64. Temple of Darkness #2
"A complication I could end right now," he mused, studying me with those wrong silver eyes. "But where's the poetry in that? You’ve managed to make it this far." He smiled, and it was terrible on Olinthar's face. "For that, I think you deserve something special. Something... fitting."
My skin crawled. "What are you talking about?"
"When I take your brother's body as my vessel, when his hands become mine..." He let the words hang in the air like a promise. "What could be more poetic than having him be the one to end you? The last thing you'll see is his face, knowing I'm wearing it."
"You're sick."
"The most interesting beings are. But I won't fail today." He picked up the blade again. "And when I'm done, it will make for the most heartbreaking story."
"Well, don't stop now. I’m on the edge of my seat."
"I drew inspiration from your plan, actually," Moros said, his voice taking on an echoing quality that seemed to come from everywhere at once.
"Two children of disgrace, born to a mortal mother—an embarrassment to the throne of Voldaris.
When mighty Olinthar discovered his shame walking these halls, he moved to eliminate it.
But the children fought back with power beyond comprehension.
Alas, only young Thatcher survived the battle.
And in his righteous fury, he struck down his father to avenge his sister's death, claiming the throne as his birthright. "
Gods.
"How could you possibly know about our plan?"
I nudged the bond again. Thatcher! Wake up, wake up, wake up!
"Confused?" Moros seemed delighted by my shock. "I didn't know your intentions until yesterday. Absorbing Vorinar proved most enlightening. The gift of seeing all possible futures is remarkably useful."
Ice flooded my veins. Vorinar. The trial ending abruptly. His domain destabilizing. The memory of those glassy, vacant eyes made my stomach turn. "You corrupted him."
"Very good, dear." His approval made my skin crawl.
"It was the perfect opportunity. Imagine my delight when I discovered his plans to kill your brother during the final trial.
Couldn't have that, of course. But what I didn't anticipate was gaining such intimate knowledge of the rebellion brewing across my domains. "
He knew everything. Every plan, every alliance, every hope we'd built. And he'd destroy them all if I didn't stop him here.
I needed more time.
"But not all domains are planning rebellion," I said, grasping for anything to keep him talking. "Some are loyal to you. More loyal than the balance should allow. Isn't that right?"
"You're full of surprises, Thais Morvaren." He actually sounded impressed. "I thought my merger with Axora was more... discreet."
"Why do you even need to merge with War?" I pressed. "Won't you be strong enough after this to command your will across the realm?"
"You're thinking too small."
"Well, mortal minds and all," I drawled. "As you've mentioned several times. Help me understand, if you're going to kill me anyway."
"Why stop at this realm when I could have the next? And the next after that?" His eyes gleamed. "I need an army for that. One that will eventually join the forces I left behind."
My blood ran cold. He wanted all the realms. All four pantheons.
And suddenly, Darian's death at the banquet made terrible sense. Priests stationed in military camps, seeking blessed amongst trained soldiers. Specifically targeting those who already knew how to fight, how to follow orders, how to wage war.
Then Xül's admission crashed through me. So few of the Aesymar possess true gifts themselves. Immortal but essentially powerless.
"The Ascended," I said slowly. "You're gathering the power the Aesymar lack. But the Trials kill most contestants—how can you build an army when so few survive?"
Olinthar's expression didn't change. "The Trials serve their purpose.
Those who die were never strong enough to matter.
Those who survive?" He paused. "They've learned the only lesson that matters—that divine will is absolute.
The perfect soldiers don't just have power. They have loyalty beaten into them."
Thatcher! This would be a great fucking time to wake up!
“You speak of other worlds, but no one even knows if the other realms survived the Sundering," I protested.
"I intend to find out." His expression turned distant, almost dreamy. "Sometimes I feel my beasts, clawing across my skin when I dream."
The prophecy. The hordes of monsters from Vaerhuun. His army, waiting for their master's return.
But the woman with ashen hair—how did she fit into this nightmare?
"Enough talk," Moros said suddenly. "The convergence approaches."
I thrashed against the bonds with renewed desperation as he walked back to Thatcher's unconscious form.
"Thatcher!" I screamed. "Wake up! Please!"
Nothing. Not even a flicker of movement.
Moros smiled. "He sleeps deeply, dear. A necessary precaution."
But as he picked up the knife and turned his attention fully to my brother, I felt it—the bonds holding me weakened. Just slightly. Just enough.
I gathered every ounce of power I possessed, compressed it into a single point of burning light, and tore myself free.
The bonds shattered. I hit the ground hard but rolled to my feet.
Moros looked up, and for the first time, interest flickered across Olinthar's features. Then he smiled.
"Finally," he said.
Pain exploded through my abdomen.
I looked down in shock to see a blade protruding from my stomach. Someone had stabbed me from behind. But this was no normal blade—poison burned through my flesh, spreading like wildfire.
My legs gave out. I crumpled to the stone floor.
Footsteps circled my fallen form, unhurried and confident.
"Your timing is impeccable as always," Moros said, his voice laced with dark amusement.
A silken voice answered, sweet as honey and twice as deadly. "Forgive my delay, Master. The son required more... attention than anticipated."
A figure moved into my field of vision, kneeling gracefully before me with a smile of perfect malice.
Elysia.