26. Thatcher
Thatcher
“We’re going to Pyros,” Chavore announced, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Time you saw how gods celebrate.”
I’d spent the entire banquet playing my part—laughing at the right moments, asking the right questions, watching alliances form and fracture over glasses of wine that cost more than most mortals would see in a lifetime.
My mind was full, processing everything I’d learned.
All I wanted was a moment of quiet to sort through it all, a moment to reach for Thais through our bond to make sure she was surviving Draknavor.
We hadn’t gotten to speak much during the festivities.
Instead, I found myself being herded toward a gleaming portal by Chavore, Kavik, Nyvora, and Elysia.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said, mustering enthusiasm I didn’t feel. My hand found the small token Sulien had carved for me years ago, still hidden in my pocket. A reminder of why I was here, playing this exhausting game.
The portal spat us onto a steep mountainside, its black rock warm beneath my feet. Above us, a volcano crowned the mountain, smoke and sparks erupting from its summit at regular intervals. Ahead, a narrow path wound upward to a waterfall of lava.
“Welcome to the most coveted revel-hall in all of Voldaris,” Kavik declared, sweeping his arms wide.
I forced a laugh, though there was nothing funny about standing next to the god who had executed his contestant just minutes earlier. And now Kavik wanted to party.
The volcanic path burned against the soles of my boots as we climbed higher.
This was Pyralia’s domain. Fire and passion.
Sweat trickled down my spine, but none of the gods showed any discomfort.
I couldn’t help but think of Saltcrest summers, how the whole village would move slower, the fishermen setting out before dawn to avoid the worst heat. We’d suffered together.
“Watch this,” Kavik said as we reached the lava curtain. He stepped forward, raised both hands, and the molten flow parted like water, revealing a tunnel beyond. “Security system. All are welcome, but only if escorted by a resident of Pyros.”
“Impressive,” I said, maintaining that lie of a smile I’d learned to wear.
We passed through the opening, and the roar of celebration hit me like a wave.
Inside, the volcanic cavern had been transformed into a sprawling pleasure-den.
Pools of lava pulsed with light in rhythm to music that seemed to come from the mountain itself.
Divine beings danced across platforms suspended above magma, their movements fluid and uninhibited.
Beings completely forged in fire crafted drinks that spit sparks and smoke alike.
“This,” Chavore said with a grin, “is where gods let loose.”
Kavik led us to a private alcove overlooking the main floor, where plush seating surrounded a table carved from volcanic glass. Servants appeared with drinks that smoldered.
I took a cautious sip. I needed to stay sharp, but refusing would draw attention. It tasted like liquid fire and cinnamon.
“So,” Chavore said once we’d settled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his voice dropping to a tone that reminded me of the military commanders who’d sometimes visit Saltcrest. “Level with me, Kav. Was killing your contestant really necessary?”
The casual question nearly made me choke on my drink.
Kavik’s easy smile hardened. “You trying to tell me you’d have let that insult to your father slide? Come on, Chav.”
“Obviously not,” Chavore replied, raking a hand through his dark hair. “But there’s discipline, and then there’s overkill.”
Kavik barked a laugh and shoved Chavore’s shoulder hard enough to send a mortal flying.
“What can I say?” He spread his arms wide, nearly knocking over his drink.
“I’m extreme, baby! Life’s too long to be boring.
” His golden eyes caught the lava light, turning them blood-red.
“Besides, not all of us lucked into mentees who know how to behave. Your boy here—” he jerked his chin toward me, “—knows when to bow and when to speak. Darian thought his pretty face would save him from consequences.”
I smiled into my drink, letting them see only polite amusement.
The contradiction wasn’t lost on me—how easily I’d slipped into the role of the respectful mentee while nurturing very different intentions.
People had called me two-faced when I’d charm the village elders by day and slip into taverns by night.
Sulien had always defended me: “He’s not two-faced—he just knows how to navigate different worlds.
” If only he could see me now, navigating the most dangerous world of all.
I glanced at Nyvora and Elysia. Both had their own contestants, yet neither had brought them along. I was the only mortal invited on this excursion, and I couldn’t help but wonder why.
“Speaking of mentees and their keepers,” Kavik drawled, his attention shifting to Nyvora. “What’s this I hear about you circling around Xül like a hawk these days?”
Nyvora’s laugh was musical, though brittleness edged it.
She adjusted the diamonds at her throat.
“A woman can change her mind, darling. If our sweet Elysia gets to claim a prince—” she gestured toward Chavore, “—why shouldn’t I set my sights just as high?
” She paused, swirling her drink with more force than necessary.
“ Besides, Mother’s reached new heights of unbearable.
I’d rather bed Death himself than spend another year as Mother’s errand girl. ”
The table went quiet for a moment, the crude honesty catching even these gods off guard.
“You know I had to lie to her about where I am right now?” Nyvora continued. “Told her I was reviewing fertility reports. Because apparently tracking which mortals fuck during fall equinox is a better use of my time than this.”
Elysia’s eyes widened, while Kavik let out a low whistle.
“Damn, Nyv,” Kavik said, raising his glass. “Tell us how you really feel.”
“I’m simply being practical,” Nyvora said. “I’ll have him wrapped around my finger soon enough.”
“Good luck with that,” Kavik snorted. “The Prince of Death isn’t exactly known for his warm heart.”
“You learn to handle difficult personalities when you’re raised by one,” Nyvora replied, rolling her eyes.
Chavore studied her with new interest. “And here I thought you enjoyed being Davina’s right hand.”
“Oh yes,” Nyvora’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Nothing brings me more joy than organizing harvest celebrations. It’s exactly what I dreamed of when I was young—being Mother’s glorified event planner for eternity.”
“Prince or not,” Kavik said, seeming eager to shift the conversation back to safer ground, “Xül’s still the most insufferable bastard in the whole bloody universe. Struts around Voldaris like he owns it. We get it. You’re special, you ascended, congratulations. Now shut up about it.”
Chavore’s jaw twitched.
“You know what, Kav?” Chavore’s voice was quiet but carried an undercurrent of steel. “He’s the only one of us who actually had to work for his position. The rest of us?” He gestured around the table. “Born into power, never questioned, never tested. ”
The comment dropped into the conversation like a stone, creating ripples of tension that even I could feel.
Elysia’s fingers fluttered to Chavore’s arm, her touch light but possessive.
“My darling,” she purred, her voice honey-sweet but with an edge of warning, “we can’t help the circumstances of our birth, can we?
Divinity is a gift, not a burden to apologize for.
” Her smile was radiant but calculated. “And your father showed exceptional grace in allowing Xül to ascend at all, especially after Morthus’s.
.. disappointing choices.” She turned to address the table, her voice taking on a reverent quality. “Our king truly embodies restraint.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. The word “restraint” applied to Olinthar made my chest twist—a complex knot of grief, rage, and the terrible knowledge of what he truly was.
“Yes,” Chavore said, his voice oddly flat as he drained his glass. “My father is nothing if not merciful.”
I glanced over, caught off guard by his tone, and was shocked to see him rolling his eyes. The gesture was so quick I almost missed it, but it was unmistakable.
Before I could process what I’d seen, Kavik stood, pointing toward a group of dancers. A woman with bright red hair moved at the center, her body gleaming copper in the volcanic light.
“Alright, time for the prince of Voldaris to be my wingman,” Kavik announced, nudging Chavore. “I see Teanna over there.”
Chavore scratched his head, hesitating, but finally nodded. “Fine.”
“Don’t be gone long, my heart,” Elysia called, her voice a musical command rather than a request. “I want to dance beneath the eruption at midnight.”
Chavore returned to plant a lingering kiss on her lips, his hand curving around her waist. “Save your best moves for me,” he murmured against her mouth before following Kavik into the crowd.
Nyvora stretched like a satisfied cat, then stood.
“Well,” she sighed, adjusting her already perfect gown, “some of us require actual sleep to maintain perfection.” Her gaze swept over Elysia.
“ Not everyone was blessed with inevitable beauty, after all.” She gathered her things.
“I’m expected at dawn for the Awakening Ritual. Gods forbid I’m late.”
The bitterness in those last words was impossible to miss. Even Elysia seemed to catch it, her perfect brow furrowing slightly.
“Wait,” Elysia said, rising gracefully. She skipped towards Nyvora, reaching out to touch her fingertips to Nyvora’s cheek. A soft golden glow emanated from the contact, spreading across Nyvora’s skin.
I watched as the subtle signs of exhaustion—the barely visible shadows under her eyes, the tiniest droop to her shoulders—simply vanished. Nyvora’s entire being seemed to brighten, her skin becoming somehow more luminous, more perfect than it had been seconds before.
“There,” Elysia said, stepping back to admire her work. “That should last through tomorrow’s tedious rituals. We can’t have Davina finding fault with your appearance on top of everything else.”
Nyvora touched her cheek briefly. “How generous,” she said, her tone perfectly neutral. “Though I’m sure Mother will find something else to criticize.”
“Well, give her my regards,” Elysia said, settling back into her seat.
“Always,” Nyvora replied with a brittle smile as she swept away toward the exit.
And suddenly, I was alone with Elysia.
She turned to me with a dangerous smile, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames around us. “So, Thatcher Morvaren.” The way she said my name made it clear she’d been studying me. “How are you finding life among the divine?”
“Educational,” I replied, choosing my words with care.
“I imagine it must be overwhelming.” She shifted closer. “All these new wonders to experience.” Her fingers traced the rim of her glass, just inches from my hand. “New... pleasures to discover. ”
Her meaning was unmistakable as her gaze swept over me with frank appreciation.
I maintained my easy smile, though inwardly I tensed.
I was used to attention from women in port taverns, but this was different—calculated, entitled.
And she was with Chavore, who despite everything, seemed genuinely attached to her.
“See anything that interests you?” she asked, gesturing toward the revel with one perfectly manicured hand while her eyes remained fixed on mine.
“The divine domains offer endless delights. And once you ascend—” she said it with absolute certainty,“—you’ll have eternity to sample them all. It never hurts to start looking now.”
“And if a mortal were to... sample... before ascending? What are the consequences for that?”
A strange smile crept up her lips. “Severe,” she said. “Mortals who forget their place learn quickly where the boundaries lie.”
“Such as?” I prompted, allowing myself to appear naively curious.
“When I was still a child,” Elysia said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, her lips nearly brushing my ear, “there was an incident—a Legend took interest in a mortal woman. Before anyone knew if she was with child, the Aesymar intervened. Both were killed.” She shook her head, sending cascades of golden light across her perfect features.
“They simply couldn’t risk more half-bloods entering the world.
The blessed already strain our resources with their endless needs.
No offense, of course.” She sipped her drink, the liquid casting a glow across her throat.
“Besides, I’ve heard the power in divine blood tears mortal women apart from the inside.
Almost none survive the birthing.” Her perfect shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug.
“It’s simply cruel all around. Some boundaries exist for a reason. ”
I buried the rage that threatened to flare.
I forced my thoughts back to the present, leaning closer to Elysia.
This was an opportunity to gather information, nothing more.
I pulled out the smile that had charmed secrets from harbor mistresses and merchants’ daughters.
“So, what’s it like sharing the arm of a prince?
You must be the envy of every lady in Voldaris. ”
Her eyes lit with pleasure at the question.
“The King himself selected me for his son,” she said, practically glowing with pride.
“Can you imagine? Neither of my parents are among the Twelve. Yet Olinthar personally approved our match.” She leaned closer as if sharing the greatest of secrets.
“He told Chavore that I embody the perfect balance of beauty and ambition.”
I nodded, encouraging her to continue while my mind worked through the implications. The worship of Olinthar ran deeper than I’d realized. Even those who suffered at his hands seemed to crave his approval.
Her smile turned triumphant. “Most said I could never aspire to the royal family, yet here I am.”
As Elysia continued her whispered confidences about Olinthar’s grand plans for her future, I found myself studying her—beyond her obvious beauty to the subtle tells that revealed her insecurities, her ambitions.
Everyone had weaknesses, even gods. Finding them was just a matter of patience and observation.