“That table,” he said at last, voice gone low enough to shiver the little hairs at the nape of her neck, “is quite sturdy. It’s stood there since the Lattices were built.”
“Good,” she said. “Then it can survive the Resh’Agar’s fury.”
He shut his eyes and crushed her to his chest, laughter shaking through both of them until it softened into quiet. He eased back, smoothing the kasara where it had gone crooked, the tender post-battle neatness that always made her chest ache. He found a shawl and draped it over her shoulders. She pushed it off and used it as a pillow, tugging him down with her until they were a comfortable, graceless tangle.
For a while, they simplywere.
He brushed kisses to her shoulders. Her arms. Her neck.
“Say when,” he said, voice steadying, promise settling into bone. “For the Circle.”
“When,” she grinned, and her smile was wicked and sure.
“Then I’ll plan a war,” he promised.
“Several,” she said.
“Several,” he agreed, and tucked her closer, the Bond a warm, fierce thrum between them.
Take care in voicing such thoughts as amusement, little ember. You know not what the future holds.
Auryn did not answer him, but in her heart she called him a liar.
For shedidknow.
Warwouldcome.
But, for now, she chose to bask in peace.
51
Nameless Vigil
Lu’ma moved through the Jade Lattices like tidewater at night, ebbing and flowing between tasks with steady cadence. The Lattice halls buzzed like a tuning fork with the aftershock of what Her Radiance had done. Polis crystal caught light as if the Witness itself had breathed new vigor into its limbs. Even Attendants who tried to hide their awe moved dazed, trays unsteady, eyes averted.
Lu’ma kept her head lowered, her steps swift and efficient. She wore her shoes today. Proudly. Where she normally hid her footfalls, she now flaunted them.
Let them see This Nameless, and in turn let This Nameless see the awe in their eyes for Her Radiance.
The Sokâr had walked the Path and had not bowed, had loosed an arrow, and lies had broken where it flew. Lu’ma’s chest swelled until it hurt. She signed in the folds of her shawl as she walked—small, quick motions only she would see.'Bright. Brave. Adored.' Then another, sharp as a vow.'Divine.'
But the Lattices did not hold awe and piety for long. Here, the shadows fed on secrets and information traded for in blood or Gleams. Less than two days had passed since the Rite and already gossip lingered like smoke after a fire—rumors about the Companions, about Zeera. Stories already spread; that Zeera had thrown her cup, snapped a pin in her teeth, cursed the day the Sokâr was named.
Believable.
Zeera’s smiles always showed her sharpened teeth.
And then there was the other thread; the message from the Unspoken Choir.
Lu’ma had found it under a washing basin, scratched in crooked shorthand.
‘Witness blinded. Hallowing advances. The jewel draws wolves.’
Nonsense until placed in order and translated with the ring on her thumb. Then the meaning surfaced.‘A ritual is moving early. Attention is on the Sokâr. Danger in the Lattice.’
Lu’ma had crushed the slip in her palm until it went soft. Then tucked it away. She told herself, as always, 'You will not have her. Not while This Nameless breathes.'
Her vow made, Lu’ma returned to the Resh’Agar’s wing. Her Radiance would go there once the noise faded. She had prepared the bed herself, smoothed linens, set honeyed tea at the bedside, folded Her Radiance’s glowshawl under the pillow as a ward against cold.
