“But,” Auryn added gently, “we will need to discuss the Choir in more depth. If the Solutus have infiltrated the Lattice…” She took a steadying breath. “That knowledge could become extremely dangerous.”
Zarrek pushed off the wall. “That brings me to the second rumor. The missing Godblind.”
The temperature in the air dropped as though a block of ice had settled between the four of them. Kailorien’s gaze sharpened. Lu’ma stood straighter.
“You’ve found something,” Kailorien said.
“Not exactly.” Zarrek made a sound of frustration. “But I’ve heard whispers.” He glanced toward Kailorien. “Solutus prisoners from the Han.”
“The ones we captured months ago?” Kailorien asked.
Zarrek shook his head. “The Reskala have been taking prisoners for the smallest offense. They’ll be setting an example.”
Auryn went still. “None have been brought to trial. They’re moving prisoners through the city without informing us?”
Zarrek’s voice lowered. “That’s because Council plans to Purify ‘em.”
Auryn’s hands clenched into fists.
“Purification requires authorization from both the Resh’Agar and Sokâr,” she said. “If they’re preparing it without consultation—”
Her words halted. Something about all of this felt incomplete, like a painting with missing colors.
“They’re planning something.”
Zarrek didn’t answer.
Lu’ma’s hands moved slowly beside them.
‘Danger gathers in quiet places.’
Auryn stared toward the distant skyline of Krystopolis, where the mirrored towers of the Iliri District glittered in the afternoon light.
Her unease returned.
Stronger this time.
And somewhere deep within her mind, Vargrún growled.
You have climbed too high, little ember. Now, they will cut at you in any way they can. Look to what you value most, and you will see the gaze of your enemy upon it.
54
In Worship
Two weeks after the Rite of Judgment, and still the city buzzed with rumor and exaggerated tales of the Sokâr’s incredible feat. Some said she wielded a bow made entirely of light. Others said she floated rather than walked. Crafters insisted that the black armor she wore was a gift from the Destroyer himself while Weavers tried to claim credit for the garment in the Lustrate.
Kailorien took a hard stance against her walking through the city. With the Godblind missing, Solutus prisoners being moved without the authorization of the holy blood, and with too many eyes glaring daggers at Lu’ma’s back, he didn’t trust his Sokâr being left unguarded.
It was with some difficulty that Auryn convinced him to allow her to visit several temples in the Commons. Disguised, of course, with Lu’ma at her side. Still, he did not make departure easy, and it took all her wiles and soothing to calm his overprotective nature enough to sneak out of the Lattice for a day.
When Auryn emerged from one such temple in the Commons after hours of work, she wiped sweat from her brow and scowled at the sunlight blazing through the Mirror Shafts above.
Better sweat than illness, she thought darkly.The Pale Madness is worsening. More and more are succumbing to it, and we still have no understanding of the source.
Inside, the temple had been thick with fever-breath, old sweat, boiled herbs, and the low murmur of prayers. She’d spent the better part of the morning bent over cots and woven pallets, touching clammy brows, coaxing children to drink broth, and chanting the Litany to those that begged her for it.
Despite Lu’ma’s fierce protests, she’d Woven some of the children. But even her Weaving couldn’t touch this illness. Even her most powerful magic could only buy them a few hours without pain. She left the temple frustrated. Exhausted. Her shoulders ached, the pulse of overused magic like a maddening thrum within her veins.
