“I need to practice,” she finished her thought from earlier. “I need to feel the runes and test my theories. Draevan may be a Voids-damned snake, but he speaks true. The laboratory will never give what practice will.”
She paused.
“Kail, I need to Weave. You need to let me try to Weave your runes again. I’m ready, and so are you.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his palm settling on the scar at the nape of his neck. She recognized the endearing gesture. Kailorien couldn’t make up his mind about something.
“Let me try,” she said. “Please. We won’t know if we don’t try.”
When he looked at her again, his eyes were softer than she’d seen them in months.
“On one condition. If you feel ill at all, we stop.”
“You can use Breathweaving,” she murmured. Quiet. Cautious. “Together, we can make this work.”
27
Touched
Auryn stood outside the inner threshold of the Resh’Agar’s chamber, the oppressive weight of parchment, writs, and Council arguments clinging to her thoughts. Lu’ma stood beside her, pack full of old linens and a set of empty trays in her arms.
“Please rest tonight,” Auryn said, her voice touched with exhaustion. “This…what I am about to do…it’s better if no one witnesses it.”
Lu’ma hesitated. Just a moment. 'Your Radiance. This Nameless will be in the hall. Please take care. The Resh’Agar may be kind, but he is still the Arm of the Void.'
Then she bowed low, graceful and precise, and disappeared down the corridor.
Auryn inhaled deeply and shook her head to clear it. Lustral mana and oils still lingered on her skin. Kailorien had added Mireth runes to their bath tonight to bolster mana channels and aid in regeneration, though neither of them was sure it could help with the sort of exhaustion she experienced from Weaving.
It’s worth an attempt, at least. Now let us see how far I can Weave him tonight. I’ll start slowly. Gently. It wouldn’t do for me to exhaust myself and frighten him away.
She adjusted the silken nightshift clinging to her curves and stepped inside their private chamber, the fabric whispering against her legs as she moved.
Kailorien lay waiting on the bed, shirtless, loose linen pants clinging low to his hips. His dark hair was unbound and spilled like ink across the black silk sheets, catching the golden light of the single hovering mana lamp. He lay on his stomach, arms folded beneath his cheek, head turned toward her—his eyes closed. The long muscles of his back were relaxed. Vulnerable. Beautiful.
Her breath caught.
He looked more human like this. Less Resh’Agar.
She let the shawl fall from her shoulders, slipping it onto the hook beside the bed. The air kissed her skin in its absence. Kailorien shifted, sensing her presence. His eyes opened, their glow absent.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “Planning something dangerous?”
“Always,” she answered, stepping toward the bed. “But not tonight… tonight, I just want to feel them and see how they respond.”
She climbed on the bed, straddling his thighs, her nightshift brushing across his bare skin. Her fingers hovered above the base of his spine, then spread with care across his lower back.
“Ready?” she asked.
He hummed. “Always.”
She smiled and closed her eyes.
Perthro. Eihwaz. Raido.
One by one, she called them.
The runes responded like old friends, remembering the days in the Moores when she whispered to them at night. They bloomed beneath her fingers, glowing with gentle blue-white light, warming the skin beneath her palms. Her magic Wove around them, finding snarls of mana, obstacles of flow, and blockages. Clearing them. Sweeping them away with threads of love and intent.
