19. A Shared Cup
A Shared Cup
When the Sokar 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 Sokar’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 Sokar 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 Sokar’s table was close to Zeera’s at the head of the balcony.
Golden statues, effigies, and decorations had been arranged at this part of 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 Estar 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 Sokar. 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, “Estar is sacred, yes—but grueling. His Quintessence is so very…demanding. Especially when his patience wears thin.”
“Thin indeed,” Zeera added, her gaze falling with pointed care to Auryn’s body. “We are well aware that the Sokar works tirelessly with her prayers and blessings in the temples. Yet, one does so hope that pain isn’t always part 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.
“Her Radiance is quite vocal,” giggled Raveth of Varrow, syrup-sweet.
Her skin, rubbed with oils and perfumes, looked like the finest velvet in this light.
“The walls in the Jade Lattice are old, and thin. We’ve all heard the screaming.
I do wonder what sort of duress Her Radiance must be under to have such vivid nightmares. ”
“She walks in her sleep, too,” Nyxen of Iliri added. Her emerald eyes were full of mischief. She blinked, and her long lashes settled like fans over her cheeks. “Imagine the horror of finding the Sokar barefoot in the halls, pale as a wraith. No wonder His Quintessence looks… strained.”
“Didn’t you learn from last time, Your Radiance?” Zeera purred, leaning in. Her perfect body moved with the grace of a serpent poised to strike. “Ugly things with no form tend to fall when the wind shifts. Next time, it might not be stairs—it might be the Lattice’s edge.”
Auryn inclined her head. “Pain is part of this city.”
“That it is,” Zeera replied, her smile like a razor’s edge. “But some of us are better Bred to bear it.”
“Then We will continue to offer thanks to the Destroyer,” Auryn assured her, “that We were not Bred, but ordained.”
Zeera bit her lip, the bridge of her nose wrinkling.
The music lulled, and Attendants emerged from the shadows to clean the tables and serve fresh wine.
Ignoring her own glass, Auryn stood from her seat and circled the room.
The Companions stood to make their own rounds, winding through the crowd.
Not a single eye was left unaffected. All looked upon their radiant beauty and walked after them, enchanted.
Particularly Zeera, the jewel of Selen. With so much capacity for mana that she’d never lost consciousness during a round of Estar, no matter how harrowing the ritual.
A narrow waist, lush hips, voluminous black hair that fell to her thighs in wild waves, hypnotic movements—she was a vision. Stunning. Like an effigy come to life.
But it was not her looks or Breeding that made her dangerous.
It was the way she spoke, lacing every word with mana, overpowering the senses, weaving her will into each syllable.
She could have convinced the Council of anything, and she regularly tried.
Not directly, but through immense and unshakable influence.
With all of Selen behind her, and her own wing built for her in the Prismatum, she was untouchable.
Sacred. And her word weighed significantly more than the Sokar’s.
Auryn tried not to think of all this as an obstacle in this moment.
She was aware of the trials ahead, and there remained no time to quake in fear.
One way or another, she had to claim her own place in this serpentarium.
As she walked, she spotted Lamari Dross idling beside one of the buffet tables, looking for all the world like he would rather be anywhere else.
As Auryn approached him, he looked up. His pale green eyes narrowed, his spine straightening. She’d only ever seen him from the hidden passage above the Axis Hall. Strange how she could have picked out his voice anywhere, yet she’d never spoken to him directly.
“Councilor,” she greeted. “You appear world-weary this dusk.”
“And Your Radiance is,” he gestured to her with his wine-glass, “worthy of her title. Truly, none expected your attendance, particularly since it has never once been recorded at such events.”
Auryn allowed her lips to curve in the barest hint of a smile. “We were never previously invited to share in the glory of the city’s Companions. However, We believe that from this day forth, invitations shall not go astray when it comes to gatherings like this one.”
Lamari smiled in return, his eyes widening in surprise. “If that is the wish of Your Radiance, I am certain it will come to pass.” He took a sip of his drink. “I witnessed your arrival in the Selen all those decades ago.”
“We are honored you remember.”
“I could hardly forget such a thing,” he admitted. “The Resh’Agar, Arm of the Void, proud in his black regalia leading a child on his arm made of starlight. Hardly anyone would have been left unaffected.”
“A child,” Auryn echoed—soft, not cold.
His eyes flicked to hers, startled. “I meant no slight.”