29. Ghosts in the Garden #2
"Yes, me." He stood in a single fluid motion, moving to the fountain's edge.
Water rippled as he dipped his fingers into its dark surface, disturbing the perfect reflection of the night sky.
"What I learned today—what you overheard—it changes… things. Things you can’t begin to understand.
" He trailed off, shoulders tensing. "I reacted poorly. "
"You threatened everyone I love," I repeated, the memory still raw. "You made me feel..."
Helpless. Terrified.
"I did." He faced me directly, no evasion in his gaze. "And I'm sorry for that. It’s become an instinctual reaction for me, I think."
The apology stunned me into silence. I’m sorry . Two simple words that were exceedingly rare coming from those beautiful lips.
Don't trust this , the wary part of me insisted. It's another manipulation. Another trick.
But the raw sincerity in his expression made that warning harder to believe.
"Everything I've done has been to keep you alive, starling."
"Is that how you justify it?" I asked, rising to my feet. "All the walls, all the threats, all the coldness? As necessary evils?"
"I don't justify it," he replied, his voice dropping. "I live with it. As I've lived with everything else."
"So your solution is to become as cruel as those who hurt you?" I challenged, moving closer despite myself. "To build walls so high even you can't see past them anymore? To threaten and manipulate anyone who might actually care about you?"
The words escaped before I could consider their implications. I froze, realizing too late what I'd revealed.
His eyes widened fractionally—the only indication that my slip had registered. He didn't mention it, didn't press the advantage as he might have once done.
"I built walls not just to keep others out," he said after a moment, his voice so low I had to lean closer to hear it, "but to keep something of myself in. Something they couldn't take or change or control."
The confession resonated in places I didn't want to acknowledge.
How much of myself had I locked away over the years?
How much had I sacrificed to keep my powers hidden, to protect those I loved, to maintain the illusion of normalcy?
The walls I'd built around my own heart weren't so different from his—just newer, less tested by time.
I could see the fine lines of tension around Xül's eyes, the careful way he held himself even now. As if he'd revealed too much, given too much away.
As if he regretted letting me see behind the mask, even for a moment.
"I understand," I said simply.
He looked at me then. The guardedness in his expression softened, just for a heartbeat. "I believe you do."
He took a step closer. "Do you know why I find myself so intrigued by you, starling?" His voice was low, almost reluctant.
“My never-ending wit?” I guessed with a smirk. “Or maybe my deep-rooted intellectualism?”
"You see me," he continued, ignoring my attempt at playfulness.
His eyes bore into mine. "Not the Prince of Draknavor to be feared, not the divine heir to be obtained, not the calculated death god that others worship or covet.
" His jaw tightened momentarily. "You look past all of that and see what's beneath.
And then—" he took a step closer, “you have the audacity to give the truth right back to me, unvarnished and unafraid. "
I swallowed, unsure how to respond to this unexpected revelation.
"Do you have any idea how rare that is?" he asked, his voice dropping even lower.
"I've never met someone who didn't want something from me—power, protection, status, alliance. Someone who wouldn’t lie to my face just to please me.
" His fingers flexed at his sides, as if physically restraining himself.
"Everyone sees what I represent, what I can provide.
But you... you just see me. The good and the terrible alike. "
"I don't know if that's a compliment," I managed.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips .
"Neither do I. But it's the truth."
He moved toward me with deliberate slowness, giving me time to retreat if I wished. Every instinct screamed at me to back away, to maintain distance, to remember what he was capable of.
I remained motionless, caught between warring impulses that left me frozen in place.
When he reached me, his touch was nothing like the cruel grip from earlier. His fingers traced the edge of my face, brushing a strand of hair back. The contact sent a shiver through me.
"I can't believe I'm telling you any of this," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "What kind of spell have you cast, starling?"
I met his gaze, finding myself unable to look away. Something raw and dangerous and wounded looked back at me. "I was wondering the same about you."
The admission cost me—chipping away at a piece of the armor I'd built around my heart. I had every reason to hate this man, to fear him, to use him only as a means to an end.
And yet.
He pulled me toward him, an embrace that started awkward and stiff before settling into warmth. My head rested against his chest, where I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—so mundane, so mortal, despite everything he was.
I should pull away. I should remember who he is, what he's done. I should remember my purpose—vengeance against the gods who destroyed my life.
But in that moment, with his arms around me, those reasons seemed to fade like mist.
"I meant what I said about secrecy," he said, his voice rumbling against my ear. "What you heard today must be forgotten."
"I know." The words were muffled against his chest.
"But I should never have threatened you." His arms tightened fractionally. "Not you."
The distinction lingered between us .
I closed my eyes, letting myself exist in this impossible moment—safe in the arms of death itself.
A discreet cough shattered the moment.
We jolted apart.
A Shadowkin servant stood at a respectful distance, bowing deeply.
"Forgive the intrusion, my Prince," the servant said. "Lord Morthus requests your immediate presence in his study. The mortal is to accompany you."
Xül's expression hardened. "At this hour?"
"A message has arrived, my Prince. Lord Morthus deemed it urgent."
The servant's gaze lingered on me longer than they should have.
Xül noticed immediately. "Eyes elsewhere," he snapped, shrugging out of his formal coat—an elegant garment of dark fabric adorned with silver threading.
He draped it over my shoulders in a single fluid motion, completely enveloping me in the heavy fabric.
The weight of it was surprisingly comforting, the collar still warm from his body, carrying that distinctive scent of citrus and dark wood.
"There," he murmured, so quietly only I could hear. "No need to give the servants a show."
Fear twisted in my stomach. Nothing good ever came from urgent messages in the middle of the night.
"We'll come at once," Xül said, all traces of the man I'd glimpsed in the garden now completely vanished beneath the mantle of the Prince of Death.
We followed the servant through silent corridors, the distant sound of the Black Sea fading with each step deeper into the palace. Xül walked with precise, measured strides, tension evident in every line of his body.
Morthus's study was a vast chamber lined with weathered texts, dominated by a massive obsidian desk. The God of Death stood examining a heavy parchment sealed with twin marks—one blue, one silver.
He looked up as we entered, dismissing the servant with a gesture.
"Father," Xül acknowledged, loosening the collar at his throat.
"A message has arrived," Morthus said without preamble, holding up the parchment. "Bearing the seals of Thalor and Sylphia."
Xül went completely still.
Morthus broke the seal with a twist of his wrist, unfolding the heavy parchment. His expression darkened as he read.
"The second trial begins tomorrow at dawn," he announced. "All surviving contestants must present themselves at the Western Lake of Hydrathis, where Thalor and Sylphia will oversee a trial by water and wind."
"Tomorrow?" The word escaped me before I could contain it, horror crawling up my spine. My body still remembered the trauma of the hunt.
"This is unprecedented," Xül said, his voice tight with controlled anger. "This acceleration serves no purpose except to increase casualties."
"Perhaps that's the intent," Morthus replied quietly.
My legs suddenly felt weak, and I gripped the edge of a nearby bookshelf to steady myself. Another trial. Tomorrow. We were being thrown back into danger with no time to prepare, no time to heal.
"We need to leave immediately," Xül said, turning to me with an urgency I'd never seen in him before.
"I'll open a portal to the Bone Spire," Morthus said, his expression grim.
Xül nodded, the tension in his shoulders visible. "Thank you, Father."
The simple exchange felt weighted after their argument earlier that night. Morthus inclined his head in acknowledgment, then turned to me .
"Good fortune in the trial, Thais Morvaren. It was a pleasure to have you in our home."
I nodded—the only movement I could manage. Morthus extended his hands, fingers tracing complex patterns in the air. Reality shimmered, then parted like a curtain, revealing a glimpse of Xül's chambers at the Bone Spire beyond.
"Go quickly," Morthus instructed. "These connections should not remain open long."
Xül's hand closed around mine, his grip firm as he pulled me toward the portal. We stepped through together, the transition so smooth I barely felt it.
As soon as the portal sealed behind us, Xül released my hand and began pacing the length of his chamber.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.
"What does it mean?" I asked. "Thalor and Sylphia together?"
He stopped pacing abruptly, turning to face me. "It means danger. Water and wind. Emotion and secrets." His hands clenched at his sides. "Nothing good comes from that combination, especially not for someone with secrets like yours."
"How am I supposed to survive this?"
His expression was a storm of frustration.
"There's no time to prepare. No useful techniques I can teach you in a single night that would make a difference."
"Then what do we do?" I asked, keeping my voice level.
"You rest," he replied simply. "You'll need every ounce of strength."
I laughed, the sound sharp. "Rest? How exactly am I supposed to rest knowing that tomorrow I'll be thrown into another death trap?"
Xül moved closer. "Stay here tonight," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it.
The offer hung between us, heavy with implications. After what had happened in the garden—that moment of vulnerability—staying would have been crossing a line I wasn't prepared to cross. I'd already shown him too much tonight. And he’d shown me things that confused me even more.
"As thrilling as watching me sleep must be for you," I said, "I'll spare you the tedium and return to my own quarters."
A ghost of his usual smirk flickered across his face. "Your sleeping habits are hardly that fascinating, starling."
"My thoughts exactly." I moved toward the door.
"Thais." His voice stopped me at the threshold. When I glanced back, his gaze was sharp, pinning me in place. "If you want to stay here—if you don’t want to be alone, I can sleep in the chair."
"Don’t be ridiculous." I met his gaze steadily. "I’m perfectly capable of getting through the night."
He studied me for a long moment, and I could see him weighing whether to press further. Whatever resolution he saw in my eyes must have convinced him otherwise.
"Very well," he said finally. "Rest where you choose."
I left without another word, walking through the dark corridors back to my own chambers. Each step felt like both a victory and a loss. I’d maintained my boundaries, kept my pride intact, but the cold emptiness of my room felt oppressive after the warmth of his presence.
As I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd made the right choice for all the wrong reasons. Or perhaps the wrong choice for all the right ones.