She watched him cross to the sleeping alcove, the shadows folding around his tall frame as he vanished from her sight.
Lu’ma moved toward the bathing chamber, gathering the towels and empty flasks. Auryn followed, her sleeping robe soft and warm against her skin. She waited until Lu’ma’s hands stilled before speaking.
“Lu’ma,” she asked, “do you fear the Resh’Agar?”
The Attendant’s dark eyes lifted, her face still as stone. She signed without hesitation. 'Yes. Everyone fears the Arm of the Void.'
Auryn frowned. “But you’ve known him for years now. You’ve seen him beyond his fearsome title. Beyond his role in Doctrine. Surely—”
Lu’ma’s hands stilled over the towels. Her signs were slow. Less formal, yet still cautious. 'Yes. And because This Nameless has known him, the fear is greater.'
Auryn blinked. “I don’t understand.”
Lu’ma looked up at her then, dark eyes steady and unreadable.
'This Nameless does not fear what he is.'
A pause.
'This Nameless fears the path on which he leads Your Radiance…and what Your Radiance will give to follow it.'
The signs hung in the warm, fragrant air, heavier than the scent of Sahtra on the walls. The words pressed into Auryn’s chest like a weight she couldn’t shift, even as she told herself she understood neither the fear nor the warning.
But felt it all the same.
44
The Weapon and the Wielder
One year after the introduction of the new Companion to the Jade Lattice, Auryn walked to meet the Sovereign Flame in the Hall of the Destroyer.
The great marble doors to the Vesper Seat made no sound as they opened to her touch. She stepped through alone, hands loose at her sides, her white gown trailing behind her like gauze and stardust spun into wings. The diadem on her brow—a golden vine crowned with spines like sun rays—caught the Polis light in a flare of brilliance. Crystals set into the walls pulsed with each step she took.
She pressed a hand to her collarbone, fingers brushing against a corded necklace with an inset ruby gem. A deceptively simple thing, yet it meant the world to her. Ever since Kailorien had gifted her the enchanted bow, Auryn had taken an interest in Roanwood. Over the course of months, she’d been able to obtain enough of the material in secret to create this necklace and had bartered with Crafters in the Han to help her make it. With nearly all of them still recovering from the Blightsphere attack, it had cost more Gleams than she cared to admit, but the result had been worth the sacrifice.
Now I carry my most important treasure with me, and time can no longer ravage it. Now, even if I stand alone, a piece of Kailorien’s passion and love stands with me.
The last year had not been idle. Kailorien’s exquisite gift, the Roanwood bow, rested across her back like a living thing. A part of her, some whispered, for she rarely went anywhere without it. The burn of Veilstepping lingered in her calves from the climb up the Jade Lattices, but her stride was steady. Unhurried.
In the Hall of the Destroyer, Shu’Khan perched atop the obsidian dais of the Vesper Seat, his long frame folded into his carved marble throne. No ceremonial warmth in his gaze today, no fatherly curve to his mouth. The roaring fluxhearth caught the gold runes across his knuckles as they drummed the armrest; bracelets at his wrists and ankles chimed with each shift.
“Our Sovereign Star,” he said—smooth as ever, yet colder. “You have been absent from these halls for some time.”
“Father.” She inclined her head. “Forgive me, but I did not wish to come until I had something to show for your generosity.”
He motioned for her to come forward. She drew a sealed scroll from the satchel at her hip and set it upon the low table between them.
“A year’s worth of observation of the Shields. Conduit flows. Managram readings. Leyline analysis. And the results—” her chin lifted, “—show no measurable effect on the Shields when the Estár is halted.”
His gaze flicked to the seal but he did not move from his place on the dais to approach. “And so the Sokâr would request an extension of the cessation mandate.”
“I request this be madepermanent,” she said. “And I have further proof that halting the ritual has aided in the stabilization of the Resh’Agar’s Runesgram.”
Silence stretched until Vargrún broke it, whispering in her mind.
You do not truly believe heisn’t aware of how you Weave your Resh’Agar’s runes every night?
Shu’Khan leaned back, studying her. “There is still unrest in the city after the bombing of the Han on year past. The Council is restless. They will not see the wisdom in granting you this.”
