The Quiet Between Us

SPOILER WARNING – The Tales from Divinia are companion stories best enjoyed after reading the main novel. The Quiet Between Us takes place during chapter nineteen of The Trials of Divinia and therefore contains spoilers.

Blurb:

While the Celestial Trials captivate Divinia, Selene walks a quieter path behind the scenes. At the request of Thoros and her sister, Isolde, she watches Talon Drakeforge closely, quietly reporting what she sees as the trials unfold. At first, Selene believes she is helping restore the bond she once shared with her sister. But as the competition progresses, she begins to see troubling cracks in the plan. Garrick grows increasingly reckless, secrets deepen, and Selene realises she may be little more than a pawn in a much larger game. With the final trial approaching, she must decide where her loyalty truly lies – with Thoros, with her sister, or with Divinia itself.

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It was late – the early hours of the morning.

Quiet had returned to the village of Emberholt, but it had been a night unlike any other she could remember since she had come to call this small slice of Ferroxia her home.

Selene looked down from the clifftop where she had watched events unfold. There was little sign of the struggle that had taken place just inside the village gates, although one of the large iron doors still hung limply from its hinges, a long claw-mark seared down its centre. A half-dozen soldiers waited at the exposed entrance, some standing, others reduced to sitting as they waited for morning to come.

She had made her way up here earlier that evening, after the bell tower had begun to ring, warning of impending danger – an unusual happening in itself. She was not sure what had drawn her to the cliff. Perhaps, in some small way, she had sensed that he was close. Regardless, something within her had told her to ignore the calls to return home, and she had instead sought the perfect vantage point.

Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary at first, although she had noted three young villagers – barely more than children – hurrying down the cliff along an opposing path. She had caught fragments of their conversation as they passed, but not enough to understand the situation they were about to face.

By the time she had climbed high enough to take in the scene below her in detail, the battle was already underway, the villagers seemingly intent on capturing an unexpected visitor – a wyvern. She shivered as she remembered the excitement she had felt upon first seeing the creature. Wyverns were the calling card of Thoros. Wherever one appeared, the god of fire was unlikely to be far behind.

After a few minutes of watching the ‘fight’, the truth had become apparent. This was not some chance encounter. The wyvern had not simply wandered into the village of its own accord. This was an orchestrated – and no doubt carefully planned – ‘attack’, designed to draw out a young warrior capable of becoming the next champion of Ferroxia.

She had been surprised by what had happened next. After the villagers – led by a dragon rider with deep red hair – had subdued the creature, she had expected the situation to have reached its peak. But then a young boy had slipped from the shadows at the edge of the clearing.

He was slight, with a thin, athletic build and tousled dark hair. Watching by the dull light she held in her palm, she remembered her shock as he quickly and methodically broke the wyvern’s bonds, helping it back into the sky. The others had not noticed until it was too late.

Then – her heart had stopped for a moment – he had come.

Thoros had stood as she remembered – vast and immovable, as though the world itself had been shaped around him rather than the other way around. Heat had bled from him in quiet waves, distorting the air, but it had felt deliberate rather than wild.

His skin had resembled hardened volcanic stone, scarred by battle and time itself, the glowing cracks a small sign of the great power held beneath. His eyes had burned as fiercely as ever, twin embers fixed on the world with unwavering intensity, yet on this night showing a flicker of something else beneath the surface. Curiosity, perhaps.

Whatever it had been, it had been securely masked behind his usual severe expression, his features sharp and unyielding. The familiarity had stirred something conflicted within her.

The dark hair, streaked with crimson, the armour which spoke less of protection and appeared more as an extension of him, and the hammer – heavy with purpose and effortlessly carried – had completed an ensemble deeply known to her… and one impossible to ignore.

In the past, she had thought of him not just as her god, but as her mentor, her ally, perhaps even her friend. Such thoughts seemed a world away now. It had been months since she had spoken to him and years since she had seen him in person.

She thought briefly of when she had first heard his voice in her mind.

She had been born into a small, remote community in Ferroxia’s southern mountain ranges. Her childhood had been remarkably… unremarkable. Whilst the magical abilities she and her sister, Isolde, shared had set them apart, they had been celebrated rather than shunned, provided they kept their most unusual ability – the telepathy which existed between them – a secret.

Together, they had made a plan to travel to Molkrath, home of High Priest Rhogar Ashmantle, leader of the region’s fire priests, once they had finished school. Isolde had theorised that there, even their more unique abilities would be honed and championed.

Whilst most of Ferroxian society encouraged children to work part-time in apprenticeships alongside their education from the age of eleven, and full-time from the age of fifteen, the priesthood in Molkrath only accepted those who had graduated. And so, with her sister’s tutoring, Selene had worked hard to close the gap between their educations, and together they had completed their studies at the same time.

Ten years ago this year.

Otherwise, her experience had been much the same as everyone else’s. At least, up to that point. They had been accepted into Molkrath as junior priests without hesitation. Isolde had been right – their powers were welcome, lauded even. They had progressed quickly in their training, and Selene had felt excited about her future.

Then, after a few short months, it had arrived.

At first, the voice had not sounded like a voice at all, more like a distant vibration beneath her thoughts, subtle enough that she had mistaken it for her own imagination, or else a stray communication from her sister. Over the years, they had grown practised at keeping tight control over their telepathy so as not to distract one another, but occasionally she would catch a rogue thought or emotion.

This new voice had arrived without warning during her morning meditations – a traditional part of the Molkrath routine – a sudden presence pressing gently against her mind before withdrawing again almost immediately. The sensation had been deeply unnatural – not painful, but invasive in a way that made her instinctively recoil. Unlike the familiar bond she shared with Isolde, this connection had felt heavier.

Then it had come again, fragments of emotion slipping through alongside incomplete thoughts. The connection had crackled and broken apart, like a fire struggling to take hold, and yet it had remained unbroken. Within days, the uncertainty had vanished, and the new presence in her mind had become unmistakable – controlled, deliberate, and impossible to resist once it focused upon her.

‘Selene Ashveil,’ he had said. Just her name. She wondered if he had won her heart in that moment alone.

In the months that followed, his thoughts had never drifted or wandered. Every word had felt chosen with precision, stripped of hesitation. The more practised he became, the more overwhelming the sensation had grown, his voice carrying an intensity that seemed capable of drowning out her own thoughts if he wished it.

She had been both excited and a little jealous to discover that Isolde had received the same gift – to be connected with a god, their god – and together they had marvelled at the fact he had chosen them, speculating over what it might mean for their futures.

He had spoken to them regularly, often daily, asking after their progress in the priesthood, questioning the extent of their magical abilities, and learning more about their family history. His words had been surprisingly gentle, inquisitive, and never forceful.

Eventually, he had begun to test them, both in loyalty and in skill, setting them different tasks and challenges to complete. But he had never given anything away, and whatever his ultimate plan had been, it had remained hidden from her. After two years, the pair of them had begun to be sent outside Molkrath, undertaking basic scouting and reporting missions, some of which had kept them apart for weeks at a time. Soon, Selene had felt she spoke with Thoros more than Isolde.

Then, three years ago, everything had changed. Isolde had been appointed to the Celestial Council – Thoros’ personal representative. She would be based primarily in Concordia, only returning to Ferroxia on occasion, when the role demanded it. They would be separated permanently.

And suddenly, the communication had stopped – not just from Isolde, but from Thoros too, fizzling away to nothing within a few months.

Selene had been sent here, to Emberholt, with the remit of watching for potential Celestial Trials candidates. She had been instructed to submit her reports not to Thoros, but to Isolde, and whenever she had tried, they had fallen on deaf ears. Sometimes Isolde had not acknowledged her mental calls whatsoever.

Now, on this night, here was Thoros.

In Emberholt.

Why?

“I should have known you’d be keeping an eye on me,” spoke a familiar voice behind her.

It took her a moment to process it. He was not inside her head. He was really here.

She spun around, then dropped to a knee, all in one graceful, fluid movement.

“My lord,” she intoned, careful not to let the emotion she felt escape into her voice.

“You may rise,” he said, and Selene caught an undertone of amusement in his tone. “I am sorry that it has been so long since I paid you a visit.”

She blinked. He had never visited her here.

“I trust that you enjoyed tonight’s little show?” he continued, without waiting for a response.

“It was… a surprising turn of events,” she said hesitantly, unsure how best to answer.

“What did you make of the boy?” he asked. “Talon Drakeforge.”

She considered the question.

“He was brave,” she said. “It was bold, if a little reckless, to go against convention and rebel against his friends and family. He was determined to succeed, and he duly did so.”

“A fine champion, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Yes, my lord. I saw you speak with him and suspected that you had chosen him,” she replied.

“I am sorry that I was not able to bring him to your attention sooner.”

Thoros chuckled.

“No matter, no matter,” he said with a wave of his giant molten hand. “But now that he has been chosen, I require your assistance, Selene.”

“Mine?” she asked, this time failing to keep the surprise from her voice.

“Yes,” said Thoros without preamble. “The boy is young. He requires moulding if he is to be ready for the trials – ready for what I have in mind for him. He will require allies, teammates, to guide his progress. I suspect he will not trust easily. He will favour familiarity or intuition over strength or logic. That is where you come in.”

“I… do not understand, my lord,” she said. “It is true that I have lived here in the village for some time, but we do not know each other, not even a little.”

“That is not important,” said Thoros, a slightly impatient edge creeping into his tone. “There are other ways you can… win him over. There was a drake injured during the villagers’ battle with my wyvern, before the boy intervened. Find it, heal it, then let him know what you have done. If I have read him correctly, this will sufficiently pique his interest.”

“I understand, my lord,” she said, bowing her head once more. “It will be done.”

“Good,” he said rather bluntly, turning to leave. But as he did, he spoke to her again over his shoulder.

“It has been good to see you again. I look forward to welcoming you to Concordia. I hope we may get… reacquainted with one another.”

And with that, he disappeared back into the night.

Concordia came slowly into view.

It had been a long and testing journey with her new companions – navigating pyrestalker rides, drake flights, and a wild magma hound attack, although she suspected she knew who had orchestrated the latter.

But despite it all, she felt excited. Excited to see the home of Thoros and the other gods. Excited to be reunited with her sister. And excited to finally have purpose once again.

She had been surprised by how quickly she had taken a liking to Talon. He was painfully young and naïve, but he had a good heart and, whilst apprehensive about what was to come, displayed admirable determination and signs of purposeful leadership.

His sister, Lyra, and friend, Bren, were of a similar mould, albeit one younger and more headstrong, and the other more nervous and cautious. His other teammates – Kaida and Cairn – were clearly skilled in their respective disciplines and would likely do much of the heavy lifting when it came to the trials.

The final member, and most recent addition, Garrick Stoneflame, was harder to read. A former member of Thoros’ armed forces, and one who had served in the Border Wars, his links to the past and to their god intrigued her. And she was not sure she believed his convenient story of being an old friend of Talon’s father – particularly one who had appeared at just the right moment.

She had pushed the thought aside. She had grown accustomed to boxing things away inside her mind, and she did not want the mystery of the man to distract her from the focus of her mission – to guide Talon, to report his progress, and to ensure his victory.

She had not spoken to Thoros again since they had met in Emberholt on the night of Talon’s selection, but she was not worried. She knew better than to bother him unless she had something important to tell him.

“Selene,” came a familiar voice inside her mind.

“Isolde,” she began excitedly. “We are-”

“Close to arriving, I am aware,” said Isolde bluntly.

There was no warmth in her voice. Not a hint of the deeper connection they had once shared. She sounded completely business-like.

“There are a couple of things I must tell you before you set foot in the city,” Isolde went on. “Firstly, whilst Thoros wishes for Talon to succeed, his rise must seem natural. You should ensure he remains in the middle of the pack to begin with. He should go underestimated, even unnoticed by the other champions, for his moment shall come later.”

“I understand…” she began, but Isolde cut across her again.

“Second, Thoros has planted an important ally within Talon’s team. Garrick Stoneflame – his close friend and long-standing accomplice. He will play a critical role in guiding Talon’s path to the top. Your role is to protect him at all costs. Thoros suspects that Talon may not take kindly to our interference and will not see that it is for his own good. You will make Garrick seem trustworthy by comparison, so that Talon and his friends do not suspect him.”

Selene blanched.

So this was why she was truly here. This was the role selected for her – a scapegoat, a sacrifice, a stooge.

She felt hurt and confusion seep from her mind before she could stop it and sensed a flicker of something in return.

Amusement.

“You believe that you could offer more than this?” Isolde asked, not even attempting to hide the cruelty in her projected voice.

“How?” asked Selene, ignoring the question. “How am I meant to make myself appear untrustworthy whilst still ensuring Talon succeeds?”

“Get creative,” came the reply. “Avoid responsibility, cause small problems, or ensure what you say carries just enough inconsistency to draw suspicion.”

“I…” she stammered internally. “I suppose I can do that, if it is what Thoros desires.”

“It is what I desire,” said Isolde triumphantly. “And you will do as I say and report anything of interest directly to me. Thoros is off limits. He has better things to do than waste his time with the likes of you – understand?”

“Yes,” she managed, trying to draw the imaginary cage back around her thoughts as she had once been so practised at doing.

“I have one more idea which may help,” said Isolde.

They were close now, and Selene could see her sister waiting beneath a large crystal archway. She was dressed in robes of midnight blue with silver trim.

“After all, there is one secret we have always guarded closely – one which would certainly raise suspicion if one of us were to… let it slip.”

Selene gasped, then let out a cough in an attempt to hide her reaction.

“No, Isolde… if they discover that I kept not just a sister, but our ability hidden from them, they will lose all trust in me at once.”

“Perfect,” Isolde replied flatly, and with that, their telepathic connection faded.

They were only a few steps away.

“Welcome to Concordia,” said Isolde, her features set and her eyes unblinking.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Talon Drakeforge, honoured champion of Ferroxia and chosen representative of Thoros for these Celestial Trials,” she went on, her gaze fixed on Talon, her words rehearsed and without feeling. “My name is Isolde Ashveil, member of the Celestial Council, and I have been assigned to greet you here today.”

She paused and then, finally, Isolde’s eyes slid across to her.

“I believe you know my sister,” she added.

Selene walked slowly through the quiet streets of Concordia, with no destination in mind.

She knew what was coming – Isolde would want to know more about that day’s trial, the Tower of Illumination, the Luminara trial. She would normally have given her report by now, but their usual timing had been delayed by the champions’ dinner, which was close to concluding.

It had been one of her better days since arriving in the city. She had initially been nervous about Talon choosing her as part of his team for the trial, but bar one hiccup, it had mostly gone well. Their second-place finish had moved them within touching distance of qualification for the final trial – just three points adrift – and with more favourable trials still to come, including Ferroxia and Elysium, their rise from outsiders to contenders was unfolding just as Isolde had instructed.

Buoyed by their success, and influenced by her efforts to ensure the safety of Talon’s sister, Lyra, the team’s suspicions towards her had briefly faded, and they had treated her remarkably kindly in the hours since. Cairn had even offered her a dance after the dinner had concluded, and she had accepted with great embarrassment and perhaps even a little excitement, before catching sight of Thoros watching her coolly over the shoulder of Glacius, with whom he had been speaking at the edge of the dancefloor.

Soon after, Isolde had given her the signal to make her way outside before pointing to her temple, implying that she wished to speak with her.

And so here she was.

Waiting.

“Selene,” came Isolde’s voice. “I hear there were some issues during the trial today – that Garrick came close to being exposed.”

It was not a question.

She thought back to what had happened. It had been on the fifth floor of the tower, when the veydra had challenged each of them to answer a question truthfully. They had failed. But there had been no way of knowing who had been asked which question, nor who had caused them to fail. Oddly, she had thought it might even help her mission to appear slightly untrustworthy.

“Garrick has covered his tracks, for now,” Isolde continued. “But the two of you must be more careful. If he were to be exposed now, midway through the trials, just as we prepare for the most critical part of Thoros’ plan, it could throw everything into jeopardy.”

“Then perhaps you should warn him rather than me,” Selene retorted. “I do not know what he did during the Nivalis trial to cause you to warn him – under the guise of warning us all – to be more cautious in our interactions with the other champions, but he is the one taking unnecessary risks, not me.”

“Garrick’s task is far more challenging than yours,” Isolde snapped. “You simply have to exist. He has a job to do, and many plates he must keep spinning. You would do well to show him the respect he deserves and remember the company he often keeps.”

She flinched.

“Very well, I…” she began.

Then she stopped in her tracks.

Her eyes fixed on the scene ahead of her.

A boy lay on the floor, a pool of blood beginning to form around him. He had silver-white hair and wore a large fur coat which had already stained a contrasting shade of deep red.

Garrick stood over him, his eyes wild, a malicious grin spread across his face. His gaze snapped towards her. He held a finger to his lips, winked, and gave a mocking bow – as though accepting imaginary applause from a watching audience.

Then, without warning, he turned and disappeared into the night.

Shit…

She thought quickly. She would be expected to act, to hide what Garrick had done, to ensure his actions remained a secret. If she did not…

She looked around. They were near a small lake on the outer edge of the city. A nearby path led from the Hall of Gathering back towards the larger spires where most of the teams were based.

But not Tempestus.

Their team had been housed nearby, on the ground floor, closer to the water to make them feel more at home.

She began to move quickly, drawing up the hood of the cloak she had placed over the stiff and uncomfortable dress she had been made to wear for the dinner. After several minutes of searching, she found the door to the Tempestus quarters.

She tried the handle.

Locked.

Hopefully that meant they were all still at the hall.

She let out a small stream of magic and felt the lock yield with a clunk. She slipped inside, cautiously at first, then with growing confidence as no sound came. She moved into an adjacent room – a bedroom, messy but unoccupied. After a few more minutes, she found what she was looking for.

A short, curved Tempestian blade.

Grabbing it, she hurried from the quarters, locking the door back into place as she left. She deposited the blade into a bush several metres from where the boy still lay, kicked a few leaves over it, then moved on.

She needed to get back to the others.

She had only taken a few steps when she heard a soft moan escape the boy.

She turned back and saw that he had dragged himself towards a nearby wall, where he now sat slumped against the stone, shaking hands clutching helplessly at his wound. His eyes were closed against the pain.

His name was Orion Iceheart. Champion of Nivalis. A boy Talon had befriended and spoken of with admiration.

He did not deserve to die like this.

She crept towards him carefully, remaining outside his line of vision in case he managed to open his eyes. Placing a hand against his shoulder, she released a short burst of healing magic.

Just enough to sustain him.

Then she backed away.

When she was sure she was out of sight, she broke into a run.

“It wasn’t Cassian,” Talon declared.

Selene stared at him in shock for a moment. She had thought she had done everything right. How could the truth be unravelling so quickly?

“Elara proved it,” Talon continued. “She had been watching everyone at the dinner and knew exactly where they were. Cassian and his team never left. There was no way he could have done it.”

“A convenient story,” said Garrick eventually. “You’re trusting the word of a girl from Elysium. Ever consider she might have her own reasons to shift the blame?”

For the first time, Selene thought she heard a slight crack in Garrick’s façade.

Uncertainty.

Fear, perhaps?

Then the mask slipped back into place, and the older man smoothly turned the conversation towards the Solaris trial which Talon and Bren had just completed.

Selene allowed herself to relax slightly as the group celebrated their unexpected victory, before gradually turning their attention to more mundane things, like the mechanics of the trials themselves.

Eventually, the conversation lulled, and as it did, she watched Garrick steer Talon outside for a more private conversation.

No doubt he would make his excuses.

All would be fine.

They returned several minutes later, and Talon announced that the next trial would be the Ferroxia trial. A chance for them to seal their place in the final trial.

Perhaps they could still achieve their goals, even if Garrick’s… unnecessary sabotage had placed an unwanted spotlight upon them.

After selecting his teammates – Kaida and Cairn – Talon excused himself and went to lie down. The others went about their business, still chatting happily about their success and what it meant for the remaining trials.

Then came a tap on her shoulder.

“A word,” growled Garrick.

They stepped outside the quarters and walked in silence through several corridors before Garrick led her into a quiet, empty room.

Away from prying eyes.

“What do you think you were playing at?” Garrick snarled, turning on her the moment the door closed behind them.

“What do you mean?” she asked defensively.

“You intervened. The Tempestus blade, keeping the boy alive – that was you.”

“I was trying to help you, help us,” she began. “To pin the blame on someone else… to ensure that Orion was only wounded, not dead. It was meant to avert suspicion. To lessen the crime.”

“And yet…” Garrick retorted. “All you have achieved is creating both a mystery and a witness which never needed to exist. After the gods see through your pathetic attempt at framing our biggest rival, who do you think will take the blame? It will be us, or even worse, Thoros himself.”

“I… I…” she stammered.

“All you needed to do was stay the fuck out of the way,” he snapped, his voice rising.

He shoved her hard in the shoulder.

Caught off guard, she stumbled backwards and fell, only half managing to catch herself against the stone floor.

“If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me,” he said, the evil smile she had seen the previous night returning to his face. “Isolde and Thoros will make sure of it.”

He spat towards her.

“One more mistake,” he said, his voice quieter now, “and you’ll go the same way as that Nivalis scum. And I’ll make sure that this time, there’s no little magician around to save the day.”

With that, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

It was the day of the seventh trial – the Elysium trial. It was still early, and Selene sat alone in the communal area of the Ferroxian quarters.

A knock sounded at the door.

Knowing who it would be, she rose quietly and moved towards the entranceway. Pulling open the handle, she found Isolde standing on the other side.

“Selene,” Isolde acknowledged.

“Isolde,” she returned.

They moved back towards the seating area without speaking.

“How is Talon?” Isolde asked, a smile flickering around her lips.

“Fine…” Selene replied, wondering as she did when her sister intended to get to the point.

Thoros was not simply going to allow the events of yesterday’s trial to pass without comment. He must be furious that Talon had thrown the race and, with it, potentially their chances of reaching the final trial.

“How have spirits been since the result of the Ferroxia trial?” Isolde asked. “I think it is fair to say that Thoros was… unimpressed.”

“What do you want, Isolde?” Selene asked, ignoring the question. “You do not need to be here. You should not be here.”

“I have every right to be here,” Isolde replied without missing a beat. “I am the Ferroxian representative to the Celestial Council and Talon’s adviser. If he were not so stubborn, I would visit more often. Besides, I have a message to deliver.”

A rare feeling bubbled up inside Selene.

Anger.

She was usually so good at controlling it.

But not today.

Not after everything.

“Then deliver it,” she snapped, the venom in her voice surprising even herself. “I can pass it on to Talon when he wakes.”

Isolde let out an amused breath.

“Oh no, no, no.” She was clearly enjoying herself. “I do not think Thoros would trust you with even the simplest of tasks any longer – not after your recent failures.”

“I did what was asked of me,” Selene replied, though she felt heat rising in her face at her sister’s words.

“Perhaps,” Isolde said with a shrug. “But it is best not to keep Thoros waiting. I promised him I would do this myself – and in person.”

Silence.

Then, in the corner of her eye, Selene caught the slightest flicker of movement.

Talon.

He was watching them from just out of sight. No doubt Isolde’s arrival had woken him, and now he felt too awkward about intervening. She could not blame him.

But perhaps…

Perhaps she could use the fact Isolde had not noticed him. She was too busy enjoying herself, too busy revelling in Selene’s humiliation to guard her words as carefully as she should.

“Talon will not forgive us for what happened to Orion,” she said into the silence.

If she could just get Isolde to hint at their involvement. To give Talon some clue as to the attacker’s true identity.

“I know,” said Isolde, sobering slightly. “There has been a change of plan on that. I will contact you in time – in the normal way.”

It was not much.

She could only hope it would be enough.

“Very well,” Selene said bluntly.

The silence between them returned until, belatedly, Talon stepped into the room.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” said Isolde briskly, rising from her seat. “Come. Thoros wishes to speak with you.”

Without looking back, Isolde swept Talon from the room.

Good luck, Talon, Selene thought.

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