He clenched his jaw.
Her hand reached up, feather-light, brushing weakly against his chest. Pain surged again, radiating from her ankle like fire, her head ringing with every step. Her ribs were sore, likely bruised. But she was still conscious. Still aware. Stillherself.He bowed his head, pressing his cheek to hers, careful not to touch the wound. For a moment, he simply breathed her in. Felt her warmth. Her weight in his arms. The way she breathed. In and out. Steady and soft.
“You’re going to be alright. I promise you. You won’t move another step without me. You hear me?”
You’re fussing, Resh’Agar.
“I’m taking you back to my wing,” he said.
She tried to protest. The Bond flared with her resistance. Her magic stirred again, curling through her body like mist returning to a wounded forest. Her next thought whispered through his mind.
The Void is impartial. The Resh’Agar cannot be seen to favor anyone.
“Then they won’t see it,” he bit out. “Or I will blind them myself.”
She pushed against his chest.
They won’t stand for this. They’ll say I led you astray. That I seduced you. That I’m the reason the Shields are weakening. You know what they will demand.
“Let them come,” the growl in his voice surprised even him. “Let them try to blame you again.” His grip tightened as he made his way back up the stairs; his pace unhurried now—measured, focused.
Let them try. I’ll break every mouth that dares speak heresy against you.
Heresy doesn’t apply to false gods…or ornaments…
Her hand ghosted up to his cheek. He let her turn his face, though he didn’t want her to see the raw pain in his eyes. Those precious small fingers wove into his hair, tugging him down until she pressed his lips against her own.
Brief. Chaste. Soft.
Like kissing freshly fallen snowflakes.
“My love,” she breathed, and he stopped mid-stride. “I will be alright. Take me to my room.”
Please…
He could deny her nothing. Not the stars. Not his soul, whatever was left of it after years of slavery to the Shields. Not when she asked like this. Not even when doing so went against every protective instinct screaming in his mind. Her hand curled in the collar of his undershirt. As he reached the top of the Vesper Stair, the Attendant from earlier dropped into a bow.
Her hands rose up to sign: 'Her Radiance was pushed!Pushed!This Nameless saw!'
Against his chest, Auryn gasped. She squirmed in his arms with sudden strength, her eyes flying wide. One grey pupil was still smaller than the other.
“Lu’ma,” she called. “You should not be here. They will see you. Please, hide. Go back to the Servitor.”
The Attendant shook her head against the ground: 'Your Radiance, this Nameless will not go. Please give your blessing. This Nameless will follow Your Radiance. Will ward the door.'
Kailorien frowned.
“You can use magic?” he asked, incredulous.
Attendants were empty. No mana. No magic. No names. Those marked to be Repurposed at birth who were chosen by Priests to serve with a Role instead. An Attendant that could use magic? Who was this girl and why did she seem to have deep history with Auryn?
“She can,” Auryn said, “but this is—no, Lu’ma—go back. Please—” her body suddenly tensed. “Didthey see you? Did theysee youhelping me?”
Pain surged again in his head through the Bond, and Auryn sagged against him with a groan.
The Attendant looked up.
Right at Kailorien.
