Lu’ma’s mouth opened on a silent scream.
She charged forward, all thoughts narrowing.
Protect the Host.
Protect Her Radiance.
It did not matter that this was the Chosen Companion. That this was Zeera.
Not authorized to harm another Host.
Not authorized to kill.
Correction: Host's safety supersedes protocol.
Even if that meant gutting this Companion where she stood.
The dagger slipped into her hand. The ring on her thumb bit into her flesh as her grip tightened on the crystalline knife. She raised her hand. Aimed for the woman’s exposed throat.
But the Companion did not flinch. Did not try to avoid it. Zeera’s emerald green eyes met Lu’ma’s, her smile growing like a spreading bloodstain.She raised her arms and cast a containment web around Lu’ma’s body.
A pressure at her throat and shoulder.
An impact to her back.
The spell pinned Lu’ma up against a wall. Around her, the Polis shrieked as it lit up from both the sound and the Companion’s mana. The thick cloying scent of perfume filled Lu’ma’s nostrils.
And still Her Radiance made no sound.
Lu’ma’s eyes rolled. Left to right.
No one to see.
No one to help.
No one to stop this highest of treasons.
She opened her mouth. Screamed and screamed and screamed.
But, as always, none could hear her.
6
Tipping Point
Still waiting.
Always waiting.
If I walk far enough… if I wait long enough…
You’ll find me, won’t you?
Kailorien awoke with painful, sluggish reluctance. For the first time in decades, his body had been truly resting. For once, no strange dreams plagued him. No voices in the dark whispering of war and battle and duty. No pain from his runes, no whispering from Vargrún at the base of his neck.
Just blissful, rare, and peaceful silence. A miracle, much like what had happened the night before. He still couldn’t believe it.
He’d returned from the war in the Ebon Sanctuary with a single-minded purpose. To find Auryn, to talk to her, tell her everything that was in his heart. No more silence. No more secrets.He’d prepared for a battle, hard-fought and long. A war of attrition against all the armor she’d donned over years of suffering. On his account, no less. On account of the man hiding behind the Resh’Agar. Cowering behind duty, responsibility, and fear.
