The Reskala did not stop her as she slipped through the halls leading to the Resh’Agar’s quarters. They never did. A limping shadow with a tray was all they saw. She lifted her hand to pass through the ward—then stilled. Through the carved stone door came His Quintessence’s voice, softer than the one that made the city tremble. Her Radiance’s lilting reply followed.
Lu’ma smiled.
Then faltered.
Silk hissed along the corridor behind her. The scent of perfume lingered—flowers gone to rot.
Zeera.
Lu’ma turned, but saw nothing.
First themissive. Now this? None of this sits well with This Nameless.
She set the tray aside, stepped back out through the ward, and turned toward the Servitor.
The kitchens were all steam and bustle. Lu’ma slipped through, unseen until she wanted to be. A touch on a shoulder here, a glance there, and people shifted aside. She filled her arms: bread, marrow stew, mint, salt, honey. Comforts for later. Her Host had earned far more, but this would do. Before leaving, her eyes lingered on a plain door hidden in shadow.
To most, a supply closet. To Lu’ma, a throat into a stomach that ate souls. Beyond stretched the passages to the Null, and Lu’ma passed into them unseen. Within the eerie chamber, the forge was silent. The cradle where the Godblind rested stood empty. Not unusual. Rituals. Inventories. But unease gnawed at the hairs on the nape of her neck. Too many strange things happening lately.
Zeera’s rage, the Choir’s warning, and now this?
She lifted a lantern. Ash smeared the floor. Dust scuffed where the cradle had sat. Fresh prints. Harmless, circumstantial—if one wanted them to be. From her shawl, she drew a twine with a pale hair tied within. She had plucked it from Auryn’s brush that morning, trembling. Another shed hair. Another sign that something wasn’t right.
She held the hair above the coals and dropped it. Emerald flame took it at once.
When she returned, the Servitor had quieted. She gathered fresh linens from the Dripstone, snagged some scented oils from the stores without signing for them, balanced her tray from the kitchens, and returned to her Host.
At His Quintessence’s door, she paused. The voices within were softer now. Lu’ma straightened and pressed her hand to the glowing golden ward. It pulsed, the magic unraveling as it recognized her.
Footsteps approached, slow and reluctant. His Quintessence stepped into the archway from his chamber. Filled it like a shadow at dusk. He never looked quite human at first glance with his glowing blue eyes and the way everything movedaroundhim, as though his every motion determined the outcome of the world’s next breath.
That was how the world saw him. Powerful. Frightening. Controlling.
Lu’ma recalled how Her Radiance had asked her once—do you fear the Resh’Agar?
Nearly a year has passed since then, yet the answer remains unchanged. This Nameless fear him as the Arm of the Void, but not because of his stature or his magic. Only because, even now, This Nameless does not understand this thing he shares with Her Radiance—their love.
“Lu’ma,” he greeted.
Tonight, his hair was unbound, shadows light under his eyes. His mouth had softened, and he looked less a warrior and more like a man finally content.
She swallowed thickly.
His Quintessence must know. Not just a piece, but all of the truth. It is time.
Lu’ma touched her knuckles to summon his gaze. When his eyes found her, she bowed her head and signed, 'Your Quintessence, This Nameless begs leave to speak treason, to be forgiven only by truth.'
The contentment in his eyes withered. Wariness flickered. “Speak.”
She signed, 'At birth, This Nameless was marked for the Unspoken Choir. For years, This Nameless carried whispers to them of the Sokâr. Blunting them. Lying. Cutting knives to ribbons. For Her Radiance.'
Did he know the Choir? Not many did, but if anyone had heard of it, His Quintessence would have. And if he did not, she would explain. Piece by piece, she would help him see her shame.
'Now, there is danger,'she continued. 'Whispers of the Companions’ anger at the outcome of the Rite. Of how Her Radiance did not fall on the Path of Fire. Strange signs and gossip among Attendants. And— '
She pulled her braid forward and gestured to it, fingering a hair to show him what she meant.
His eyes grew stormy, but he did not interrupt. His gaze stayed fixed on her hands.
