Unheard of.
Treason.
The Resh’Agar had no say if they wished to play their petty schemes.
“Kail,” Auryn whispered. “I’m…very tired.”
He caught her, guided her to the bed, and pulled the blankets over her.
“I told you before,” she whispered, already fading. “I’m going to change things.”
His hand brushed her brow. “You already are.”
She slept with his fingers still tangled in her hair.
Kailorien worked late into the night. Nothing unusual for the Resh’Agar, who rarely slept at all. But tonight his exhaustion weighed on him, and Vargrún’s scar on his nape itched and throbbed.
He’d cornered Draevan Sol—Master of Strategic Mana Flow—days ago to demand he share all information he had on the Shield Conduits and their relation to the Resh’Agar and the Sokâr. The look in the man’s green eyes had been sharp. Suspicious. But he couldn’t refuse the mandate, so he complied.
Conduit managrams had been delivered that same evening, along with scrolls, tomes, and data collections pooled over centuries. Of course, Draevan hadn’t made a single report readable. Kailorien rubbed at his eyes, exhausted from combing through pointless and long-winded passages to find any information that could be of actual use.
And still—still—he had no answers.
I know what I must do, but it’s too great of a risk. If I bring her to the Shield Conduit and test her affinity for the Runesgram, it would reveal whether she is bound to it.
If Auryn was any other woman, he would have done so without a second thought. But she was different. Hermagicwas different. If the Runesgram reacted in violence to her raw power—the one they called Weaving—he risked hurting her. Or worse, draining her. The thought sent flashes of memory through his mind.
The black veins.
The frozen skin.
The way he sat in that bathtub with her in the Moores, not knowing if she would take another breath.
No.
Going to the Conduit Lock was his last resort. Surely one of these Voids-damned reports could give him an inkling as to whether a body could be tied to the Runesgram without sigils and rituals.
He looked up when he heard near silent footsteps at the archway to the bathing chamber. Auryn’s Attendant—Lu’ma—limped up to the desk, bowing low and looking at the floor as she signed, 'The bath has been prepared.'
He nodded.
She hesitated. 'Your Quintessence, the light is brighter in the next room. The desk, larger.'
His eyes snapped to Auryn sleeping on the bed. She’d been tossing and turning for over an hour now.
“I want to be close,” he admitted, his voice low. “If she needs me.”
The Attendant’s eyes didn’t rise. Her head bowed, hands moving with quiet understanding, 'In the past, this Nameless has seen it. The heat is worse after dark.'
He gave a single nod. There was nothing else to say. Setting down his stylus, he walked to the bed. The fluxhearth flickered in the corner, painting shadows across the carved walls. Auryn shifted beneath the covers, her brow furrowed, breath uneven. Rasping. A few times, she groaned and shifted. Yet despite her discomfort, she didn’t wake.
Kailorien lingered at her side for a moment longer, then turned away.
The bathing chamber was dim, warmed with scented steam and well-tended Lustral runes. He noted the skill with which Auryn’s Attendant had handled preparations. Skill well beyond typical Attendant knowledge and expertise. Once again, he couldn’t shake the thought that Lu’ma was more than what she seemed, but he was too tired to pursue that trail tonight. Especially in light of all the care she showed both of them.
Lu’ma had set out a small vial of balm and a folded towel. It smelled of juniper and crushed frostbloom, another scent Auryn favored. She must have told Lu’ma, or perhaps Lu’ma had simply guessed. The thought made the chronic tightness in his chest loosen enough to take a breath. At least someone was tending to her comforts while he lost himself in calculations and conjecture.
He stripped and stepped into the water. It was hot, blessedly so. His hands moved automatically over skin and sinew, removing only the grit of duty, not the weight of it. He washed quickly, avoiding his reflection in the mirrored panel by the towel stand.
