Caution: Surprise is inappropriate. This is the Resh’Agar. He has lived for centuries in this city. If anyone can scent blood, he can.
Conclusion: Perhaps now is the time for some truth.
She looked up, met his eyes without fear, and signed simply, 'Your Quintessence. They had Her Radiance’s hair.'
A breath caught in his throat. Not audible. But visible in the way his broad chest expanded and his weight shifted between his booted feet.
The Resh’Agar went still. Absolutely, completely still.
His hand clenched around the edge of his chestplate until the metal whined.
“Was it handled?” he finally asked, voice low.
Lu’ma nodded once. 'Yes. Fully.'
He looked as though he might say more. Might ask how. Might demand names.
But instead, he nodded. And murmured, “You did well.”
Then turned to look back toward the bed, where Auryn lay with one hand curled at her heart, the other still tangled in the folds of her pillow.
“I’ll double her Reskala escort. From now on, Lu’ma, you follow where she goes. No exceptions. If you must, you will cite my Decree.”
Lu’ma did not sign anything in return.
She simply watched him go, the quiet weight of what might have been still lingering in her lungs.
25
Whispers Behind the Curtain
She hadn’t meant to fall back asleep, but when Auryn opened her eyes again, the fluxhearth had brightened, and a new pair of phiros stones crackled in its cradle. The blankets had shifted, tucked higher around her shoulders. From the swaying curtains of the balcony, morning light filtered through the black gossamer. Sunlight bent through the colossal Mirror Shafts, warmer now that the Cycle of Growth was approaching.
Kailorien perched near the foot of the bed, hunched in that same stiff-backed chair from earlier. Still watching her with his hypnotic blue eyes.
“You didn’t wake for a full day,” he said, voice rasping from disuse.
Auryn blinked. “A full day?”
“You needed rest,” he murmured.
She frowned. “I haven’t slept well in some time. Not since...” she trailed off, not wanting to mention her world had dimmed when she discovered the truth about the Rite of Scars. "Not since the fever began…"
“I don’t believe it’s a fever, Auryn.” He stood, stretching the stiffness from his back, then crouched beside her once more. “Lu’ma and I…we’ve been talking about your condition. She showed me the sign you made for it.”
He lifted his hands and repeated it—hand to heart, then bursting upward like a bloom of light.
“Do you have a word for it?” he asked.
Sheshook her head. “No. It’s not something I ever meant to name.”
“Then for now,” he said, “we’ll call it aFlare.”
Her eyes met his.
“I believe it has something to do with your mana channels,” he continued. “But I’m no mage. We need more expertise.”
“We can’t ask,” she whispered, voice sharp with panic. “Nobody can know.”
