He let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck, scratching at the scar there. “It’s probably nothing. And I don’t want to worry you, especially when you’re unwell.”
“Kail,” she said more firmly. “I amalwaysunwell in your eyes. Even if the definition of that is a scrape on my arm that’s already healed.”
She gestured to the fading wound, already sealed. His gaze flicked to it, then back to her face. But he said nothing.
She reached for his hand again. “Your silence hurts. Mine does as well. It doesn’t belong between us.”
He spoke at last. Quiet. Hesitant.
“Auryn…if this happens every moon cycle…has it ever aligned with Estâr?”
Her first instinct was to shake her head. “It’s possible, but it also happened when you were away and Estâr wasn’t performed. I used to think it was something about the magic of the Shields. I’ve never seen the runework or the source of them, but I’ve wondered if—”
She stopped.
Because his expression had changed.
The stillness in him wasn’t discipline now. It was calculation. His eyes were locked on something invisible, internal, terrifying.
“Kailorien?” she whispered. “What is it?”
“Auryn…the Sokâr is supposed to be the Resh’Agar’s counterpart. By Doctrine, she carries half of the Shields.”
She stroked her chin, thinking back on all of the texts she’d read on the topic. “Yes, but you and I both agreed before that this is just myth. There was never a ceremony to make me the Sokâr. Nothing but an empty performance. Magic that complex would require blood, mana, essence—at theleast.”
He nodded, but his expression didn’t change.
“Kailorien, you’re thinking too much on it. In order for me to have a connection to the Shields, a ritual would have had to be performed. Some way to tie me into the Runesgram or whatever mechanism powers them. That didn’t happen.”
She brought his palm to her cheek and nuzzled into it.
“This has happened to me for over half a century, and I have been alright through every instance of it. A little tired for a few days. Somewhat warmer than usual.”
His expression was skeptical, but his eyes focused elsewhere. The cleft in his brow deepened as he brought his hand up to look at a tear in her skirts.
“I should have brought up the topic of your stipend today. For now, we need to consult the tailors and have some dresses made for you. This is not acceptable.”
You’re avoiding the true concern. Kail, please trust what I say. Estâr is days away. I’ll be fully back to being too cold for your comfort shortly after you return from it.
His eyes met hers again, and this time, Auryn was the one unsure. Those blue oceans of feeling were pained. Tired. Wary. She parted her lips to ask him what was wrong, but no words emerged. Even her thoughts didn’t dare ask why the mention of the ritual seemed to cause him such discomfort.
Silence didn’t belong between them.
They’d learned that through suffering.
But, in this moment, she let it stay; for banishing it seemed far more dangerous.
12
To Name A Longing
From the Private Journal of the Sokâr:
They speak of Estâr as if it were just another rite. Another tradition of Krystopolis to be endured, expected, obeyed. A sacred release for the Resh’Agar, necessary, ordained.
I know of it. In function. In theory. The ritual copulation of the Companions and the Resh’Agar for the purposes of mana transfer. Runes are drawn, and during physical release, the Companion is trained to shed her mana into the willing body of the Resh’Agar. Through this, the Shields are bolstered, and the Resh’Agar is strengthened.
I have never asked for more detail.
