22. A Breath, Rejected
A Breath, Rejected
The Vesper Seat pulsed with quiet menace, thick with Sahtra smoke and gold-threaded silks.
Auryn stood at the entrance, sweating beneath her gown.
Her fever had grown worse over the past two days since the incident at the Lustrate, but she had refused to delay.
Not when Shu’Khan—the Sovereign Flame himself—had summoned her.
Not when she had no gowns, no Council sanction, no strength left to waste.
And his cryptic message had offered to remedy that on at least two fronts.
His summons had arrived along with a delicate package. The gowns from Kailorien had returned. Or been returned. Judging from the wording of the message, Shu’Khan had interfered to ensure they would make it safely to their destination this time.
Lu’ma had been delighted, and Auryn didn’t have the heart to remind her that nothing in Krystopolis came without cost. Much like Auryn’s Weaving, each hook, each thread, and each loop tugged on an equal and opposite consequence.
‘Come to Us at the Vesper Seat, Sovereign Star. We will grant you a Writ for Council as a reward for your obedience.’
Auryn’s skin crawled. She remembered standing beside him at the Estar. Remembered his cold, clammy fingers touching her shoulder as he whispered cruelty. And his eyes—his face, which was the twin to Kailorien’s—had been impassive, devoid of any empathy as its owner witnessed his own brother’s pain.
What could such a man possibly want with her now? What could he gain from giving her access to the Council? Was it not in his best interest that the Sokar remain silent and passive? Surely he knew she planned rebellion in her heart. A man like him always knew. Always watched.
Now, before her in the Vesper Seat, he sat sprawled in his white marble throne as if it were a divan. His hands steepled before his chest. Eyes taking in her every motion.
"Greetings," he drawled, smiling as if they shared a secret. "Our ilphara graces Us at last with her divinity."
How could a man who looked so much like her beloved be so very different from him? His voice sounded nothing like Kailorien's.
"Why do you call me that?" she asked him. "You have never approved of me."
He stroked his chin with a long, elegant finger. "You have captured Our regard. Perhaps it is time to begin anew. After all, you are the Child of the Void and We are the Sovereign Flame."
His gaze flicked to the warped seams of her shabby dress. “Under-dressed to meet your Sovereign, are you not?”
She kept her chin high. “You sent the summons, and I have come. The message did not imply this was a formal occasion.”
“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 Sokar’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 Sokar 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.
And exhaled against her mouth.
A breath that was too sweet. Too thick. Too heavy.
It wasn’t a kiss. He wasn't close enough to touch her. But it was an invasion. Mana spilled from him, raw and searing, a current no mortal could absorb.
The pain was immediate.
As though she’d been fed live coals.
Auryn’s back arched and her vision went black. Awareness shattered, and she was thrown into complete darkness.
***
Shu’Khan watched a shimmer of gold flicker over her skin then burst outward.
Her eyes snapped open—gold, radiant, burning as brightly as the sun.
A voice rose from within her. Ancient. Furious.
“Seravael, you have not changed. Still trying to take by force what others have earned through suffering.”
Shu’Khan froze, breath still caught in his throat.
“The Numen,” he murmured in awe. Then smiled. “So it is true. The Numen does reside within this damaged vessel. How unexpected. How fortuitous." His smile widened, showing gleaming white teeth. "How…just.”
“Let me go. Remove your vile hands from me.”
“Your vessel is ill. Are you not concerned?”
“Not so ill that I would take your poisoned essence. You violate the sanctity of Breathweaving. You dare.”
He held her limp form closer, looking deep into her eyes. “Anything of his is Ours to take.”
“Not this, Seravael. We will not suffer it in silence.”
He held her tighter, as if expecting her to vanish if he gave her room to breathe. “If you wish to escape, lash out. You have control now.”
“I have no need to when my Silari will take your head for what you have attempted.”
His smile didn’t falter. “We do not fear a Construct that knows nothing of its origins.”
“He will soon remember, and the day of your Reckoning will come.”
Shu’Khan exhaled sharply through his nose. A huff. Or a dismissal. He backed away from her, leaving her to lie among the pillows of the divan.
“Your threats do not concern Us," he said, raising his arms. "Here in Our Garden beneath the Shields, the Zephyr are powerless.”
The Numen tried to push herself up, but her body was too weak.
“You will rue the day you took my Silari from the Skyglass. I will break him free of your blasphemy.”
Shu’Khan turned to look at her. “He is too valuable a resource. We would rather lose the Sokar than risk the Construct.”
A beat.
A moment of dawning understanding.
And as the Numen's eyes flew wide, Shu’Khan’s smile stretched and finally reached his eyes.
“Impossible. Even for you. Your cruelty would not go so far.”
Shu’Khan approached her again. “The last time you underestimated Us, We broke the Skyglass and shattered Ennea.” He leaned in, cupping a hand over her cheek. The moment he touched her, her fire burned through him. He shuddered. And smiled again.
“Will you still underestimate what you are facing? Will you give yourself to the inevitable? Or will you lash out before Our curiosity burns your vessel from within?”
One hand braced beside her head, he knelt down. Again, he inhaled. And again, he released mana into his breath.
But the Numen did not move. Did not speak. She simply lay still, her hands shaking and tears welling at the corners of her eyes as her mouth opened on a scream of pain.
And far away—unseen in the Axis Hall—Kailorien doubled over, hand to his chest.
He felt it.
The moment Shu’Khan’s mana touched her.
The moment her lungs caught fire.
***