6. Tipping Point #2
The Void is impartial. The Resh’Agar cannot be seen to favor anyone.
“Then they won’t see it,” he bit out. “Or I will blind them myself.”
She pushed against his chest.
They won’t stand for this. They’ll say I led you astray. That I seduced you. That I’m the reason the Shields are weakening. You know what they will demand.
“Let them come,” the growl in his voice surprised even him. “Let them try to blame you again.” His grip tightened as he made his way back up the stairs; his pace unhurried now—measured, focused.
Let them try. I’ll break every mouth that dares speak heresy against you.
Heresy doesn’t apply to false gods…or ornaments…
Her hand ghosted up to his cheek. He let her turn his face, though he didn’t want her to see the raw pain in his eyes. Those precious small fingers wove into his hair, tugging him down until she pressed his lips against her own.
Brief. Chaste. Soft.
Like kissing freshly fallen snowflakes.
“My love,” she breathed, and he stopped mid-stride. “I will be alright. Take me to my room.”
Please…
He could deny her nothing. Not the stars.
Not his soul, whatever was left of it after years of slavery to the Shields.
Not when she asked like this. Not even when doing so went against every protective instinct screaming in his mind.
Her hand curled in the collar of his undershirt.
As he reached the top of the Vesper Stair, the Attendant from earlier dropped into a bow.
Her hands rose up to sign: 'Her Radiance was pushed! Pushed! This Nameless saw!'
Against his chest, Auryn gasped. She squirmed in his arms with sudden strength, her eyes flying wide. One grey pupil was still smaller than the other.
“Lu’ma,” she called. “You should not be here. They will see you. Please, hide. Go back to the Servitor.”
The Attendant shook her head against the ground: 'Your Radiance, this Nameless will not go. Please give your blessing. This Nameless will follow Your Radiance. Will ward the door.'
Kailorien frowned.
“You can use magic?” he asked, incredulous.
Attendants were empty. No mana. No magic. No names. Those marked to be Repurposed at birth who were chosen by Priests to serve with a Role instead. An Attendant that could use magic? Who was this girl and why did she seem to have deep history with Auryn?
“She can,” Auryn said, “but this is—no, Lu’ma—go back. Please—” her body suddenly tensed. “Did they see you? Did they see you helping me?”
Pain surged again in his head through the Bond, and Auryn sagged against him with a groan.
The Attendant looked up.
Right at Kailorien.
Her void-like eyes didn’t waver as she raised her hands and signed: None saw. This Nameless used caution.
She’d lied. Lied to the Sokar while looking directly into the eyes of the Arm of the Void—the Resh’Agar.
Kailorien held his breath, looking down at this girl with a critical eye.
She was different. Dangerous. Yet she’d helped him.
Told him the truth. Tried to protect her Host. A favor in all but name, and the Resh’Agar repaid his debts in full.
“Come,” he commanded the Attendant, and she fell into step behind him. He stopped Auryn’s protest with a warning glance.
“If you want me to take you to your room, this Attendant is going to come.”
Auryn bit her lip, her mouth pursing in a way he’d learned to recognize. She had more than a few things she wanted to say, but she was holding back. Still, she settled, and he kept walking. She had to guide him. He hadn’t been to her room in decades.
“They moved my quarters,” she explained. “I made a request…and the Sovereign Flame agreed.”
Kailorien’s brow furrowed. Why would she request a change of rooms? Hers had been a lovely chamber with a window overlooking the city. From what he could recall, it was pleasant. Warm. Hers.
He exhaled, frustrated. But that emotion quickly soured to confusion as she took him away from any of the living quarters towards the Servitor, where the Attendants stayed.
They took a turn down a winding passageway into barely lit corridors.
Here, the Polis was ancient, blended with stone, lacking in any of the magnificence of the rest of the Jade Lattice.
She stopped him in front of a worn stone door.
Kailorien gritted his teeth. “Here?”
“Yes, please hurry…before someone sees.”
The door creaked open beneath his hand, and the cold met him like a slap. Not the sharp bite of winter wind, but something deeper—an absence. A void where warmth should have lived. He stepped inside. No hearth. No light. Just stone and shadow.
Her room—the Sokar’s room—was a den of quiet neglect. No tapestries to soften the walls. No table or chairs to rest a scroll or a weary spine. Only a pile of books on the floor, a chipped basin tucked behind a privacy screen, and a narrow bed without canopy or comfort.
And she had asked to come here.
Her words from yesterday echoed in his memory—the Resh’Agar enjoys his luxuries—and his grip on her tightened such that she looked up at him in surprise. He inhaled through his nose, sharp and slow, and lowered her onto the threadbare mattress.
“Why,” he demanded, voice low, “is there no fluxhearth here?”
Auryn stirred, her voice barely a murmur. “I…didn’t want there to be one.”
He stared at her. “Auryn, how do you keep warm? This part of the Lattice is freezing during Ice, even during most of Dark. By the Void, is that supposed to be where you bathe?”
His eyes narrowed on the torn partition and the chipped metal basin beyond. No shelves, no towels, no cases for runes or oils.
“Where are your Lustrals? Your infusions?”
She didn’t reply for a moment.
“I don’t need them. It’s just bath water. You’re the one fixated with boiling in broth, not me.”
Kailorien ground his teeth together so hard they hurt.
“Then where is the furniture? The tables? Where do you write? Answer missives? Sign paperwork?” He took another look around. “There’s nothing here. Do you sleep bare as well?”
She pointed to the wall, and with a swirl of her hand, a row of sigils he’d never seen before appeared in a square shape. The wall wavered, like a ripple in water, and a stone door appeared in its place.
“There are some furs there,” she pointed.
He knelt and opened the door. Inside were neatly folded blankets, tucked away journals, quills, ink bottles, a few trinkets—most he’d remembered gifting her after his last Campaign—and a box with vials of healing balm.
“What is all this?” he asked as he pulled out a fur cover and tucked it around her.
“Some important things…”
“Why have you hidden them?”
She didn’t answer.
“Auryn, what is this room? This is not fit for the Sokar. For you.”
She smiled, but it was a sad thing—tired and aching and devoid of all her usual defiance.
“I’m a placeholder. A silhouette wearing the name. If I was truly Sokar, I would have a voice at Council, would be able to weigh in on critical matters of Doctrine.”
The thought tripped him up, and he frowned. “I thought you didn’t want to attend. You said they were a bunch of old, blind fools.”
“They are,” she agreed. “That’s why they need leadership.”
“And you want to give them that?”
She looked up at him. Her eyes—still brimming with pain—burned with clarity.
“If I said I did, would you stop me?”
He considered it. “No. I would only ask you to think through the danger of it. Mistakes in the Council don’t end with a push down a flight of stairs. Their retaliation is worse and much less direct.”
“I’m aware,” she nodded, and the bitterness in her voice made him grimace.
She pointed to the door in the wall, and he took out several journals within.
She signaled for him to open them. Leafing through the time-worn pages was a journey through decades of silent rebellion.
Auryn had been secretly listening in on Council sessions.
Not just now and again, but to every single one.
All the records were here, written with Lamari Dross' diligence and notated with her own commentary.
She'd written passages on the Solutus rebellion, Shield compression theory, even proposed solutions to problems that had plagued the Council for years. There were diagrams and notations on magical devices, alternative ward manipulations, and improvements to existing Reskala gear and weaponry.
"How did you…?"
"There is a passage that can be navigated from the southernmost corridor behind the Axis Hall. It is small, but… so am I."
He turned more pages, moving from journal to journal, transfixed. Fascinated. And—incomprehensibly—the ache in his chest that housed his love and adoration for her grew.
"Auryn, this is…"
Words failed him.
All but one.
"Incredible."
Her observations were astute, intuitive, informed.
Some had her defiant flare, but her recommendations were sound and innovative.
Pride swelled in him. Fierce awe. He looked at her, but words still did not come.
Because he was so very proud, but also angry.
And afraid. She hadn't told him about any of this.
Not the neglect. Not her determination to lead. None of these.
More secrets. More things she’d kept from him. More chances he’d missed to really know her. To understand her life here. To protect her.
His hands flexed once at his sides. He’d had enough of this. Turned to the Attendant who was standing in front of the door to the chamber.
And paused in surprise.
Lu'ma was casting. Strangely—but casting nonetheless. A ward, from the looks of it. Containment. Delicately bridged, the leys crossing in a way he hadn’t seen before.
But no. He had seen it. Long, long ago. In the Emerald Moores, when Auryn had been teaching his men how to “sing” to magic, how to cast wards while twining ley lines in ways they’d never been taught.
His throat tightened. Auryn had taught this girl how to cast. Sharp eyes roamed over her now that he was still, and he noticed things he hadn’t earlier. The limp in her leg. The scars on her arm. Born wrong—the Breeders would have said.
She’s mine…