She turned to the Reskala next to her.
“You,” Auryn said. “Give Us your dagger.”
She gestured to the blade strapped to his waist. He nodded, unsheathing it without protest. Auryn took the weapon in one hand, her magic coiled in the other.
She knelt.
Cut.
Unwrapped.
And there—folded like they’d been taken fresh from the Loom—lay her gowns. Perfect. Untouched. All five. The silks glimmered, blessed and crafted with such care that for a heartbeat, Lu’ma gasped in relief.
'They are whole,'Lu’ma signed. 'They are undamaged.'
Auryn didn’t look away from them. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel awe at the sight. Every one was beautiful. Ethereal. No less lovely than the one she’d Woven for herself to attend the Pouring of Grace. In their lines and seams, she witnessed Kailorien’s love for her.
And wanted to weep with loss.
She straightened.
“Indeed,” Auryn said, her voice flat. “Whole. Andpoisoned.”
The Resh’Agar’s bedchamber hummed with the aura of the Shields when Auryn entered that night. The fluxhearth burned low in the corner, casting gold across the polished floors. A lazy breeze moved the sheer curtains drawn across the balcony arch, stirring the silence. She shifted her long damp braid over her shoulder, fresh from the cleansing halls. Her skin was scrubbed raw after the incident in the Lustrate.
She hadn't wanted to taint Kailorien's bathing pool with blood, so she'd taken refuge in the nearest temple, bathing there with Lu'ma's assistance until she felt clean enough to see him again. Her muscles ached. Her side throbbed. The blood from the battle was gone, but her guilt refused to give her peace.
The Resh’Agar himself cast that ward—the Crafter’s words echoed like a bruise across her thoughts. Unknowing though it was, she’d interfered directly with the Resh’Agar’s directive. Would he be angry? Offended?
He didn’t tell me. How could I have known? No one tells me anything of import…
She stepped barefoot through the sitting room and paused at the archway. Kailorien sat at his desk in full armor, the glow of his crystal-lamp casting his features in sharp relief. Blue runelight danced over diagrams and war maps, a managram of the Shield Conduit hovering above a disc to his right.
He did not look up.
“Kailorien,” she called.
“So, you’ve returned,” he murmured.
No reprimand. No fire. Just that deadly calm that always meant something worse than fury.
“I suppose you’ve heard. About the Lustrate.”
“Naturally. Your Reskala reported to me immediately, and even if they hadn’t, I would have known regardless.”
Auryn bit her lip. His calm was…maddening.
“I had no choice,” she countered. “They were under attack.”
“I know.”
She hesitated. Waited for the weight of judgment. For the words, 'You dishonored my authority.'
None came.
“I cast shields,” she said. “I protected the Crafters. They would have died. The Solutus were there. One was carrying a package. The gowns.”
Stars help her, she was rambling now.
