Sevrion Hale, Chancellor of Sacred Rites.
“I second the motion to take funds from the Sokâr’s stipend,” he said in a reedy voice. Admirable that he dared speak at all when Auryn couldfeelthe fury radiating in acrid waves from Kailorien at her side. “What Torven Rax says is logical. Had the Sokâr joined with the Resh’Agar, as is ordained, this would never have—”
“The Shields were collapsing well before the Sokâr’s arrival in the city,” Draevan said. Calm. Deadpan. Emotionless.
Auryn’s eyes widened, her heartbeat quickening.
Draevan? Speaking for me rather than against me?
How unexpected.
What does he want? A favor?
Beside her, Kailorien shifted his weight between his feet then raised his hand.
“If you would strip her of resources, do it in the open. Let the People see what their Council values. And what it discards. Let us see the People support your claims after you have failed their Temples.”
No one spoke, and Kailorien went on.
“Your righteousness is just a mask for cowardice. If you value the Shields, you will give Gleams to support their stabilization.”
Despite Kailorien’s word, however, no resolution could be reached. Draevan did not receive his funding, and the topic was shelved for another time.
A familiar hand rose into the air.
Sevrion again.
Even as he opened his mouth to speak, Auryn’s heart sank into her stomach. She recognized the signs of another targeted attack on the Sokâr in his body language. The way his eyes gleamed with purpose beneath his hood. The way his snake-like mouth curved with anticipation. Not only that, but his hand no longer trembled.
Brace yourself, emberling. The blind fool is about to give a painting lesson.
“Proposal of new topic,” he announced. “In light of the recent outbreaks of illness in the city, the continued contraction of the Shields, lower Lifegiver breeding rates, and many other threats, I — as the Minister of Sacred Rites—have determined that additional measures must be taken to align the Sokâr with the Doctrine of Flaeme.”
Hands flew up.
Too many for spontaneous agreement.
Auryn’s eyes narrowed.
This was planned before the session. Now began the performance.
“Per the votes, topic moved forward,” Lamari Dross said, scribbling, though Auryn didn’t miss his displeased frown.
“Good,” Sevrion smiled. “Allow me to explain in detail. What I speak of is a proving rite labeled in our Sacred Doctrine of Flaeme as the Rite of Judgment. The Sokâr must demonstrate martial capacity to protect the People—should the Void ever fail to respond to prayer.”
Across the table, Councilors nodded. Not all. But enough.
Sevrion gestured, and two Attendants stepped forward carrying something wrapped in velvet between them. It was too heavy for one of them to carry alone. With dramatic ceremony, the two men unwrapped the object and laid it on the Circle of Rule. It nearly spanned the diameter of the entire table.
A bow.
No, a monstrosity.
The weapon was taller than Auryn by nearly a full head, carved from onyx aethersteel, and reinforced with gold-spun filament. Every inch of it shimmered with ceremonial carvings.
Beautiful.
Impractical.
