Chapter 34 Quiet Between
Quiet Between
The day after Zarrek threw down his crest and Thessia's encounter with Auryn in the stables, the Bloodletter and Lioness received a formal invitation to the Resh'Agar's quarters for that evening. With Talia following her Commander and Zarrek looking grim, they entered the vast chamber as directed.
Kailorien stood alone at the war table. It was littered with open scrolls, half-drained ink pots, and discarded diagrams scratched with fraying threads of leyline calculations.
Candlelight flickered low, casting deep hollows across Kailorien’s face as he leaned forward, arms braced wide on the table’s edge.
“Sit,” he said without preamble. “I have something to share with all of you. War is coming to Stonewake. Fast.”
None of them spoke, and Kailorien took it as consent to proceed. “Hours ago, a Glider envoy delivered a warning,” he said. “The Gliders feel something stirring in the deep Vein. They believe I carry a weapon. Or a power they can’t name.”
Thessia stepped forward as he spoke but allowed him to finish.
“The contact is reliable, and he warned that an attack is coming. Not sure when, but we need to prepare tonight.”
Thessia leaned her weight on the table, arms crossed, voice sharp. “This is sudden. You sure he was an envoy and not a scout?”
“He was no scout,” Kailorien said.
“A threat,” Zarrek muttered. “But no timeline.”
Kailorien nodded. “He said they feel it. The stirrings. The weight of something rising. Something they fear the Flaeme would claim if left unguarded.”
Thessia’s brow tightened. “They think you’ve stashed a relic?”
“They think I carry power.” He glanced toward the partition, careful not to linger. “Something not meant for mortal hands.”
Zarrek stood at his left, arms folded, one boot tapping a slow rhythm against stone. “Don’t see how this concerns me. I’ll be leaving at first light with Auryn.”
From the far wall, the firelight silvered Thessia’s violet eyes. “The Riven Blades will ride with the Bloodletter,” she said. “You know as much. Plans haven’t changed.”
“Mine have,” Kailorien countered. “Auryn isn’t leaving.”
Zarrek’s gaze sharpened. “Deciding for her again?”
“No.” Kailorien’s voice stayed low, steady. “She’s chosen to stay, and I’ll protect her. Here, or anywhere.”
A silence fell, taut as pulled thread.
Kailorien’s head tipped. He paused. Straightened, then moved. Not commanding; not the tread of a war-god. Bare, deliberate steps across stone as he slipped behind the linen curtain screening the sleeping alcove.
What followed was...unexpected.
A pause. Then blankets rustling. A breath that hitched—not spoken, felt.
His voice came low, so gentle it might have been wind teasing candle flame.
“Easy, you're safe. Did you lose my heartbeat, starlight?”
A murmur answered, raw with sleep.
“I couldn’t feel you. I didn’t like it. It was cold.”
A soft exhale—his—like surrender.
“I’m here,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to drift so far.”
Her voice. Soft. Worried.
Then another beat.
“Lie back down. Your hands are ice. I’ll return soon, and then I’m yours again.”
The silence that followed was stunning.
Talia’s eyes widened. Thessia’s mouth parted, weight rocking subtly back as if she’d glimpsed something sacred and wasn’t certain protocol covered it. Even Zarrek went still.
Kailorien reemerged. His face was carved from calm, but something in his gaze had thawed—quiet as snowmelt. He resumed his place at the table, unconcerned by their scrutiny. No one commented.
“If we stay,” Zarrek began, clearing his throat, “what do you suggest?”
Kailorien steepled his hands before him, brow furrowing in thought.
“Splitting forces to cover all sections vulnerable to aerial attack. Wards shield most of the fortress, but there are blind spots. If even one of the Gliders has Manasight, they will know where to strike.”
“They use bombs, don’t they?” Thessia asked. “Don’t have much experience fighting them.”
“Bombs and glaives,” Kailorien confirmed. “Some magic, but it is limited. Most Gliders have no capacity for mana.”
“The Cycle adds a complication,” Zarrek frowned. “Going to need to look out for rifts.”
“Knowing our luck,” Talia added, “I’d say we should plan for a rift on top of the Glider bombings.”
From behind the partition came the soft scuff of bare feet.
Heads turned.
Auryn emerged, blinking, silver hair tousled around her shoulders.
Her nightshift hung off one shoulder, a loose strap slipping down her arm.
She was wrapped in a thick blanket that trailed like a faded cape, dragged from the bed.
She looked wholly out of place in the war-lit hush, a dream intruding on strategy.
“Kail…?” she mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep. “Come back to bed…”
Her eyes cleared and found the room full of witnesses. She froze. Color rushed to her cheeks. She hauled the blanket tighter.
“Kail…I had a strange dream and—”
He crossed to her, settling the blanket higher about her shoulders. “You should be resting,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her brow. “You’re still exhausted.”
“I’m better,” she murmured, sleepy and embarrassed. “Just tired.”
He lifted her without hesitation—blanket and all—and returned to the chair at the head of the table, settling her across his lap as though the space had been built for exactly this. Her legs draped over his thigh, her head tucked beneath his chin, bare feet settled beneath the blanket.
He began braiding her hair with unhurried care.
No one spoke.
Zarrek stared like he’d forgotten how to blink.
Thessia blinked once. Then again.
Talia lowered her gaze.
Kailorien met them without flinching.
“She stays,” he decreed, smoothing the braid and lacing his fingers through hers. “We do this together. Or not at all.”
Zarrek’s hands fisted at his sides—less anger than the dawning comprehension of what such devotion might ignite. Talia shifted, bracing as if for sudden weather. Thessia alone reclined, slow and deliberate, studying them like a strategist watching a new front open. One brow lifted.
“Well,” she said, voice cool, “that explains why our Commander declined my offer to house the Sokar in the east wing. It seems she’s otherwise…settled.”
Auryn made a small sound—a breath caught between gasp and groan—and burrowed deeper into the blanket. Unmoved, Kailorien finished the braid and kissed the crown of her head.
“Offer revoked,” he said. “Indefinitely.”
Thessia’s lips curved. “A shame. I might’ve taught her something useful.”
Auryn stiffened—but straightened. Though flushed to her ears, her chin rose. “I already learn plenty,” she announced. “Each night.”
The room went still.
Talia coughed into her hand. Zarrek muttered toward the ceiling as if for divine intervention.
Thessia grinned—slow, appreciative. “Is that so?”
Auryn realized, too late. “I mean—reading. I read at night. That’s all.”
Kailorien did not correct her. The corner of his mouth tipped.
“Mmm,” Thessia said, velvet-smooth. “Of course.”
Auryn groaned and hid her face against Kailorien’s chest.
“I said each night,” she mumbled, horrified.
Kailorien bent close to her ear, lips brushing her hair.
“You’re radiant,” he murmured.
“I despise you,” she mumbled, muffled.
“No, you don’t.”
Her only reply was a faint huff against his chest.
The fire crackled in the fluxhearth, popping.
“I’ll get the Riftwardens out,” Zarrek said, desperate to break the awkward silence. “They can try to search for a rift.”
“It will come,” Auryn said, then trailed off, remembering how no one had listened to her during the varkhound attack in the Moores.
“Can you sense where it might strike?” Kailorien asked.
She looked at him, surprised. “Not now, but I’ll try moving around the fortress. Perhaps I’m not close enough to the coming tear.”
Kailorien nodded, looking to Zarrek. “Get the Dowsing Rods out.”
His Second caught the double meaning in his words. Don’t leave them alone with her.
“It will be done.”
They spoke for a time about preparations and adjustments. None had ever breached the Wake’s walls, but they could all agree on one thing—they’d never been in a situation like this. Not with Gliders coming to assault the Wards. Not with the fear of an unpredictable rift hanging heavily in the air.
Auryn added her voice where she could, pleased that everyone listened and took her advice and observations to heart. Over time, her body drifted, leaning against Kailorien’s until her eyes closed, and her breathing slowed—lulled in the cadence of his voice and the solid warmth of his arms.
Kailorien adjusted her weight and turned his gaze back to the war table.
Zarrek frowned. “She use that power again?”
Hesitant, Kailorien nodded. “To appease my foolishness.”
Thessia snorted. “Won’t be the last time you say that, Shadeslayer.”
“He’ll learn,” Zarrek added. “One way or another.”
Kailorien wasn’t a man of pride, but even he had his limits. He smoothed his expression into neutrality. “She’ll sleep through the rest,” he said. “Let’s resume.”
The others shifted—subdued now, as though the rules of the room had subtly changed. The air had thickened with something wistful. Even Zarrek seemed unwilling to break the silence first.
Kailorien’s voice cut through the hush with the crisp certainty of a blade drawn.
“We don’t know when they’ll strike. Could be tomorrow.
Could be days. But we need to assume the worst.” He nodded to the scrolls and maps laid across the stone.
“First priority: ground defenses. The southern wall is still weakened from last Cycle’s quakes.
I want fifty stationed there at all times—thirty archers, fifteen with shield bracing, and fifteen rotating in shifts. ”
Zarrek stepped forward, arms crossed. “And the rift?”
“We prepare like it’s coming,” Kailorien said. “Every battlement will double as a leywatch post. If the mana begins to fracture, I want each shift assigned a Riftwarden to catch early signs before it tears open.”