Kailorien’s voice came quiet but edged with command. “No. Zar, see to Lu'ma's wounds. She bleeds as much as Auryn.”
Lu’ma shook her head, frantic, but Zarrek slid an arm around her shoulders. “Come. These injuries need washing.”
Kailorien nodded once. “Take Lustrals from my stores.”
When the chamber stilled again, Kailorien rose with Auryn in his arms. The weight of her was nothing compared to the weight crushing him—fear, guilt, the deal with Shu’Khan.
I did what I had to, but I won’t play into his game. This will be my chance to seek freedom, for both of us.
The bath steamed, scattered with herbs and Lustrals. Kailorien stripped Auryn’s scorched rags with careful hands, jaw clenched at the blackened wound on her nape. He shed his own armor in silence, until only torn linen clung to him. He let it fall.
Skin to skin, ash and breath between them, he stepped into the pool. Steam curled where it touched the glow of his runes. He lowered her, washing blood and soot away in crimson ribbons. Her body shifted, curling closer, head resting against his shoulder. For a long moment, he simply held her.
The water hushed around them, steam rising. For the first time since the Tribunal, the storm inside him quieted.
Time slipped. The chamber hushed. Only their breathing remained. Only the water.
And when he kissed the wet crown of her hair, when her fingers moved against his teardrop earring in answer, the rest no longer mattered.
The door stayed closed. The city could wait.
The world faded to silence and sorrow.
Water clung to his skin when he stepped from the bath, linen shirt loose and half-laced, trousers damp at the knees. In his arms, Auryn lay quiet, robed now in white mana-thread, the silk rising with each shallow breath. He set her on the low bed, arranging pillows, easing her hair away from the welt at her nape. As he drew back, her fingers caught the fabric at his chest.
“Don’t go…” The whisper was a frayed thread.
He bent, mouth brushing her hair. “Feel my heartbeat, starlight. I won’t go far.”
The Breathwoven hum he’d laid into her in the bath pulsed once, his rhythm echoing beneath her skin. Her hand loosened. Sleep took her. Only then did he turn.
Zarrek stood waiting by the archway to the sitting room, a spot of ash still smeared along his neck and jaw. His gaze flicked from the bed to the red glow veining Kailorien’s arms.
"Lu'ma?" Kailorien asked, concerned.
“She’ll rest,” Zarrek said. “Which means you and I can talk.”
Kailorien didn’t invite him to sit. “Talk, then.”
“Resh, you’re unraveling. Your eyes since that chamber—slit like a beast’s. The runes still burning. I didn’t go through the portal, but I felt the storm from the Yard.”
Kailorien’s jaw ticked. “I have it chained.”
“For how long? You and Auryn were a breath from turning the city to slag. If Lu’ma hadn’t come…”
Silence stretched taut. Water dripped from his hair onto stone.
“As long as needed,” he said at last.
“That’s not an answer.”
…You feel me moving closer…you bargained with your brother…but with me, you need no such contract …
Kailorien’s hands curled, then forced open. The glow dulled a fraction. “Did you come to accuse me, or to help me make certain it never happens again?”
“To keep Auryn alive,” Zarrek said. "And you, if I can manage it."
Kailorien’s eyes lifted. He exhaled and glanced at the bed. “Say what you need to say.”
