“Please…more…”
Lu’ma’s eyes widened. She took a careful step back, pressing herself to the stone wall. Her breath trembled.
Silence lingered for a beat. Then another low voice—deep, rough as aged stone.
“Sweetfire…”
That word. She’d never heard it before, nor did she know its meaning. But the way he said it—like a prayer given shape—made her throat tighten.
Lu’ma pressed the ring on her thumb against her palm. This was not pain. Not sorrow. This was Estâr. She had heard the Companions crying out in pleasure before during their performances, their rituals in the past when the Estâr still took place in the Vox Ring before witnesses. Theirs had been sharp sounds—calculated, twisted with intention. Bent to please. Hollow at the core.
But this?
This was truth.
Her Radiance’s voice rose again, small and sweet, so unlike the brashness of the others. Lu’ma's cheeks burned, and she touched her hands to her face.
Reflection: Choir Mother's orders instruct no interference. Estâr is sacred.
She remembered the look in the eyes of His Quintessence when he’d looked down at Her Radiance, when he found her broken on the Vesper Stair and held her against him.
Like a man afraid of being disarmed in battle. Of an enemy taking what is his.
But Her Radiance is not a weapon. Not a Companion.
His Quintessence would not harm her intentionally, but what if he does not know the depth of her fragility? Her health is delicate. She hardly eats. Hardly sleeps. If it wasn't for the tea This Nameless makes…
Decision: Ifthe Resh'Agar hurts Her Radiance, priorities must shift. Estâr is mana transfer and will harm the Host. Her Radiance does not have mana to spare for His Quintessence.
More voices came, but what she heard now was not cruelty. It was neither claiming nor possession. feeling Lu’ma couldn’t name, but one she prayed Her Radiance had found at last. She backed away from the door, careful not to make a sound.
Conclusion: His Quintessence will not harm Her Radiance. This is Estâr, but not the same as what the Resh'Agar does with his Companions.
Safe to report: Her Radiance was pushed and fell down the Vesper Stair. This Nameless assisted. Her Radiance recovered with minor injuries.
Not safe to report: His Quintessence stayed with Her Radiance in her chamber, and mana was exchanged.
Lu’ma wandered no farther than the nearest corridor turn. Still afraid to go far. Still afraid to wander out of sight in case Her Radiance needed her.
She didn’t know how long such things lasted, but her legs ached from standing. She knelt beside a bench etched with outdated Doctrine phrases, tracing them with a finger. Her Radiance had taught her how to read the symbols over the years. The Choir trained their Hands to read many different languages, but not ancient Krystopolitan. None in the Choir knew it, not even the Mother, for the Solutus had come from the Commons, not the Lattice.
When a new sound came—shifting stone and bare feet shuffling—Lu'ma rose quickly and turned the corner back to Her Radiance’s chambers. His Quintessence emerged, shadowed in the flickering light. His dark hair was unbound and wild as it meandered down his back. His anger cloaked him like a shroud, bold in the tension of his armsand shoulders. But his eyes had quieted. Storm-dark and glowing, but controlled. Calm.
In his arms was Her Radiance. Blankets covered her small form. Her skin glistened with sweat, hair loose across her shoulders, her braid barely woven together. A pink flush brushed over her cheeks, but not from the Fever. The tiny freckles on her nose and cheekbones shimmered silver.
She was asleep, but there was no tension in her brow. No strain in her limbs.
Her expression was soft.
Peaceful.
Lu’ma tensed, for she hadn’t seen Her Radiance so serene in all the years she’d served her.
The Resh’Agar’s gaze caught hers.
“She will stay within my wing,” he said. Not a question. Not a request. “This room is not worthy of her.”
'For how long, Your Quintessence?'Lu’ma signed.
