57. The Negotiation #2
"Very interesting," Morthus mused. "Divine twins often share such a connection, but I have never seen it manifest in mortals…" Morthus trailed off. "Tell me, Miss Morvaren—what do you think my resistance actually wants? What world do we envision after Olinthar falls?"
The question caught me off guard. "I... assumed you wanted his throne. To rule in his place."
"If I’m merely replacing one tyrant with another, why would anyone risk everything to follow me?" His voice carried an edge of offense. "Do you think so little of our cause?"
"Then tell me."
Morthus's expression shifted. "We seek an end to the Trials of Ascension. No more tearing children from their families. No more arbitrary tests of worthiness that leave villages mourning their best and brightest."
He gestured broadly. "For millennia, the divine realm has hoarded magic, but the universe has a way of balancing itself. I believe there is a reason that our power bleeds."
"Barriers should not be walls," he continued, his voice gaining strength. "They should be doorways. Magic should flow naturally, available to any with the talent and will to wield it."
I found myself leaning forward, caught by the unexpected nobility of his vision.
"The mortal realm has beauty," Morthus said, his tone softening. "But also unnecessary strife. Poverty. Disease. Suffering that continues not because solutions don't exist, but because we choose to withhold them."
"We have the collective power to change everything. To guide rather than rule. To lift up rather than lord over." His eyes blazed. "That is the world we fight for. That is why Olinthar must fall. He represents the old way—power through fear, control through separation."
"Then we definitely want the same thing," I said. "So why kill one of your greatest potential assets?"
"Because passion without loyalty is simply another form of chaos," Morthus replied. "Because?—"
"Or perhaps," a new voice interrupted, silk-smooth and gently amused, "we could take a different approach."
The doors had opened without sound, and Osythe stood framed in the entrance, her presence immediately softening the harsh edges of the room. She moved forward, and I noticed how even the darkness seemed to part before her .
"Forgive my intrusion," she said, though her tone suggested she wasn't sorry at all. "But I couldn't help overhearing. The palace does carry sound so distinctly at night."
Morthus's expression transformed at her presence, the tension leaving his face. "Osythe."
"My love." She glided to his side, her hand briefly touching his arm—a gesture so simple grounding the Lord of Death in something beyond his title. Then she turned to me. "You're thinking too short-term, dear."
"I want Olinthar dead," I said bluntly.
"You want him dead quickly," Osythe corrected. "We want him removed permanently. These goals aren't mutually exclusive, but they require a different timeline than what you're envisioning."
She began to circle me slowly, and for a moment, I wondered if she was the ruling power here. "What if, instead of acting rashly after the Trials, you and your brother joined us properly? Became part of the longer strategy?"
"You want us to wait?" The idea chafed against every instinct screaming for immediate revenge.
"I want you to be smart." Osythe paused before me. "Think what Thatcher could learn. What information he could gather. Olinthar will try to win him over, to mold him into the weapon he needs."
Understanding dawned cold and clear. "You want Thatcher to let him think he's succeeding."
"An eye on the inside," Osythe continued, her voice painting possibilities. "Someone who could discover weaknesses, map alliances, identify vulnerabilities. Someone who could get close enough when the moment is perfect."
"That's what he's been doing."
"Then he should continue. He might just be the key that unlocks Olinthar's downfall." She smiled kindly. "Your revenge served cold, but all the more satisfying for the wait."
The words settled over me. All this time, Thatcher and I had been racing toward our revenge, never truly expecting to emerge from the other side.
Death had always been the ending to our story—the price we'd accepted the moment we'd made our pact.
There had never been an after in our plans. Just the mission. Just the vengeance.
But what Osythe was offering... it was something I'd never dared imagine. A way to destroy Olinthar and live.
To have an after.
"You're asking me to gamble the entire resistance on two unknown twins." Morthus's voice cut through the moment. "If they betray us, if they're discovered, everything we've built over centuries crumbles."
"When has great change ever come without great risk?" Osythe countered. "Besides, look at her, Morthus. You've always been a good judge of character. Do you see betrayal in her, or do you see someone who would burn the world for family?"
The Lord of Death studied me for a long moment, and I felt the weight of judgment far beyond my years pressing down.
Finally, he spoke. "If your brother wants to prove his loyalty to our cause, he will not pledge himself to my domain after ascension.
He will pledge himself to Sundralis. He will take residence in the Golden City.
" Morthus's words fell heavy and final. "He will kneel before Olinthar and swear fealty. "
"You want him to—" I couldn't finish, the very thought choking me.
"I want him to be believable. Olinthar will expect him to choose power—Sundralis represents that. This way, Thatcher is exactly where we need him. Trusted. Watched, yes, but inside the very heart of Olinthar's power."
"That's..." I struggled for words.
"Necessary," Morthus corrected. "I will speak with Vorinar and ensure his safety in the final trial—I give my word on that. But I need confirmation from him. A blood oath to our cause."
"A blood oath?" I questioned.
"Non-negotiable," Morthus murmured. "He binds himself to the resistance before he ascends, before he gains his full power, or the protection is withdrawn."
"You're asking him to swear his life to your cause without ever having met you," I protested.
"I'm offering him life instead of death," Morthus replied. "And a chance to be a part of Olinthar’s downfall. The terms are more than fair."
I looked between them. The weight of my brother's life pressed down on my shoulders.
"I'll get him on board," I said finally.
"You sound very certain," Morthus observed.
"I know my brother. When he understands what's at stake—what you're offering—he'll agree. If you're being truthful when you speak of change, I can't think of anything we would agree with more. It's all we've wanted."
"Then we have an accord." Morthus moved back toward his throne. "Your brother is under my protection for the final trial. No harm will come to him from our forces." Morthus paused, cocking his head to the side. "And the last thing—it must be I who takes the life of Olinthar when the time comes."
The words stole the last thing I was still clutching.
That single shared look between Thatcher and me at the Choosing—the silent promise that we'd find a way, that we'd make Olinthar pay.
It was the only thing that kept me grounded through all of this insanity.
The one truth I could hold onto while everything else spiraled out of control.
And now even that was being negotiated away.
I wanted to scream. Wanted to tell Morthus he had no right to claim our vengeance. But Thatcher's life was on the line.
"I understand," I finally said.
Osythe approached me, her hand briefly touching my shoulder. "You've shown remarkable courage coming here tonight. That alone has earned you this chance. Don't waste it."
"You may leave, child," Morthus said, settling back onto his throne. "But remember—you now carry secrets that cannot be unlearned. Your life is bound to your silence. Both of your lives."
I nodded. A part of me wondered why he didn’t demand a blood oath from me today. Clearly, I wasn’t a threat in the way that Thatcher was.
As Xül led me toward the doors, Morthus's voice followed us. "Oh, and Miss Morvaren? The next time you wish to quote my son's words back to me, ensure you understand their full context. Vivros wasn't saved, after all. Not in the end."
The doors closed on that cheerful thought, leaving Xül and me alone in the corridor. I walked past without looking at him. I couldn’t.
"Thais."
I kept walking.
In a blur of movement, he was in front of me, his hand braced against the wall, blocking my path. "Don't walk away from me. Not now."
"Move."
"No." His other hand found the wall on my other side, caging me in. "Not until you look at me."
"I said move." I tried to duck under his arm, but he shifted, keeping me trapped.
"I know you're angry?—"
"Angry?" I finally looked up at him, and a lethal glint crossed his eyes at whatever he saw in mine. "You think I'm angry?"
"Then what?"
"I'm—" My voice cracked. Everything was crashing down at once. The negotiation. The revelation about Thatcher. What we'd have to do next. What I'd have to ask of my brother. "I can't breathe, Xül."
His expression shifted. "Thais?— "
"No." I pressed back against the wall, needing distance even though there was none. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to look at me like you care?—"
"I do care." The words came out rough, desperate. "That's the entire fucking problem."
"Stop."
"I couldn't tell you." His hands curled into fists against the wall. "Do you understand? I’m bound to this cause. All of this is bigger than me."
"So, you were just going to let it happen? Let me find out when his body—" I couldn't finish.
"I was trying to find another way." His forehead dropped toward mine, not quite touching. "I've been fighting this for weeks."
This was too heavy, too much. I could feel his body pressing against me, the way his breathing had gone uneven. This was dangerous territory.