None could argue. Shu’Khan’s support of Auryn’s Mandate had taken all of the fire out of their greed. The Council session ended shortly thereafter. Chairs scraped softly as Councilors gathered their papers and filed toward the doors.
Auryn remained where she stood, her pulse racing in her throat.
Another year.
Another year without the ritual that drained the man she loved.
She was close.
So close.
Gratitude for Shu’Khan’s intervention surged through her chest.
A memory surfaced.
Shu’Khan’s voice warning her that gratitude was the easiest leash to place around a clever throat.
The warmth cooled instantly.
Auryn looked across the chamber.
Sevrion Hale had not yet left.
He stood near the far archway, watching.
Not her.
Lu’ma.
Her friend stood beside the wall where Attendants usually waited, her hands folded quietly in the language of restraint. Sevrion’s gaze lingered on her with contempt. Disgust. Anger. As though committing her face to memory.
Auryn frowned.
Then he turned and walked out into the corridor.
The doors of Axis Hall closed behind him.
And somewhere deep in the quiet that followed, the first thread of unease tightened.
53
The Quiet Places
The Resh’Agar’s private training ring lay quiet beyond the inner walls of his wing, shielded from the noise of the metropolis below behind layers of S-class wards and webs. The Mirror Shafts, visible from this high perch atop the Jade Lattice, were fading as daylight surrendered its warmth to evening.
Auryn and Kailorien met Zarrek and Lu’ma here after the heated Council session that morning. Polis lanterns lit the perimeter, set atop tall posts at equal intervals in a circle around the ring. Zarrek had redrawn lines in black, marking boundaries. Auryn stood in one such circle now, rolling her shoulders and drawing a slow breath. Veilpiercer hummed in her hands, ready. Hungry.
Kailorien watched her from across the courtyard.
He had shed his Morvane and his mantle, leaving him in dark training leathers that clung to the long lines of his body. The runes along his arms and throat lay dormant, the etched lines drinking in the fading sun.
“You’re hesitating,” he said.
Auryn lifted her brow.
“I am stretching.”
“Hesitating,” he repeated.
