Through lineage—sovereignty.
A mandate. A reality she could never escape. And the precise reason she was here now. To re-claim the sovereignty she was due—not to rule, but to survive.
Through dresses, ceremonies, influence, and sacrifice. For decades, I did not want to dance to the music of Krystopolis. But now I have no choice. Not after seeing what Estâr truly means. Not after spending nights inhisembrace and realizing I never want to be anywhere else again.
But the reclamation would not be a simple task. The Pouring of Grace had been a footnote in the battle to come. Zeera and the other Companions would do anything to stop the Sokâr from interfering in the matters of the Council. Of Estâr. And now that Kailorien had taken her into his wing, things would only worsen.
She inhaled. Once. And stepped forward.
Auryn stood before the doors of the Lustrate without knocking.
She did not need to.
The absence of invitation spoke louder than any turned key or barred lock.
Lu’ma stood behind her, shoulders stiff beneath her shawl, hands signing sharp and fast, 'The gowns were due three days past. Why would this Crafter not respond to a summons from the Sokâr’s Attendant?'
Auryn shifted—weight slipping from one foot to the other, a motion she hoped was imperceptible unless one looked closely. Fever hummed beneath her skin like a whispered threat. Her face, however, remained a mask. Her Sokâr’s visage. Untouchable. Unaffected. And yet inside, she raged at the weakness of her body.
That the affliction still hadn’t passed, even now.
Not after more than a week.
Not after Estâr.
“We suspect,” she divulged, speaking formally, “that the gowns have not gone missing. Only...redirected. And that the Crafter was instructed not to open these doors for Us.”
Her gaze traced the carved archway.
'The Selen Companion?'Lu’ma signed, slow now. Tentative.
Auryn’s lips curved ever so slightly. “Who else? This feels like something Zeera might do out of boredom.”
The two Reskala flanking her said nothing, though one shifted his weight, watching the shadows of corridors beyond them. Auryn frowned at the two massive warriors, smaller than Kailorien in stature, but still fearsome with their spiked armor, glowing white eyes, and pulsing runes.
Her new and permanent guards. Hand-picked by the Resh’Agar. Instructed to shadow her every step, no matter how small.
How honored they must feel.
Warmth built in her chest at the thought of how much effort Kailorien had placed into measures regarding her safety and protection. She hated being followed, but she was no longer hidden. No longer merely a shelved tome in the Umbral Archives. And that meant more eyes than ever watched her every move.
Someone was watching her this very moment.
Zeera, Thalune, or one of their Attendants.
Watching and waiting for her to stumble.
Auryn raised a hand. Lu’ma stepped in front of her and bowed, signing furiously, 'Your Radiance, this Nameless begs you not to use your power. Your Radiance is ill. Bad enough that Your Radiance walked here without transport from the Lattice.'
“The key sigil was tampered with as well,” Auryn sighed, glancing at the bracelet on her wrist. Five gems, normally lit up, hung dim there. “Only His Quintessence could have fixed the portal charges, and he is in the Iliri today. We didn’t have a choice.”
The pain in her side filled her ribs with glass. None of that mattered. Not now.
'This Nameless will file a formal grievance,'Lu’ma snapped with her hands. 'This is sabotage. That viper dares—'
“She dares much,” Auryn said, pressing a hand to the door frame. It was cool against her skin. “But We will not scream about broken threads when the loom itself is rigged against Us.”
Lu’ma's expression twisted, fingers flying. 'They see Your Radiance rising. That is why they tear at your seams.'
