Not safe to report: Her Radiance is still unwell.
The palace carried rumor like stone carried cold. The Lattice had still not calmed after the Blightsphere had destroyed the Han. Everywhere, Attendants clustered, fingers flicking news, eyes relaying secrets.
'Glider marks on the remnant,'one signed. 'Lines cut like feathers.'
'Estár forbidden for a year,' another added. 'Sponsor displeased. Bowls will sour. Zeera at the Jade Lattices before dawn. No escort.'
No one looked at Lu’ma and her heavy limp. She kept moving. Listening. This was how one read a city unseen.
She paused at a service bend, turning into an alcove. A lectern stood there with a pile of folded cloth stacked on top. She sifted through the rags and removed a bit of parchment hidden their folds. Then she lifted her thumb to her lips and breathed into the ring there. Mana sparked. Vellum slid free. Warm breath lifted letters pale from black.
Combining her vellum with the parchment, she read and interpreted the message.
'Reports overdue. Deliver: Host condition; Council conclusions; artifact sigils; private movements; remnant sample. By next session.'
Lu’ma closed her eyes. Her Radiance’s condition now had names—Flares when she burned too hot and Fades when her mana vanished and black veins took its place. But she would sooner die than have the Choir learn of them. She set the vellum on her palm and used the stylus to scribble a tiny piece of truth.
'Host recovering under care. Council secured artifact remnant. High authority controls access. No travel outside sanctioned routes. No private movements.'
Movements existed, of course. Her Radiance’s slow recovery, the way His Quintessence gave her breath. But those truths stayed in her heart, far from parchment.
She breathed across the vellum once more. The letters sank, bled, vanished. She tucked the parchment into the lectern. On her thumb, her ring clicked shut.
On her path back, she tuned to the palace’s pulse.
A cook in the kitchens signed of the Council, 'Resh’Agar’s temper stormbound, thunder held only by the Sokâr’s hand.'
Two Attendants gossiped of Zeera’s silk, pink and heavy, for a procession not listed. A Reskala smoothed his sash and signed, 'Varrow says too many hands touched the remnant.'
Lu’ma stored each fragment. Later, they would be useful. When the pieces came together.
The sitting room smelled of tea when Lu’ma brought meals to the Resh’Agar’s wing. Her Radiance dozed amid the cushions on the divan, blanket drawn, brow eased. Lu’ma set down a kettle, cups, and cloth. The kettle sang, and Lu’ma brewed Her Radiance’s favorite herbal blend.
She left the cup by Her Radiance’s hand, smoothed the blanket. Checked her hairbrush one more time before departing. On her way back, she took the eastern colonnade. A cluster of Selen Attendants passed by her, their steps measured, their crimson robes pressed and perfect.
'The Frayed,'one signed, sneering. 'Disfigured. Wrong.'
Lu’ma did not meet his petty challenge. She continued walking. Ran more errands. Retrieved fresh linens. Went to the Servitor to fetch freshly washed and tailored gowns.
Second bell rang.
She returned to the training ring early. The training staff sat honest in her hands. She set her stance. Feet. Line. Breath. WhenZarrek came, he would read what she let him. When the Choir came, they would take only what she gave.
She breathed steady—slow as first light on stone—knowing this secret could not be kept much longer.
42
The Law of Eight
The route to the Pouring of Grace wound through half the Jade Lattices. The passage of the Resh’Agar and his Sokâr could have been a procession of its own. They moved at an unhurried pace—time itself bending around their regal forms.
They walked through corridors of polished stone where Polis light caught on gold filigree and tall panels of carved crystal and glass. Attendants moved ahead to clear the way, their hands shaping respectful signs, their eyes flicking from the Resh’Agar’s towering form to the Sokâr at his side. Behind them trailed Lu’ma in formal regalia; rich browns, deep purples, and gold trim edging her long pointed hood.
Auryn's thoughts hummed with worry and frustration through the Bond.
Holding an event like this seems improper considering the chaos still unfurling in the Han. I’d rather be in those temples…
Kailorien's Bond-thoughts soothed her.I know, starlight. But we must tend the fires here in the Lattices as well as those on the streets. Appointment of a new Companion does not happen often.
