The Ascended

The Ascended — Chapter no 57

Chapter 57

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."

"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.

"Do you really think so little of me?" he asked. "That I would have stood by and watched them execute your brother?"

"You knew they were planning—"

"I was going to stop it." Darkness flashed across his eyes. "Even if it meant going against him. Even if it meant—" He cut himself off, jaw

clenched.

"You should have told me."

"Maybe I should have. But you know me." His tone wasn’t loud, but it sliced. "Or I thought you did. Just as I thought I knew you."

I went still. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"If I recall correctly, you had your own agenda in all of this, starling.

Tell me, was any of it real? Or was I just convenient? The Death Prince foolish enough to give you access to his knowledge, his power, his domain?"

"That’s what you think?" Fury flashed beneath my skin.

"Weren't you? Every question about divine politics, about the Primordials, every moment you let me get closer—was any of it genuine?

Or was I just the easiest path to your end goal?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but words didn’t come.

The accusation carved me thoroughly. Because he was right. In the beginning, that's exactly what he had been—a means to an end. A stepping stone on the path to revenge. I'd seen him as nothing more than a powerful mentor I needed to manipulate, to extract information from.

But somewhere along the way, everything had shifted.

I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment. Was it when he’d stood by me during training, pushing me harder? Or when he’d admitted that what was between us could never just be physical for him? Maybe it was in the water that night, when everything changed with that kiss, when I saw behind his careful mask to the man who had spent his whole life believing love wasn't for someone like him.

Gods help me. I'd fallen for him. The one person I absolutely couldn't afford to love.

And it hurt. It threatened to rip my heart out. Because now we were here, and I could barely look at him.

"You shared my bed while planning to die. You let me fall for you—all while knowing you'd leave,” he continued. "I was bound to my secrets. You kept them to use me."

The accusation sliced through me, stealing my breath. "You want to talk about using people? What about Nyvora? What about the marriage that awaits you the moment these Trials end?" My voice threatened to break.

I knew I was being a hypocrite. I had promised him one night where we could forget everyone else. But that night had embedded itself beneath my skin, rooting deeper with each glimpse of vulnerability I witnessed when he

was with his family—the cracks that appeared as he struggled to be what he was raised to be, rather than who he truly was.

"Stop, Thais."

"Even if it's not what you want. It's what you'll do. And I understand that. You’ve been honest about that from day one. But it doesn’t change the fact that this is the reality we find ourselves in." I forced myself to meet his gaze. "We both know how this ends. You'll marry her to confirm Davina’s allegiance. And we'll pretend whatever’s left between us is enough until it destroys us both. It’s not sustainable."

"So, your solution was to die before we could find out?" The words scraped from his throat.

"My solution was revenge. It was always revenge." My voice cracked under the weight of the truth. "You're the one who complicated things."

"Me?" He moved closer. "You walked into my domain, challenged me at every turn, made me feel—" He stopped, jaw clenching.

"Oh, don’t hold back now, Warden." I demanded.

"Everything." The word ripped out of him. "You made me feel everything. Purposefully. I don’t let people in, Thais, you know this. Not like this. Not like you. And then I discover you were always planning to die.”

"Like you weren't? Like this isn't temporary for you too?" My hands pressed against his chest.

"Nothing about you has ever felt temporary to me." His voice dropped to a whisper. "That's the problem."

"Don't." I shook my head. "Don't say things you can't mean."

"Why? Because it's easier if we're both liars?" His hands covered mine.

"I resent you. I resent that you made me need you. I resent that you were ready to die without a second thought about what that would do to me. I resent that even now, knowing all of this, I can't make myself stop wanting

you."

And there it was.

I’d never felt this peculiar mixture of rage and longing, irritation and desire. Never wanted to simultaneously slap someone and pull them closer.

It was maddening. "I hate it. I hate that you have this power over me. I

still—"

"Still what?" he pressed.

"Isn’t it obvious, Xül? I still fucking want you too. Somehow, throughout all of this."

"I need you to forgive me, Thais." He ran a hand down his face.

“Tomorrow is coming whether we like it or not, and I can’t go into it thinking you hate me.”

“I can’t do that right now,” I admitted quietly. “We’ve hurt each other too much at this point.”

“You don’t mean that.” Xül looked as if I’d slapped him. “This—us. We

can fix this.”