Kailorien’s voice was like molten steel. “You are the heart of it.”
A pause. Shu’Khan chuckled. Quiet. Fond.
“How astute of you, Resh’Agar. But tell Us—is it not better to have the spider’s loyalty…than to oppose him in his own web?”
Kailorien’s fury surged. “Youhaveno loyalty. Your motive is to spread your venom.”
And still, Shu’Khan didn’t look at him.
He looked ather.
“Perhaps,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “But We did not expect her fire. Or this…compassion.” For a moment—less than a blink—his blue eyes grew warm. Nostalgic.
“It gives Us pause.”
And then he was done.
With Auryn.
With Kailorien.
With the whole thing.
He turned and glided away, not looking back as he vanished into the shadows.
14
Already Saved
As he stepped into the Resh’Agar’s wing, Kailorien staggered.
Not from fatigue, not even from the fading echoes of Vargrún’s violence still snarling through his blood, but fromher.From the way she clung to him in unconsciousness. From the unnatural heat pouring off her fragile body, soaking through him like fire.
From the knowledge of what she’d witnessed.
From the terror wrapping like a snake around his heart.
His chambers welcomed them. Bare. No guards. No witnesses. Just stone walls knowing how to keep their silence. He crossed the threshold and pushed the door closed with his back. Carried her to his bed—the one place he never let another body touch—and laid her down.
She was sweat-slicked linen and fevered lightning. Her cheeks were flushed scarlet, and her thin dress was soaked through, parts of it translucent.
Shu’Khan’s voice echoed in his skull like poison.
She felt it once, and she will feel it again. Every time, Iridias.
How? How had she felt everything? Had she used her magic? Or was this some sick manifestation of the tether between the Sokâr and the Resh’Agar?
No.
Impossible. Decades had passed since he’d brought her to Krystopolis. How many Estâr rituals had he been a part of in that time? Not once had this happened. Not once had she been affected like this.
He turned on his heel, tearing off his robes and pants. Paint cracked and flaked down his chest, remnants from his hasty rinse in the Companions’ wing.
He moved—faster now—toward the bathing pool. The water waited, still and silent. He summoned heat but didn’t wait for the steam. Didn’t check the temperature or bother with Lustrals. He stepped in, sank deep, hoping this time the water could strip the leftover truth from him. His hands scrubbed, heedless of their strength, working to remove it all—paint, defiled skin, flashes ofmemories.Sounds came back in shards. Companions crying out in rapture. The drums. The taste of their submission. The feel of someone’s throat beneath his hand. A smile stretching his lips against his will.
Andher.
He’d felt it the moment it happened, but hadn’t wanted to believe it. Whenshesynched with him, climaxing beside him from across the chamber.
