Page 35 of On Broken Bonds

I frown. “But... you're already a demi-god.”

“Which isn't the same thing.”

“How?”

His jaw tightens. “A demi-god is not a god.”

They’re not immortal, just damn close to it, but that’s the only real difference. Isn’t it? Is he afraid of death?

“But–”

“Perhaps someday, I might tell you more.” Another pause, more working of his jaw. “But I hope you can trust that I’m telling you what I can. This is important to me. In fact, it’s all I live for.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “Surely you can’t mean that?”

“I do,” he says simply, as though it’s a fact of the universe and not the purposeful way that he’s oriented his pursuits.

Slowly, I ask, “Which is why you’re willing to die in the tournament for it?”

“Yes.”

I consider what he’s saying. Thorian constantly waiting for the Trials. The gods and their games filling his every waking thought. It seems like torture. Even in our fall from grace, even with the lack of coin and food, Lyra, Ivor, Hilda, and I managed to enjoy our hobbies, to laugh with one another.

Perhaps others might think it obvious to lust over the chance at being a god. I don’t see the appeal. To live forever while the ones you love die around you. To be alone. As powerful as the major gods are, they are lonely. They lack the compassion and soul of a human, and so they’re not really alive.

“I can’t imagine this being the only thing to live for,” I say honestly, as my lungs fill with the cool night air. I think of my sister, dancing, singing with Hilda and Ivor. My girlhood at the manor. Losing my parents. Even in the hardest moments of my life, I wouldn’t trade it for something cold and immortal. “There is so much in the world. So much love and genuine goodness.”

His brow draws down, and he stands in silence. Perhaps he disagrees with me about all the goodness in the world. Down on the street, two drivers are fighting, their voices loud enough to hear but too wild to make out the words.

I don’t know much about winning the divinity, but I’m sure it must change you. Thorian doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to fear death. Certainly I’ve known many self-centered and narcissistic men who can’t fathom the truth of their existence one day coming to an end, and it’s those men who might seek out a magical cure for aging, or dump their life savings into a prophet promising them a path to minor divinity.

Thorian is nothing like those men. Though, he is a demi-god, so perhaps he already feels the pull toward the heavens, toward an existence more than this one. Maybe for him, the godhood would be more like going home.

It’s hard to fathom that someone could have one hand in the stars and the other in the earth and choose to rise anyway. The gods are fundamentally un-human. It’s what allows them to kill, to spread the godfever and hurt those who worship them without a second thought. I could never see wanting to become that myself.

Rather than ruminating on it, I try to remind myself that his choices are none of my business. And, in fact, it only benefits me that he wants none of the other prizes. That ensures I can protect my sister. Which is what I’m here to do.

Thorian takes a deep breath, startling me out of my thoughts and turning to me, his brown eyes oozing gold in this light. “Lady Nocturne, it’s important to me that you know something.”

“Yes, Sir Valeheart?” I answer, raising an eyebrow at this sudden formality.

He does the Thorian equivalent of rolling his eyes, then lets out a breath and says, “I have never sacrificed a partner willingly, Nyx. I hope you know that. There are some in there—” he gestures to the throne room as well, “who posit I enjoy killing by proxy. That this, entering year after year, is a ploy for murder. But I have mourned every one of their deaths, and find no pleasure in losing good men. And I especially do not like the idea of your death on my hands. I’ll do everything I can to protect you while we’re competing.”

“And me, you,” I return, smiling at my little joke.

“I appreciate that,” he sighs, turning back to the city. “It will be a relief to have someone I trust at my back.”

I think of his past partners, vampires and berserkers and the warlock. If Thorian and them couldn’t make it through the trials, then what hope do he and I really have?

It’s too depressing for me to linger on, so I try to think about something else.

“Why do you think Soryn chose us?” I ask.

Thorian chuckles, running his hand over the scruff on his chin, “Likely to piss off Valtor. Maybe just for fun.”

I nod, thinking of that warm, glowing energy I’d felt through my body when she looked at me. Like sinking into a star, or lying on your back in the grass, sunlight washing over you. It was simple and clean, and I already miss it.

Thorian is familiar with this place. It occurs to me, just now, that he’s a wealth of knowledge. He could help me learn more about the major divines, to parse what, if any, advantages we might find in the trials.