Chapter 21 A Rival In Arms #3
“Then I’ll do what needs to be done.”
His tone carried no ceremony. No comfort.
Just the unspoken bond between two men who’d both bled in the dirt and knew what it meant to lose something vital.
Resh walked the perimeter until the last patrols cycled through. His boots were soaked. His mood was worse. He approached his tent in silence, only to pause when the flap rustled.
Thessia stepped out. Her braids were unbound, loose and curling over her shoulders, and the firelight caught the hard glint in her eyes. Without a word, she brushed past him, shoulder clipping his as she passed. Hard.
Resh caught her wrist. “How is she?”
Thessia didn’t turn. Her voice was cold as iron left out in frost. “Well enough, no thanks to you.”
His grip loosened. “I’m protecting her.”
“No. You’re protecting yourself.”
That stopped him. She turned then, face shadowed but voice burning.
“She doesn’t need your shields, Shadeslayer. She needs you. The man who held her when she was bleeding out. The man who whispered in her ear when she was fading.”
His jaw worked. “I’m doing what’s best.”
“The only one who believes that,” she said, stepping closer, “is you.”
Silence stretched between them like a drawn blade.
Thessia tilted her head, voice dropping.
“You fight everyone. You fight everything. But for once in your long, unnatural life…” Her gaze raked him, full of fury and something sharper underneath. “You need to learn what it means to surrender.”
Then she turned and walked off, vanishing into the dark.
Surrender. He didn’t know how. But the word stuck, thorn-deep.
Resh stood there a long time, staring at the tent. At the dim flicker of light inside. At the soft curve of shadow cast by the sleeping girl who called for him in her restless dreams.
Don’t…go yet. Not yet.
Her voice echoed in his memories.
The image of her running to him, her face alight.
Zarrek’s voice. Repeating.
You keep trying to lock her up and she’ll keep turning to the person with the key.
His hands clenched at his sides.
Hours later, the fire burned low in the tent as he sat reading one of the older bestiaries, parchment frayed at the edges, his thumb pressed to a smudge of ink he hadn’t noticed before.
The sound of the camp was muffled in mist and distance.
Just the flicker of flame, and the soft creak of the canvas.
Auryn was sleeping, tucked into his bed, exhausted after a long day. He’d been journaling, auditing ration records, ensuring they had enough supplies to make it to Stonewake without any further delay.
If the Maradryn wagons departed on schedule, Auryn and I would reach Stonewake just ahead of them.
I’ll take her there. Ensure her safety. Ensure she’s comfortable.
Then, in a year or so, I’ll return to Krystopolis. It will likely be a few years before I see her again, but at least she will be safe. Living a life away from the darkness.
Earlier, he’d penned notes to several contacts in the capital, requesting they make a trip to Stonewake. Offering rare trade and opportunity. A few merchants. Nobility. People that could arrange for purchase of land and property. Connections that would guarantee her freedom and independence.
From behind him, he heard movement. Blankets shuffling.
He turned his head.
Auryn.
She was barefoot, wrapped in one of the thicker blankets, hair freshly braided but tousled, eyes drowsy.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, but his voice lacked all force.
She tilted her head.
“I was.”
She padded over and stood behind him. He started to turn—
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Stay.”
“Commanding me again?” he teased.
“If you’ll listen.”
A moment passed.
Then he felt her fingers in his hair. Careful. Intentional. Gentle.
“Thessia taught me. I want to try. I asked her if men wear braids like this. She said there were some warriors who did.”
Resh smiled. “You’re using me as practice, then?”
“I thought it would look good with your dark hair.”
Her fingers moved with steady confidence. They ghosted along his scalp, working through knots he hadn’t noticed. A wooden comb sifted through his hair, parting strands, while her fingers caught them up and twined them over one another. His shoulders relaxed without permission.
Then—
She paused.
Lifted a particular part of his hair where she’d braided her ribbon into it months ago. The strip of cloth was starting to fray, but he didn’t want to remove it. Not for anything.
“You kept it,” she said.
Of course I did.
He didn’t look back. Just kept his gaze on the fire.
“You told me it was a reminder,” he said. “So why would I take it off?”
He turned part of the way to catch her eyes. “Besides, you’ve been using my hair tie. Isn’t it a fair trade?”
She was silent for a long minute—her cheeks flushing in a way he longed for—and he faced forward again. Her hands picked up where they’d left off—slower now.
“Is it another weight I’ve made you carry?”
The fire popped as if in response to her words.
Resh didn’t answer right away. He reached up and covered her hand with his. Held it there, over his shoulder.
“No,” he said. “It’s something I chose to keep.”
A pause.
Then, softer—
“I don’t carry you, Auryn,” he said. “Only the fear of losing you.”
She didn’t reply for a long time. Her hand slipped out of his, joining her other one as she kept braiding.
He felt the softest weight against his back. Her cheek, pressing into the space between his shoulder blades. Her breath was warm against his tunic. Her fingers toyed with the ribbon in his hair.
“I never expected to feel so lost when faced with your anger,” she whispered. “When you see me with Thessia, your emotions press inward.”
His heart gave a hard, echoing beat.
He wanted to tell her it hadn’t been anger. That it had been fear—raw and armored—lashing out in the only language it knew.
I fear losing you to your strange power.
To Krystopolis.
To others who know how to carry your fire better than I do.
But he said none of it.
He simply placed his hand over hers again.
They stayed that way for a while. Breath and silence. Warmth and firelight. Until the sharp edge between them—carved over days and nights—softened into something quieter.
“Kailorien, the ribbon will age, but my intent for it will not.”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to give me another one when this one falls out.”
“Will you carry my intent that long?”
As long as I breathe, he thought.
“I will,” he said aloud.
“Then let me give you a ribbon that will last.”
Something warm shifted against his scalp. A pulse of mana, light as wind, threading through his braid.
He frowned. Reached up and brushed his long hair forward. The ribbon was gone. In its place, a few strands of his braid glowed—silver now. Woven seamlessly through his hair like light stitched into shadow. Anchored in her magic.
“If it’s so important to you,” she murmured, voice soft against his back, “then I’ll make sure it isn’t easily lost.”
He turned to look at her.
She hadn’t moved.
Still resting her cheek against his back. Still calm. Still unaware.
“Auryn, did you use your magic again?”
She hummed in quiet agreement. “It’s safer now,” she murmured.
He stared at her. At the woman who just awakened from near death three nights ago. At the girl who had bled silver from her nose. At the tiny pulse in her throat that he’d checked more times than he could count.
His jaw tensed.
He opened his mouth.
He meant to tell her to never do it again.
He meant to say do you know what that power does to you?
But the words caught in his throat.
He looked at her again—hair loose, eyes steady, heart open. She had done it for him. A gift. A gesture of care.
He put down his quill, turned fully, and tugged her into his arms.
“Thank you,” he said.
She melted against his chest with a soft exhale—as though relieved—her forehead finding the hollow of his throat. He held her there. One hand against her back, the other threaded in her hair.
“My theory was correct,” she smiled. “The braid looks good.”
“Are you complimenting yourself?”
“And what of it? None of the soldiers will tell you this truth. Maybe some of Thessia’s warriors. They are braver with their words and fear you less.”
A half chuckle escaped him.
“You really do say anything that comes to mind, don’t you?”
I should try to explain to her that she must be more careful with her words. More guarded. Especially if she lives among people in the capital. Not everyone will understand her ways. Her riddles and meandering words.
And, Void, the things she said could either cut to the quick or make someone want to hide and never be seen again.
Auryn shifted against him. “If I spent all my time choosing words to please others, I would never speak at all.”
Kailorien gazed into her eyes. Silver. Bright. Fierce. Honest.
“You’re right, Auryn. Of course you are. But…” he paused, searching for the right way to explain, “there are places where words have more power than you might realize.”
Her eyes looked into him. Searching.
“You’re taking me there,” she said. “To the darkness.”
I can’t tell her yet.
Not before I’ve arranged everything and can explain my intentions.
“Perhaps.”
“Since you made the decree, the soldiers call me Sokar. What is that?”
Void, where do I even begin?
“I would know what you have named me. I see the hesitation on your brow.”
He gritted his teeth. “Because it isn’t something that can be explained in simple conversation.”
“And yet giving me the title seemed far too easy.”
He frowned. “Because the belief was there. The faith in the name.”
She tilted her head. “A faith you don’t share.”
He exhaled, long and slow.
“It’s a title,” he said at length. “It describes someone chosen by the Void. To lead. To rule. To comfort. To move people toward the future.”
Her brow furrowed. “Tell me more.”
He agreed, first urging her back to bed. He removed his armor and laid down beside her, telling her about the Doctrine, the Void, the Destroyer. Things the people of Krystopolis believed.
“Your people worship the darkness,” she said at length. “The Destroyer is your creator. He made the Flaeme, which powers your city’s Shields.”
“As do I,” he added. “As the Resh’Agar.”
Her hand clutched his. “This magic, it pulls from you?”
“Yes. My Runesgram as well. The Resh’Agar is a fount of magic. A conduit of sorts. And a guardian. I am war, and I am a shield. The Arm of the Void.”
Her eyes clouded. She was thinking. Analyzing.
“But how do you replenish yourself?”
He frowned. Hoped she wouldn’t touch on that topic.
“There are rites,” he murmured. “Shaped by the Doctrine. Bound by shadow. I…obey them. As I must.”
Her fingers squeezed his hand harder.
“And what does the Sokar do?”
He hesitated, but there was no hiding truth from her. Not when she was this curious. One way or another, she would either wrest the information from him or pull it out of Zarrek. Resh preferred to tell her this part himself.
“The Sokar is considered to be the Resh’Agar’s counterpart. Some call her his consort, though such unions don’t exist within the Doctrine.”
“Consort?” she tested the word. A flicker of thought passed behind her eyes—curious, resolute.
“And does the Sokar help with the…rites you mentioned?”
Her voice softened, but her gaze speared through him.
“Could I help you carry the burden?”
The question struck like a bell in his chest—pure, jarring. His breath caught. For a moment, he said nothing.
She had no idea what she was asking.
And yet—she did.
Their gazes held. A battle wills. Hers reaching for something greater than anything she could grasp and his pulling back, afraid to break her. But his body disobeyed his will. He thumbed the curve of her cheek, tugged her braid over her shoulder.
“Auryn…”
Her name left him on a shuddering breath. A word touched by awe and warning both.
“You don’t know what the burden is.”
She didn’t flinch. “Then show me.”
Void help him. She meant it.
She meant it.
He turned his gaze to the fire. The embers whispered and crackled—like his restraint, his resolve—fading to ash every time she offered herself without regret.
You can take her as your Sokar—Zarrek’s words haunted him. Don’t pretend you don’t want to.
Zarrek was right.
Always.
But Resh wasn’t ready to face what it meant to bind her to him in such a way. He wasn’t ready to surrender as Thessia told him he must. For claiming Auryn as his Sokar would mean forging an unbreakable bond. One that might hurt her. One that might entrap her.
“Not yet,” he said at last, voice unsteady. “You’re still healing. And there are parts of me…” He swallowed. “Parts of me that even I don’t want to touch. Parts corrupted and stained.”
A long silence passed between them.
“I am not afraid of the dark,” she whispered. “Only of losing you to it.”
He brought her closer, brushing his lips to the crown of her head. Her hand reached up to fiddle with his earring.
“Has there ever been a Sokar named before?”
He shook his head. “No. Never.”
“And if I become this—if I take this title—I can go with you? To Krystopolis?”
He sighed. “It’s much more complicated than that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t understand, and I don’t have the words to explain it.”
She reached up. Smoothed a finger on the bridge of his nose. “The thunder is heavy on your brow again.”
“You call it down,” he smiled. “Too often.”
She returned his smile then yawned.
“Sleep. We have another hard day of travel tomorrow.”
For once, she didn’t fight him. Just tucked her body against his, closed her eyes, and fell into a deep and peaceful rest. He held her close for a long while after, listening to the fire and the whisper of her breath, wondering if he could ever let her go.