He turned his head. Auryn was watching him, eyes drowsy but still lucid. He did not speak to her again, but the Bond shimmered between them like a held breath.
Sleep. I’ll keep this place sealed until it bends to my will.
Kailorien sat by the wall long after Lu’ma left, shirt half-loosened, boots unlaced, his jaw set in a way that made the Polis-light look like it was cast from inside him. Every muscle in his back spoke of restraint—the barelyleashed kind that wasn’t borne of fury alone, but something worse:helplessness.
Kail…
Auryn couldn't sleep. Hadn't bothered trying. Though Kailorien had hidden most of what Lu’ma told him, she needed no visual confirmation of what the girl had revealed. Lu’ma was honest and straightforward, and she’d been begging Auryn to speak to someone about the truth of her situation for many years now.
Lu’ma had signed to her one day, 'You call his name in sleep. The Resh’Agar. Will you not tell him? Will he not help Your Radiance?’
He couldn’t.Even now, after learning the truth, he couldn’t stop what was happening. Not without risk to himself and his position in the city.
The Void was impartial. The Void did not favor.
Kail…please say something…
She pushed the furs off with a sigh, bare feet sliding to the stone. Her ankle twinged, but the pain was a shadow now that she’d had time to heal. Her shift clung to her skin as she crossed the room, translucent in places with sweat and torn in others from her fall.
He didn’t look at her when she stopped beside him. Didn’t have to. She could feel the hum of him through the air, could taste the weight of the words he hadn’t spoken. She laid her hands on his shoulders. His skin was hot through the linen, tension vibrating beneath her fingers. She kneaded a little, unsure if she was trying to soothe him or herself.
“Your silence hurts,” she said. Her voice was low. Tired. Frayed. “It always does.”
He let out a sharp breath, nostrils flaring. “So does yours,” he countered. “Starlight, did you think I wouldn’t help you? Protect you?”
Her hands stilled. “I was…trying to protectyou.”
“From what, Auryn?”
“The Companions are untouchable, Kailorien. You know it well. They may not have a voice, but their bodies are sacred. They cannot be harmed or stopped or warned. If you threaten them, there will be a reckoning. The Void is impartial. The Resh’Agar must be—”
“Stop repeating that,” he cut in. “You think I do not know the drivel that the Litany forces you to say?”
Kailorien turned to meet her gaze.Auryn moved around him, coming into view, and he straightened. The emerald Polis light caught on the sheen of her skin, the swell of her breast beneath the thin shift, and he had to clench his fist to keep from touching her.
“You should be resting,” he chided, gruff.
“I can’t.”
His eyes roved over her body, and when his gaze found the fading bruises there, the smudge of silver at her temple, the slight favoring of her weight on one side, his jaw clenched.
“You still should have told me.”
She swallowed. “I know.”
“Ishouldburn their entire wing to ash.”
Her fingers curled into the armrest beside him. “I know.”
“I still will, if you tell me that’s what you desire—Doctrine and Council be damned.”
Her hands smoothed against his arm. “I know you could, but that’s precisely why youshouldn’t.” She took a slow breath. “Kail…I know about the Rite of Scars. I know what you gave up for me.” Her voice thinned. “I do not know what it is the magic took from you…”
His heart swelled in his chest, so much he thought he might choke. He made a bitter sound. Something between a laugh and a grunt of pain.
“I have failed, then, for you were never supposed to bear that burden.”
“Don’t say that,” she hissed, pulling on him, forcing him to meet her gaze. “I only told you because I would have you know my intent. I will never allow you to give a single piece of yourself again. Not for me. Not for this city. Not a single hair. Not a single heartbeat more than what is needed. How could I add to your burdens when you already carry all of us?” She shook her head, biting at her lip.
