29. Ghosts in the Garden
Ghosts in the Garden
I found him by the fountain—the one Osythe had shown me earlier with its gargoyles frozen mid-flight.
The crimson sky had deepened to the color of old blood, casting long shadows across the garden's winding paths.
Xül stood with his back to me, silhouetted against the darkening horizon, his shoulders rigid.
This is madness , whispered the voice of reason in my head. Turn back. Return to your chambers. Remember who he is.
"I told you to never eavesdrop on my conversations again, starling."
He didn't turn as he spoke, his voice carrying on the night air. The words lacked their usual edge—no trace of that cold authority that had made my blood freeze in the prison. Instead, he sounded hollow, almost defeated.
"You weren't exactly quiet," I said, stepping into the open, my guard firmly raised. "Half the palace probably heard you."
He exhaled, a sound too normal for comfort. "And yet you're the only one foolish enough to follow me."
I moved closer, deliberately keeping the fountain between us. "I prefer curious to foolish. "
"A meaningless distinction when the outcome is the same." He finally turned, and I almost faltered at the sight of him.
"That's quite the attire for midnight espionage." The words came low and slow, his tone curling under my skin in all the wrong ways. "Were you planning to distract the palace guards with what that gown fails to conceal?"
My gaze crept down. The robe had fallen open during my descent through the palace, revealing the sheer nightgown beneath.
"I was trying to sleep when I heard you arguing," I lied. "I didn't exactly have time to consider appropriate attire for eavesdropping."
His eyes lingered, taking in the way the thin fabric clung to my body. A muscle in his jaw tightened.
"This is..." he began, his voice dropping lower, "dangerous territory, starling. I'm not in the right state of mind to see you like this—with nothing but that flimsy excuse for clothing between you and the night."
His gaze dropped to where the cold had made its presence known beneath the sheer fabric, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. "The garden air seems to agree with you."
"If you're quite finished," I said, forcing the words through a blush I couldn’t stop.
"Not remotely," he replied. Xül had always seemed untouchable—cold and perfect and removed. But now, that immaculate cover had a fault line tearing through it. His eyes held a weariness I'd never witnessed before, an emptiness he was trying to cloak.
"Come to gloat?" he asked, finally averting his eyes. "The fearsome Prince of Death, brought low by family politics? I'm sure it makes for quite the spectacle."
"If I wanted to gloat, I'd have brought wine," I retorted. "Maybe some cake. Made a proper celebration of it."
The words slipped out, and for a heartbeat, I thought I'd overstepped. Then his lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough to make my chest loosen with relief .
"Always so quick with that tongue," he murmured. "One day it will be the death of you."
"Plenty of things are likely to be the death of me in this realm. I'll take my chances with sarcasm."
I became acutely aware of the garden around us—the soft rustling of strange plants, the scent of flowers, the distant call of creatures. Everything in Draknavor seemed to exist on the knife-edge between beauty and terror.
Much like its Prince.
"Nyvora," I said finally, testing the name carefully. "That's who your father wants you to marry?"
His expression shuttered once more, jaw tightening. "A divine match made in absolute paradise."
"You don't want to marry her." It wasn't a question.
"How perceptive." He moved to a stone bench nearby, sinking onto it. "My preferences have never been particularly relevant."
I hesitated, then joined him, keeping distance between us. The memory of his cold threats in the Prison still burned beneath my skin. That was the real Xül—not this brooding figure beside me.
Wasn't it?
Remember what he is , I thought fiercely. Death incarnate. Cruelty with a beautiful face. He threatened everything you love without a moment's hesitation.
But another voice whispered beneath: Then why are you here?
"What makes her so unsuitable?” I asked, genuinely curious despite myself. “Besides the arranged marriage part, I mean."
"Beyond her personality?" His fingers drummed against the stone. "She represents everything I find suffocating about divine society."
"There are other options, surely," I pressed. "Other matches."
"Several." His voice scraped against his throat. "A dozen others who see my position rather than my person."
"Your position as heir to Draknavor? "
His eyes flashed. "My position as a useful tool in their endless games."
The vehemence in his voice startled me. I'd never heard him speak with such unguarded resentment. The Xül I knew—or thought I knew—kept everything locked beneath layers of ice and indifference.
"Have you ever felt like your entire existence was predetermined?" The question came suddenly, startling. "Every choice already made for you by hands not your own?"
A tide of memories surged through me—being forced to hide my powers, watching Sulien die for a secret that wasn't even his, being dragged to the Proving against my will. My entire life had been shaped by forces beyond my control, by divine whims that cared nothing for what I wanted.
"Yes," I admitted, my tone dipping without my permission.
He nodded. "Then perhaps you understand more than most."
"Understand what?"
"I have never," he said, each word deliberate, "felt like my life belonged to me." He looked up at the sky. "I was born a pawn in a game larger than myself." He trailed off, his expression darkening. "I remain as bound as any prisoner in my cells."
The admission seeped into me. At least I'd had twenty-six years of relative freedom. What would it be like to have never known even that?
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to sort through the tangle of feelings.
It wasn't just physical attraction I felt towards him, though that part was rather distracting. No, it was something even more unsettling. Recognition, perhaps. The sense that Xül understood what it meant to belong nowhere completely, to feel as though he wasn’t his own person.
Was that why I felt drawn to him? Even when he did things I hated?
Was it this shared experience of otherness?
Or was it simpler than that? The thrill of danger, the forbidden nature of it all?
The way he looked at me sometimes, like he was seeing straight through to parts of myself I barely acknowledged?
"We're not so different, you and I," I said finally.
His gaze returned to mine. "No," he agreed. "I suppose we're not."
"So, what’s so rotten with Nyvora’s personality?" I asked, unable to let it go. "What's the history there?"
His expression darkened, and he looked away again. "The tables turned quite dramatically once I ascended. The same woman who once mocked my tainted blood now seeks my hand in marriage." Bitterness traced the edges of his voice, measured but undeniable.
"Oh."
"There was a gathering," he continued. "A celebration of some kind. I was perhaps ten years old, newly allowed to attend such functions. Nyvora was there with several other young Legends."
He fell silent for a moment, his expression hardening. "She led them in a game. Well, I suppose it was more of a hunt. They chased me through the halls of Sundralis, hurling insults and worse. I guess one swiped a blade from somewhere."
His hand moved unconsciously to his neck, where a jagged silver scar traced across his bronze skin.
"Divine children can be quite creative in their cruelty," he said with forced lightness. "Especially when they believe their actions have no consequences."
Horror bloomed in my chest. "They hurt you."
"They taught me," he corrected, his voice cold. "They taught me that power is the only language the divine truly respect. That weakness will always be exploited."
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "So you made yourself untouchable."
"I did more than that, starling." His voice dropped lower, almost confessional. "I collected knowledge. Leverage. My father collects souls; I collect secrets."
The admission illuminated so much about him—his library, his observation, his careful attention to details others might miss. Even the way he had extracted information from the Lightbringer.
"When I entered the Trials, I knew every weakness, every fear, every secret shame of those who had tormented me—now mentors for a new batch of mortals." Dark satisfaction flickered across his face.
"That's why they tried to have you killed during the Trials," I realized. "Miria told me about it."
He nodded once. "They feared what I knew. What I might do with that knowledge."
"Oh, I’d imagine."
"Secrets," he continued, speaking more to himself than to me now. "Are the only currency I've ever truly controlled."
"Is that what I am to you?" I asked, the question burning in my throat. "My secret—just another item in your collection? Another weapon?"
His gaze fluttered to meet mine. “It was supposed to be," he admitted. "That was the plan."
The honesty stung more than a lie would have. At least he wasn't pretending.
"And now?" I pressed, unable to stop myself.
He didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice had changed, carrying an undercurrent of sadness. "Now I find myself in the unprecedented position of wanting to protect your secret rather than exploit it."
"You didn't seem particularly protective earlier today," I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "When you threatened everything I care about."
He rubbed at the back of his neck, a crease pulling between his brows. "I was afraid."
"You?" The disbelief in my voice was evident. "The Prince of Death, afraid?"