table, hard enough to make me jerk in surprise. "Liar."
"Ladies," Aelix interrupted, looking between us with growing suspicion. "Is there something I should know?"
"Absolutely not," we replied in unison, which only deepened his frown.
"Marx is delusional," I added for good measure.
Aelix sighed, reaching for his drink. "I believe I'll tune out of this particular conversation before it becomes any more perilous. "
"Wise choice," Marx remarked, raising her glass in mock salute.
Across the hall, I spotted Kyren seated at a table with his mentor. He caught my eye and offered a subtle nod of recognition.
I glanced toward the dance floor again, where Xül and Nyvora were concluding their waltz. His expression remained carefully neutral, but his posture suggested relief as he escorted her off the floor. His eyes found mine across the hall, a silent question in them.
I'm fine, I tried to convey without words. And then he was headed back towards our table, narrowly avoiding interception from another beautiful Legend.
"Nyvora sends her regards," he said dryly, reclaiming his seat.
"I'm sure she does," Marx muttered, earning a sharp look from Aelix.
The rest of the evening passed in careful conversation and watchful observation.
I learned to read the subtle dynamics of divine politics in the tilt of a head, the placement of a hand, the careful distance maintained or deliberately breached.
Each interaction was a lesson—in what to say, what to avoid, how to deflect uncomfortable questions without giving offense.
By the time the banquet began to wind down, exhaustion pulled at my limbs, the constant vigilance taking its toll. Across the hall, other contestants showed similar signs of fatigue, while the Legends remained as fresh and alert as when the evening began.
"Another advantage of divinity," Xül noted, seeing my observation. "Endless endurance for tedious social obligations."
"Something to look forward to," I replied dryly.
He rose, offering his hand. "It's time we took our leave. We've made the required appearances, formed the necessary impressions."
I accepted his hand, allowing him to help me to my feet. "And what impression have we made, exactly?"
"As I said earlier, that you are worth watching," he whispered, his eyes holding mine.
The weight of his words settled over me like a cloak—part protection, part burden. To be exceptional in the divine realms meant to be noticed. To be noticed meant to be targeted.
We bid farewell to Marx and Aelix, then turned toward the entrance. The atmosphere had softened around us, the night winding to its inevitable conclusion. Divine servants glided between tables, collecting abandoned glasses.
Near the center of the hall, I noticed Darian again. He'd been drinking steadily since Kavik's rebuke. A cluster of Legends had gathered nearby, deep in animated discussion.
"—the integration is proceeding smoothly across all territories," one was saying. "Having priests stationed permanently within encampments has already yielded results."
"Three new blessed discovered among the soldiers just in time for the Trials," another added.
Then Darian moved closer, swaying slightly, taking a step into their circle. “One wonders why the King of Gods thinks the divinely blessed are more likely to be found among those who kill for a living."
The Legends turned to him with expressions of mild surprise.
"You question Olinthar's methods?" one asked carefully.
A flicker of awareness crossed Darian's flushed face. "Not questioning. I simply wonder?—”
"You're suggesting the King of Gods prepares for war?" Kavik's voice cut through the room. He'd approached silently.
"My lord, I simply meant?—"
"You believe yourself qualified to assume the King's intentions?" Kavik moved closer, each step measured.
"I think I’ve had too much to drink—" Darian started.
"The wine revealed what sobriety hid." Kavik hissed. "Tell me, what other insights about the Twelve does your evolved wisdom offer?"
The hall had gone silent, all eyes on the unfolding drama. Viewing portals shifted position, drinking in every moment.
"None, my lord. I misspoke. I only wanted?— "
"To impress. To seem clever. To distinguish yourself." Kavik's fingers grazed Darian's cheek. "Congratulations. You've succeeded."
The space between them vanished. Kavik’s hand rose as if to offer a lover’s touch. His fingers grazed Darian’s cheek, and flesh sizzled beneath them.
The boy convulsed. A shuddering breath caught in his throat, then broke into a soundless scream. Smoke curled from his skin in fine, whispering threads. The scent of burning filled the air.
Darian’s eyes locked on Kavik’s, wide and wet, blistering at the edges. His body arched, muscles seizing as fire consumed him from the inside out.
Then stillness. Darian’s blackened fingers curled uselessly toward the ceiling. His body collapsed, more ash than man, sagging to the floor.
The silence that followed was absolute. No one moved. No one spoke. Even the viewing portals seemed to hold their breath, drinking in this unexpected execution.
Then Kavik turned, his gaze sweeping the gathered contestants. "Respect is valued above all else in Voldaris," he said, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "Remember this."
With that, he stepped over Darian's body and rejoined the other Legends, accepting a fresh glass of wine as if nothing of consequence had occurred. Divine servants materialized to remove the remains of his former contestant.
The spell broke. Conversation resumed, though more subdued than before. Legends and contestants alike continued their preparations for departure as if a life hadn't just been extinguished for a moment of drunken idiocy.
"Come," Xül murmured, his fingers closing around my wrist with gentle insistence. "We need to go."
I moved in a daze, my mind replaying the image of Darian's final expression—that moment of horrified comprehension.
Outside, the night air was cool against my skin, but inside, I was still on fire.
"That was—" I started, unable to find words adequate to the horror I'd witnessed.
"That was divine justice," Xül finished for me, his expression unreadable. "Swift and absolute."
"He was trying to impress them," I said, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. "He just wanted to belong."
"And that desperation killed him," Xül replied, his eyes holding mine with uncomfortable intensity. "In Voldaris, the obvious need for approval is a weakness that will be exploited. Remember that, starling."
A tremor ran through me at the implications—at how close Thatcher and I danced to similar destruction with every breath we took.
"This is the world you're fighting to join." Xül's hand found my shoulder, forcing me to meet his gaze. "This is what awaits at the end of your path."
"No," I whispered, the denial automatic. "I wouldn't?—"
"You would," he said, his voice gentle but unyielding. "Or you would die. Those are the only options divinity allows."
Before I could respond, he raised his hand, tearing open the fabric between domains. The portal yawned before us, darkness beckoning like an old friend.
"Is that what happened to you?" I asked, unable to stop myself.
Irritation flashed across his eyes.
“I didn’t sacrifice all of my empathy, starling,” he said finally, extending his hand. "But enough that I survive."
I placed my palm in his, the contact sending an unwelcome spark through my veins. Together, we stepped into the portal, leaving behind the glittering facade of divine society and all its terrible games.
Darian's empty eyes following me into the darkness. As we emerged on the other side, the obsidian halls of the Bone Spire welcomed us with their cold embrace. But even here, in the heart of Xül's domain, I couldn't escape the chill that had settled in my bones.
"We leave for the Eternal City at dawn," Xül said quietly, his voice breaking through my thoughts. "There are matters I must attend to, and you..." He paused, studying my face. "You need to see more than just the glittering surfaces."
"Haven't I seen enough?" The words escaped before I could stop them.
His eyes softened. "What you witnessed tonight was merely the performance. Tomorrow, we glimpse behind the curtain."