“You answered. Even ill.” His smile deepened, dark eyes raking over her with leisurely interest. “We must admit, We expected the Resh’Agar to keep you more…preserved."
She bristled.
“My condition has nothing to do with lack of effort on his part,” she said too quickly. Her voice cracked.
“No?” He rose, slow as tidewater. “Yet here you stand. Fevered. Barely able to keep upright. And still you broke his ward. Still, you walked into the Solutus attack, cast spells like wildfire, protecting Crafters beneath your station. For gowns, no less.”
“Is it not the Sokâr’s duty to protect the People?”
He raised a brow. “Who told you such a lie,ilphara?”
“It is Doctrine.”
He waved a hand, dismissive. “Pretense. Your duty is to the Shields. To the Resh’Agar. To your Sovereign Flame.”
She swayed, and Shu’Khan moved too fast for her to track. One moment she stood upright—the next, she was leaning. Arms caught her. A scent of cedar, spice, and Sahtra enveloped her. Shu’Khan supported her elbow, lowering her onto a nearby divan.
It felt like being held in a predator’s maw. His bright blue eyes bore into her like knives. When his arms tightened around her, it was a beast’s claws tightening, testing, deciding whether to crush or play with its food a moment longer.
“You are quite sick,ilphara,” he murmured. “We wonder—have you any idea how precious you are? You must take care not to burn out too quickly.”
“The Sokâr is nothing but a symbol.”
“An interesting lie to tell yourself.” His voice turned soft. Almost tender. “But We can help you.”
“At what price?” she rasped.
He sat down on the divan beside her. Ran one of his nails down the thick sleeve of her arm.
“Obedience, of course. Cooperation. You wish to protect broken things. And We wish to observe as a flower blooms into her own.”
“I am not a plant to be harvested.” She grimaced, but her voice lacked any kind of edge.
“We will make it worth your while,ilphara. And We can accomplish it without clipping your little wings. Unlike the Resh’Agar. He would keep you caged. Contained.”
“…Safe,” she argued.
“And where has safety taken you in all your years within the Dark?”
He paused. Considered her resistance.
“You have seen his madness. The monster he keeps leashed within.” Reaching up, he stroked his cheek. “We will help you tame it. Learn more of his runes. Find a way to keep him.”
“…Keep?”
She blinked, her vision swimming, spiraling. She couldn’t move her arms anymore. Or her legs. The scent of Sahtra cocooned her in a dizzying heat. Sweet yet musky. Unique to Shu’Khan.
“From war, of course. You needn’t suffer his departures anymore. His long Campaigns.”
Auryn tensed, realizing that he was moving closer and closer with each word. She tried to back away, but her body protested. Sagged against the pillows. The Sahtra swirled around them, full of mana and heat and vile intent.
He leaned down, closer than he ever had. “Our sickly little thing. Let Us share Our strength with you.”
“No…”
But her protest was too faint, and he drew closer. She tried to move away, but her body was spent. Numb. Her vision narrowed. Dimmed, eyes fluttering shut.
He inhaled.
