44. The Weapon and the Wielder
The Weapon and the Wielder
One year after the introduction of the new Companion to the Jade Lattice, Auryn walked to meet the Sovereign Flame in the Hall of the Destroyer.
The great marble doors to the Vesper Seat made no sound as they opened to her touch.
She stepped through alone, hands loose at her sides, her white gown trailing behind her like gauze and stardust spun into wings.
The diadem on her brow—a golden vine crowned with spines like sun rays—caught the Polis light in a flare of brilliance.
Crystals set into the walls pulsed with each step she took.
She pressed a hand to her collarbone, fingers brushing against a corded necklace with an inset ruby gem.
A deceptively simple thing, yet it meant the world to her.
Ever since Kailorien had gifted her the enchanted bow, Auryn had taken an interest in Roanwood.
Over the course of months, she’d been able to obtain enough of the material in secret to create this necklace and had bartered with Crafters in the Han to help her make it.
With nearly all of them still recovering from the Blightsphere attack, it had cost more Gleams than she cared to admit, but the result had been worth the sacrifice.
Now I carry my most important treasure with me, and time can no longer ravage it. Now, even if I stand alone, a piece of Kailorien’s passion and love stands with me.
The last year had not been idle. Kailorien’s exquisite gift, the Roanwood bow, rested across her back like a living thing.
A part of her, some whispered, for she rarely went anywhere without it.
The burn of Veilstepping lingered in her calves from the climb up the Jade Lattices, but her stride was steady. Unhurried.
In the Hall of the Destroyer, Shu’Khan perched atop the obsidian dais of the Vesper Seat, his long frame folded into his carved marble throne.
No ceremonial warmth in his gaze today, no fatherly curve to his mouth.
The roaring fluxhearth caught the gold runes across his knuckles as they drummed the armrest; bracelets at his wrists and ankles chimed with each shift.
“Our Sovereign Star,” he said—smooth as ever, yet colder. “You have been absent from these halls for some time.”
“Father.” She inclined her head. “Forgive me, but I did not wish to come until I had something to show for your generosity.”
He motioned for her to come forward. She drew a sealed scroll from the satchel at her hip and set it upon the low table between them.
“A year’s worth of observation of the Shields. Conduit flows. Managram readings. Leyline analysis. And the results—” her chin lifted, “—show no measurable effect on the Shields when the Estár is halted.”
His gaze flicked to the seal but he did not move from his place on the dais to approach. “And so the Sokar would request an extension of the cessation mandate.”
“I request this be made permanent,” she said. “And I have further proof that halting the ritual has aided in the stabilization of the Resh’Agar’s Runesgram.”
Silence stretched until Vargrún broke it, whispering in her mind.
You do not truly believe he isn’t aware of how you Weave your Resh’Agar’s runes every night?
Shu’Khan leaned back, studying her. “There is still unrest in the city after the bombing of the Han on year past. The Council is restless. They will not see the wisdom in granting you this.”
“I am aware of their predispositions,” she replied. “The Companions will oppose me in every way they can. I have prepared a defense for that as well.”
At last, he rose and descended toward her, feet never quite touching the ground.
Only the jingle of his ankle bracelets marked his movement.
As he approached, Auryn tensed. She could never predict a single thing he would do.
At times, he smiled and touched her cheek like a loving patriarch.
At other times, the look of disappointment on his face could crush her very will to breathe.
What else could I expect from a man that is more god than mortal?
He has seen more than any of us could imagine, and we cannot discount his wisdom in our war against the city’s rot.
He may have his own reasons for the things he does, but his help—his generosity to me at the very least—hasn’t wavered.
Shu’Khan stopped just short of the table before her. Auryn stood her ground beneath the weight of his molten glare. Without pause, she withdrew a second document and set it beside the first.
“Please examine this, Father. The Mandate of the Unbroken Shields. I will present it at Council with the Resh’Agar at my side. It accounts for the Companions’ roles and makes provisions for their survival as the Estár and the Breeding of mana-rich vessels are phased out of Doctrine.”
He traced the edge of the vellum with one long fingernail, his sharp blue eyes reading the text with inhuman speed. It had taken Auryn months of drafts and edits to create this document. Yet he read it in moments, and when he looked at her again, judgment awaited in his gaze.
“A century,” he said. “That is your proposal?”
Auryn nodded. “Immediate cessation of the ritual. One lifetime, for the current Companions to live out their days in comfort.”
Something tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Reduction of their stipends? That will please them.”
“Strategic reallocation of resources needed to rebuild the city, investigate the Blightsphere, and stabilize relations with the Gliders.”
Shu’Khan sneered. “Krystopolis has no need for feathered trophies and bumbling shamans.”
You anticipated he would make this argument. This is a sentiment shared across Crystal City. Amusing, how Krystopolis looks down on those that pose the greatest threat to their Doctrine.
Auryn took a breath. Steadied her voice.
“You believe their society to be less advanced than the Polis. Yet dissenters from their ranks have infiltrated the Cataclyss and aided the Solutus in forging weapons that would tear this city apart.”
His eyes narrowed. “You have shown Us evidence before. Have you made progress?”
Auryn’s heart raced. His interest was piqued. Now she just needed to hold it.
“Enough,” she said. “And not enough. We fight on divided fronts.”
His eyes flashed to the bow on her back, held in place with sturdy yet decorative straps designed to look like a seamless part of her ornate gown.
“Our Sokar has stepped onto the battlefield with no thought to her own safety,” he said. “Rumor has it that the Gliders have come for you. First, they attack you in the open. Now, they scheme in their caves. And you would still work on diplomacy with them?”
Auryn shook her head. “It is too late for diplomacy for those that have already come to the city. They have come for glory and bounty, but they do not side with the Nestings. If we are to prevent further degradation of our relations with the Gliders, we must continue to work on our trade and alliance with the Matriarch and her bloodline.”
He set the document down, fingers steepling as his gaze fixed on hers.
“You have changed, ilphara.” His voice lowered, gentling, dropping to an intimate murmur that would only echo between the two of them.
A single finger traced down her cheek, and it took all of Auryn’s restraint not to move, not to react in any way at the touch.
“We still fondly remember the girl who hid in the Umbral Archives and walked barefoot through the Lattices.”
“I was not silent because I was timid,” she said.
“Never that. We understand. You were waiting for the right season to bloom, and bloom you have. With Our generous support. At your Resh’Agar’s side. You are a force to be reckoned with.”
The flush rising to Auryn’s cheeks betrayed her every conviction.
Was it his eyes? Was the blue of them so similar to Kailorien’s that his praise triggered this response in her?
Or was it something else entirely? Was this a sign that Shu’Khan had wormed farther into her regard than she’d planned to allow?
“We have risked much to aid you in your goals,” Shu’Khan said.
“I am grateful, Father.” Auryn tilted her head in respect. “Please, review the document. The Council will either reject it outright or they will defer the decision to the Sovereign Flame.”
“Interesting,” the corner of his mouth twitched. “And can you not rely on the Resh’Agar’s will to carry this through?”
“Relying on him too severely risks the Council viewing the decree as a self-serving endeavor.”
Shu’Khan took a step back, the air warming once his aura and his heavy Sahtra scent no longer wrapped around her like coils of a serpent. He stroked his chin.
“Much of what you desire will hinge on the Rite of Judgment. In a few weeks’ time when you stand before the city to fire the arrow into the Destroyer’s arms—and if you succeed—the Council will have no means to deny your credibility.”
Until they find the next Rite to throw into your path. Fire enough arrows and one is sure to strike home.
Auryn’s could still taste the ash of the Council’s “gift” in her mouth—the massive, clumsy bow meant to humiliate her.
“Then I will stand,” she said. “But on my terms.”
Shu’Khan’s fingers stilled. “The terms are not yours to set.”
“Aren’t they?” Kailorien’s voice was low, but it filled the hall.
He emerged from the darkness like a specter of vengeance, clad in full aethersteel, his long hair bound in a war knot.
His footsteps rang on marble until he came to stand at her side.
The air shifted, crackling, as two vast powers filled the same space.
The Sovereign Flame and the Resh’Agar.
Kailorien’s hand came to rest on the bow at her back, fingers brushing the Roanwood as his gaze locked on Shu’Khan.
“You will not interfere with the ceremony, brother. I will invoke the Rite of Scars again, if I must. The Council’s decree will be void.
She will fire with her own bow—not the one they chose for spectacle and humiliation. ”