26. The Cage and the Key
The Cage and the Key
Six months had passed since Auryn first stood in the Prismatum as Sokar—six months of subtle wars, whispered alliances, and favors won by a margin of breath. She was no longer a trembling voice beneath her veil, and today she must prove it.
The double doors to the Axis Hall loomed over her like godly sentinels, the words carved above them a reminder of the dangers beyond.
'Through power, sovereignty. '
Ironic, for the power the men in the hall wielded wasn’t borne of strength, only privilege.
Most Councilors had lived well beyond a human’s life span, buying decades with blood magic and forbidden spells, selling their souls for more time spent upon their thrones.
What remained were wrinkled husks barely fit to read reports, let alone vote on matters of importance.
In the Hall, raised voices argued, debating the recent Solutus outbreak and attacks.
Now was the moment for Auryn to enter, but she hesitated.
Sweat coated her skin beneath the intricate new gown Lu’ma had helped dress her in that morning.
It was a creation of white, gold, and rose silks, meant to radiate elegance and power.
No veils. No fluttering skirts. Just a sleek design with curved seams lined with pearls sewn to resemble dragon scales along her torso and sleeves.
Her diadem bore spikes today, matching the design of the Resh’Agar’s pauldrons.
She took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled.
'Master thy fear, and you will master thy cage. '
Auryn had read this in the Umbral Archives some weeks ago, and the phrase had changed something inside of her. She stood now on the precipice of something vast, something terrible, and something terrifying. Her first attendance of a Council session.
She could already picture the men’s faces when she appeared. The insults spewing like boiling water from cracked lips and serpentine tongues.
Child.
Ornament.
Ceremonial doll come to play at war.
The formless silver Consort playing at politics.
If the past six months were any indication, Kailorien’s demands of building her a wing, of granting her a larger stipend, and of reinforcing her Reskala guards had only tipped them farther against her.
But such things couldn’t divert her now.
Not after the price both she and Kailorien had paid for her to enter this room.
Lu’ma stood beside Auryn, spine straight, long pointed hood drawn, and jaw clenched. Ready to enter with her. In her arms, she held a satchel which contained all the things Auryn had fought for over the course of the past months.
A writ from the Sovereign Flame himself.
A recommendation from Lamari Dross, Master of Civic Regulation.
A letter of gratitude and recommendation from Vexan Til, Master of the Riftwardens.
And a plan. A daring one, and one she hoped could help her win the favor of Draevan Sol, Master of Strategic Mana Flow.
Innovative ideas.
Heretical, perhaps, in the eyes of some.
Revolutionary.
If they let her speak.
She ground her teeth together until they hurt.
Fear wouldn’t help her now. Not when she’d already lost six months to preparations.
And in those six months, Kailorien had been forced to endure Estar.
Had come to her after with shame in his eyes and a hollow emptiness in his heart.
One that took immeasurable amounts of love and reassurance to erase.
Bolstered, she’d been rifling through research, notes, and theorems. Gleams traded for forbidden knowledge.
Tomes retrieved against clearance from the Umbral archives.
Nights spent reading and drawing schematics.
Anything to understand more about Vargrún and how to curb his rising voice in Kailorien’s mind.
She’d been attending Council meetings in secret for decades, listening to others speak and make decisions for her without even considering her existence.
Now it was time to go into this hall and show these men she wasn’t just a doll to be put on a shelf for display.
If she didn’t master this fear now, her cage would always stay locked. As would Kailorien’s.
Taking a breath, she straightened her skirts and adjusted the diadem resting against her silver hair. She hated the ornament, but better wear one than be one. If they didn’t want to let her speak, she would shout.
Auryn clenched her hands at her sides. Though she’d knocked, no one had answered. She’d tried to summon Attendants, but none had come. The Reskala at the colossal double doors didn’t even look down at her, their rune-scarred faces blank and their eyes glowing a faint white.
At last, she’d had enough of waiting. Auryn summoned her Weave and used it to pull the doors open. Straightening her spine and tilting up her chin, she walked into the Axis Hall as though she was welcome.
The moment their eyes found her, she nearly faltered.
Voices fell to whispers.
The air was so thick it could have been made of stone.
Click. Click. Click
Her heeled shoes clinked delicately on the white marble floors as she made her way to the Circle of Rule, the large Polis crystal round table in the center of the chamber.
Each Councilor had his own seat along the edge of the room and on dais above, but the Circle was sacrosanct, a place reserved only for the Resh’Agar and the Sokar.
Kailorien was seated there, and as she approached, he stood and gave a formal bow.
“My Sovereign Star,” he greeted. “You grace Us with your Light.”
Formal, but warm to a degree only she would recognize. There were new shadows beneath his eyes. Not from battle, but from the quiet rituals in the Companions’ wing that leeched pieces of him away, one breath at a time. Her biggest battleground. Her most ardent motivator for all of this.
Welcome to the battle, sweetfire. Let’s show these fools the light.
She was grateful, especially when Councilors suddenly stood and pointed their fingers at her.
“The Sokar comes uninvited,” one of them said. Calixtan Murn. A decrepit reptile with a wrinkled face and a fickle vote.
“This Council did not summon you,” Torven Rax bellowed, his aethersteel armor gleaming. Always aggressive. Like he had something to prove.
Auryn walked around the table and sat in the chair meant for her, ignoring all protests.
“There is a chair here for the Sokar,” Auryn decreed, her voice steady and confident.
“Our Resh’Agar is here. We find it an affront that We have not been summoned.
Though, We believe it is a waste of the Council’s time—and Ours—to deliberate on this now.
Especially since there are pressing issues that must be resolved. ”
A hush fell across the chamber.
The air buzzed with signs and whispers as the Councilors spoke to each other.
'The ornament sings.'
'Formless and bold.'
'The Sokar loses her mind.'
Auryn’s sharp eyes caught many such signed remarks.
“This is Our city as much as yours, Councilors. Perhaps more, even. We come to speak on the rising attacks in the Selen District. On the Solutus. And on the Shields.”
Draevan Sol, a man with long black hair drawn back tight against his scalp and flowing brown and gold robes glared at her from his seat. Many other Councilors looked to him for direction and advice.
None knew his true age. He was the Master of Strategic Mana Flow, and many suspected he had altered his life span using some forbidden magic. However, he was the most influential man in the room.
And, unfortunately, the one who despised the Sokar more than most.
After Auryn’s declaration, his mouth curved into a poisonous smile. “Curious. We were just discussing that. Though I doubt ceremony has prepared you for strategy.”
A breath—Master thy fear.
“We will pose a question,” she announced, turning her attention to the chamber. “Has anyone asked why the Solutus are rebelling? What they claim as their cause?”
A few Councilors chuckled.
Draevan laughed outright. “Why should it matter what madness drives a dog to bite?”
Her eyes, silver and steady, locked with his.
“If you don’t know someone’s motive, how can you deter them from murder?”
Draevan’s smile faltered.
"They kidnap child Apprentices," she continued. "Even those of age. More and more are taken every Cycle. Is the Council not concerned about the implications of this?"
Some of the men looked at one another with frowns and shadowed expressions.
"And the bird they've recently taken to painting on their robes—the Ashborne. It is the symbol of the Sovereign Flame, yet they depict it with broken wings."
Draevan scowled. "Where is the Sokar reaching with this discussion?"
"If faith drives their actions, these attacks will only worsen." She pushed on. “Simply raising Reskala patrols won’t be enough. They will die in the Solutus explosions with the citizens, and then you will have to answer to Tharalon Drex for putting his warriors in harm’s way without considering the consequences. Birth rates are still low. The Lifegivers are dying to Pale Madness, and children are born wrong. This is not the time to risk the lives of Our Reskala recklessly.”
The chamber stilled.
Beside her, Kailorien shifted his weight between his feet.
“Before considering physical measures, magical ones must be attempted. Wards should be placed at key District ley lines,” she continued.
“Where mana isn’t required for daily function, block it.
Explosives that feed on mana will fail. If they cannot use magic, then Reskala can handle isolated attackers. ”
No one spoke. Not for a long moment.
Kailorien shifted again, and she stole a glance at him.
He was looking at her. The smallest hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. A softness in his eyes. And just enough of a mischievous twinkle that made her wonder what he was about—
Good girl.
Warmth rose to her cheeks, and she did her best not to turn away from him too fast.
But the spell was short-lived.
Council murmurs resumed. Objections rose.