57. The Negotiation
The Negotiation
The steel doors sealed behind us. In the vast throne room of the Eternal City's palace, darkness moved with purpose, coiling around pillars and pooling in corners.
Morthus rose from his throne. His pale skin gleamed in the darkness. Unlike our last meeting, there was no warmth in his bearing, no trace of the man who had sat beside Osythe at dinner, passing dishes with careful attention to his wife. This was the Lord of Death in his seat of power.
"Xül." His deep voice carried through the cavernous space. "An unexpected visit at an unusual hour." His gaze shifted, and I felt the full weight of his attention—those twin voids he had for eyes bearing down on me. "And you've brought Miss Morvaren again. To what do I owe this... pleasure?"
The last word held a question within it, as if he could already sense something amiss.
Xül remained silent beside me, his typical muted. The message was clear. This was my audience to lead.
Morthus's eyes narrowed at his son's uncharacteristic deference. "How curious," he murmured, descending the steps from his throne. " My son, who speaks when silence would serve better, now holds his tongue."
Each step brought him closer, and with proximity came pressure—an invisible weight that made breathing an act of drowning in reverse. I forced myself to remain still, to not flinch as he stopped mere feet away.
"Well then, Miss Morvaren. Since my son has apparently lost his voice, perhaps you'll enlighten me as to the purpose of this visit."
My mouth felt dry. Every word I was about to speak could have been my last. But Thatcher's life hung in the balance, and I had mere hours before the final trial.
"I know about the resistance."
Morthus went utterly still. His gaze crawled to Xül.
"Tell me, Miss Morvaren," he said, "what exactly do you think you know? And please, be specific. I do so hate vague accusations."
I swallowed hard. "I know that there are those in the divine realm who oppose Olinthar. Who want change."
"Many want change." He took a sip from his glass. "Want is common. Action is rare."
"I know you're among those willing to act."
"Do you?" He turned finally, those dark eyes boring into mine. "And what makes you think I'm anything more than a loyal member of the Twelve, content with my domain and my duties?"
The question was a trap, but I had no choice but to spring it. "Because you're going to kill my brother during the final trial."
Morthus set down his glass with deliberate care.
"That's quite an accusation." His voice had gone soft, which was somehow worse than anger. "Tell me, what makes you think your brother is important enough to warrant such attention?"
“Because he has the power of Vivros.”
His eyes locked on Xül. "You couldn't convince me to spare his life yourself, so you thought bringing her here and telling her things she shouldn't know—things that now require her death—was going to change my mind? "
Xül's jaw clenched, but he didn't defend himself. Didn't deny it.
So, he had been telling the truth. He'd tried to save Thatcher.
The knowledge should have brought relief, but instead it twisted like a knife between my ribs.
The hurt was still there, raw and overwhelming, making it hard to even look at him.
Because even if he'd fought for my brother's life, he'd still chosen not to disclose it.
Looked me in the eye and pretended ignorance while knowing exactly what fate awaited Thatcher.
What had been his plan? To just let it play out?
To watch me lose the only family I had left?
"How disappointing," Morthus continued, his attention returning to me. "And how very like you, my son, to gamble with lives that aren't your own."
The silence stretched. Morthus moved to a table near his throne, pouring himself something dark from a crystal decanter. The casual gesture reminded me so much of Xül. I bit back a wince.
"Before you decide my fate, or my brother's fate," I said carefully, "you need to know who we really are."
One dark eyebrow arched. "By all means. I do enjoy a mystery."
I drew in a breath, preparing to reveal the secret we'd never planned to tell. Perhaps that had been naive, to think we'd make it through this whole ordeal without the truth coming out. "Thatcher and I are not blessed."
"Intriguing…" He raised a dark eyebrow.
"We're Olinthar's children."
Morthus studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "That's quite a claim."
"It's true," Xül said, stepping forward for the first time. "The alchemical proof is undeniable. When I taught her to create a ward, it turned golden."
Morthus turned to his son, his eyes merciless. "You've known this how long?"
"For a while."
"And you said nothing."
"It was not my secret to tell. "
Morthus turned back to me. "Olinthar has no acknowledged children among mortals."
"Acknowledged being the key word," I snorted. "He forced himself on our mother. We were the result. And we've always known exactly who our father was—my adoptive father made sure we understood the monster who sired us."
Morthus paused. For a moment, pain flickered across his face, evident in the way his forehead wrinkled.
"Your mother died in childbirth." It wasn't a question. His voice had gone quiet, almost gentle.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
"He could have saved her." The words fell between us. Morthus's hands clenched at his sides, and when his black eyes met mine, I saw only grief. "As I saved Osythe."
"But Olinthar let her die," I said, my voice cracking. "Let her bleed out bringing his children into the world."
"Mortals deserve better." His voice carried the weight of ages, of countless souls who had passed through his domain. "Such cruelty leaves marks on the living that echo through eternity. I know this well."
I felt Xül shift. Pain lanced through me. I'd been braced for Morthus to dismiss it, to shrug off another dead mortal woman like she was nothing. But he looked at me like he actually gave a damn. Like it was an atrocity.
He'd been there with Osythe, and he'd saved her. Because that's what you do when you love someone. You save them.
But we were not born of love.
"Tell me," Morthus said after a moment. "The second trial in Hydrathis—your brother slaughtered those sirens. At the time, I thought it merely protective instinct. But now..." He paused. "He was protecting this secret. The bloodline you carry."
I remained silent. Of course he'd seen it. They all had.
"A dark truth indeed," Morthus murmured. "To carry your mother's death and your father's cruelty as your defining secret. To be forced to hide not just what you are, but the tragedy of how you came to be."
His gaze found mine again, and there was a faintly paternal look in it. "I am sorry for you, Thais Morvaren. That is no way to live."
I wiped away the wetness from my eyes. "I appreciate that."
"So, you believe this shared enemy makes us allies," Morthus continued. "That your hatred of Olinthar somehow changes the fundamental calculus of the risk your brother represents."
"Doesn't it?" I challenged. "You're afraid Thatcher will become Olinthar's weapon. But we despise him. Both of us. Do you really think my brother would ever serve the god who destroyed our lives?"
"Want and capability are vastly different things, child." He paused mid-stride, the darkness around him agitated. "Your brother possesses power not seen since Primordials walked among us. That kind of strength has a way of... corrupting intentions."
"You fear what he might become," I pressed on. "But you're about to destroy possibly the only being strong enough to actually challenge Olinthar. You want to waste that because of what might happen? Let us do what we came here to do. Let us have our revenge. We all win."
Morthus studied me with those fathomless eyes. "You speak of 'we' as if you'll survive what's coming."
I lifted my chin. "Maybe we will. Maybe we won't. But if we do, wouldn't you rather have him as an ally than create an enemy by killing his sister?"
A ghost of acknowledgment touched his lips.
"Your son told me something once," I continued, seizing the momentum. "At the ruins of the Primordials."
Morthus's gaze sharpened. “My son seems to be incapable of holding his tongue, now doesn’t he?”
Xül crossed his arms, and I heard a sigh slip from his lips.
"He told me about how the pantheon fractured after Vivros fell. How some of the Twelve wanted to understand what had happened to him—including you." I met Morthus's eyes directly. "He said you believed Vivros could be saved."
The Lord of Death had gone very still again, but this time it felt different. Contemplative rather than threatening.
"He said it created the first political factions," I pressed on. "Traditionalists versus reformists. Those who would destroy what they feared versus those who would seek to understand it."
"And your point?" Morthus asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.
"Here we are again. My brother with Vivros's power. History positioning itself to repeat." I took a step forward, closing the distance between us. "So, I ask you, Lord Morthus—are you going to be the traditionalist this time? Destroy what you fear? Or are you the reformist you claim to be?"
Morthus laughed—a short, sharp sound.
"You have courage, Thais Morvaren. Throwing my own principles in my face." He resumed his pacing, but the energy had shifted. "Very well. Let's say I'm inclined to consider your proposal. What assurance do I have that your brother shares your... clarity of purpose?"
"I have nothing but my word. But I know my brother better than I know anyone." I paused, considering. "We've always shared a mental connection. We can hear each other's thoughts when we're close enough. But even from distances, I can feel who he is. Feel his commitment to our goal."