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This was the secret that could destroy everything—the power I'd been born with, the reason we could never leave Saltcrest.
Mortal servants of divine masters, wielding borrowed authority that made them nearly as feared as the gods themselves.
"And I think maybe adventure isn't always about going somewhere new. Sometimes it's about finding something worth staying for."
"There's always a choice. But sometimes all the options are terrible." Marel sat beside me. "Then you choose the least terrible one. And you find ways to live with the consequences."
For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to be the kind of woman someone could love without reservation. One who didn't carry secrets—who could give her heart freely instead of sharpening it like a weapon.
"To those who came before," Keth raised his cup. "And those who'll come after. And to tonight, which is all we get for sure."
The decision didn't feel like a choice. It felt like gravity—inevitable, inescapable.
Mother always said I had the merchant's luck—bad enough to find trouble, good enough to survive it."
“One wonders why the King of Gods thinks the divinely blessed are more likely to be found among those who kill for a living."
Everyone had weaknesses, even gods. Finding them was just a matter of patience and observation.
This was the pattern, wasn’t it? Every single time I thought I glimpsed a trace of compassion beneath that cold exterior, he would reveal his true nature. The predator. The god. The monster.
“But sometimes terror and exhilaration are separated by the thinnest of margins. I think you understand that, given your current circumstances.”
“I just thought you should know. My son builds walls like others build temples—with dedication, precision, and absolute commitment. The fact that you’ve glimpsed what lies behind them is... significant.”
“Death isn’t cruel, my dear. It simply is. The same applies to its domain.”
Everything in Draknavor seemed to exist on the knife-edge between beauty and terror. Much like its Prince.
Those divisions created the first political factions among the Twelve—traditionalists versus reformists. Those who would destroy what they fear versus those who would understand it."
"The priests," he said, his voice dangerously soft, "have always hidden their cruelty behind righteousness."
I moved further into the room, drawn to the crystal in his hand. "What is that?" "Arcanite," he said, turning it so the light caught its facets.
"Before the first primordials were slain, four pantheons existed in harmony, all descendants of the Primordials in their various aspects." His finger traced the golden section. "The Aesymareans." Then the silver. "The Esprithe." The greenish-blue. "The Ehlistrea." Finally, the black section. "And the Vaerhuun."
The gods I'd been raised to fear had risen through treachery and opportunism, not divine right. And their greed had ripped the universe apart.
"A convenient narrative." "Most successful mythologies are." He smiled.
"The Aesymar fear what all rulers fear—the realization that their power is neither absolute nor eternal.
"The greatest triumph of the Aesymar was convincing mortals to revere the very system designed to keep them in their place."
Each step deeper into this palace felt like another step away from the person I'd been.
Was I finding my true self or losing it entirely?
"That's not dancing," he finally said, though there was no judgment in his tone. "That's freedom."
