He took her small hand in his and kissed her knuckles. Each one in turn. When he looked up again, there were tears in her eyes. Unshed. Restrained. He brushed his thumb along her skin and kissed her palm. As he did, he allowed his thoughts to travel across their bond.
My Auryn. My Sovereign Star. My Sokâr. You are worthy of all you wish to claim. You always have been. Not by virtue of the dress you wear, but by the virtue of your stormheart.
So burn, my starlight. Show them your fire.
And if you need me, I will always come for you.
19
A Shared Cup
When the Sokâr stepped onto the balcony, not a sound dared rise to greet her. No announcement preceded her. No High Priests with litanies and prayers. No worshipful chants or shivering Attendants. Only silence, and the subtle, seismic hush of fear.
She needed no formal introduction.
The Pouring of Grace stilled the instant the Sovereign Star arrived. Even the music dared not continue. Attendants couldn’t help but stare despite the risk of retribution. The Companions paled in their flowing rose and gold silks, and their patrons and supporters nearly dropped their teacups in mute astonishment.
For more than half a century, the whole of Krystopolis whispered of the ornament in the Resh’Agar’s keeping. A forgotten jewel, dulling and unpolished, brought to the city more as a novelty than anything of worth. Small and shapeless, with colorless skin and eyes and hair. Nothing like the Companions, whose black locks and shining eyes were the beacons of beauty far and wide.
Yet now, the city’s very foundation trembled beneath the Sokâr’s dainty steps on crystal and stone. She walked into the ceremony with an expression bordering on disdain, as though nothing in her sight was worthy of her presence. So much like the Sovereign Flame was her expression in that moment that many shrank back in fear.
She floated, seeming to glide along the floor. And when she reached the place they’d assigned Her Radiance, her luminous silver eyes snapped to the Companions. Their skin drained of blood—only Zeera, the Chosen Companion and highest ranked—sat unmoved by the weight of her gaze.
Hostless Attendants in bland beige robes rushed to help her sit, arranging the gauze of her gown with trembling hands. They served her the finest of wines and delicacies, ensuring her plate and her table were filled to the brim. She touched nothing. As if even hunger dared not presume.
A vase of Sahtra was brought to her table—tall and elegant, crafted from translucent crystal etched with runes of heat. Its base was wide and weighted, shaped like an inverted teardrop and filled with glowing mineral water, pulsing in rhythm with the breath of the room. Four long, silken hoses braided with gold thread coiled out from the heart of the device, each tipped with mouthpieces carved from Polis—cool to the lips and rimmed in silver.
At the crown, a delicate lattice held a cluster of ground phiros stones, which sparked with subtle flame when a drop of mana was offered. Smoke rose from it, rich and slow, tinted rose and violet. It spiraled upward through a coiling spire of crystal. The scent, a heady floral mix threaded with spice, curled into the air, thick with promise and ritual.
A grand offering.
A high honor.
Yet the Sokâr did not reach for it.
When all was still for much too long, one of the Companions waved for the Attendants to resume their duties. The music started up again, and the room took a collective breath.
The Sokâr’s table was close to Zeera’s at the head of the balcony. Golden statues, effigies, and decorations had been arranged at this partof the venue. Rich gifts and tribute had been placed on a nearby rose and silver rug—trinkets, treasures, jewels, and silks all gathered to honor the success of the Estâr and to reward the Companions for their work in balancing the Shields and worshiping the Resh’Agar.
Zeera sat like a queen in the light-dappled alcove across from Auryn, flanked by the others. Their gowns were ethereal creations of rose, silver, and red, woven with mana-thread and ornamented with district jewels, jingling bells, and adornments. The clothes glittered when the Companions laughed, bands of gold and silver glinting on their necks, wrists, and ankles.
And laugh they did.
Once the musicians recovered from their shock and conversation flowed again, the Companions raised their glasses in mock tribute to the Sokâr. Their words were honeyed. Most of the men present raised their glasses too, entranced with the Companions’ voices and the silk seduction laced within.
Auryn listened without comment. Focused on her posture, on hearing the crucial nuances whispered between hurtled insults.
“You look exhausted, Your Radiance,” Zeera purred, her smile never quite reaching her ears. “Not like us, of course. His Quintessence took his fill and more in this most recent ceremony.”
Auryn blinked, her face set in stone. She spoke slowly and clearly, ensuring not a single word could be taken out of context. “The health and wellbeing of the Resh’Agar is of utmost priority. We are grateful for your service, as is the city. One would think that after days of rest, you would be recovered. Is that not what the Breeders made you for?”
Zeera’s green eyes dulled at that.
“Oh, but you must understand, Your Radiance,” purred Velshara of the Iliri District, swirling her wine like a spell, “Estâris sacred, yes—butgrueling. His Quintessence is so very…demanding. Especially when his patience wearsthin.”
“Thin indeed,” Zeera added, her gaze falling with pointed care to Auryn’s body. “We are well aware that the Sokâr works tirelessly with her prayers and blessings in the temples. Yet, one does so hope that pain isn’talwayspart of her performance when it comes to His Quintessence.”
Another titter. Another clink of a spoon in porcelain. One of the Companions took a pipe of Sahtra between her lips, releasing a plume of violet smoke outward. It wrapped around her like clouds before a storm, highlighting the strange glow of her green eyes and the luster of her hair.
