25. Whispers Behind the Curtain
Whispers Behind the Curtain
She hadn’t meant to fall back asleep, but when Auryn opened her eyes again, the fluxhearth had brightened, and a new pair of phiros stones crackled in its cradle.
The blankets had shifted, tucked higher around her shoulders.
From the swaying curtains of the balcony, morning light filtered through the black gossamer.
Sunlight bent through the colossal Mirror Shafts, warmer now that the Cycle of Growth was approaching.
Kailorien perched near the foot of the bed, hunched in that same stiff-backed chair from earlier. Still watching her with his hypnotic blue eyes.
“You didn’t wake for a full day,” he said, voice rasping from disuse.
Auryn blinked. “A full day?”
“You needed rest,” he murmured.
She frowned. “I haven’t slept well in some time. Not since...” she trailed off, not wanting to mention her world had dimmed when she discovered the truth about the Rite of Scars. "Not since the fever began…"
“I don’t believe it’s a fever, Auryn.” He stood, stretching the stiffness from his back, then crouched beside her once more. “Lu’ma and I…we’ve been talking about your condition. She showed me the sign you made for it.”
He lifted his hands and repeated it—hand to heart, then bursting upward like a bloom of light.
“Do you have a word for it?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. It’s not something I ever meant to name.”
“Then for now,” he said, “we’ll call it a Flare.”
Her eyes met his.
“I believe it has something to do with your mana channels,” he continued. “But I’m no mage. We need more expertise.”
“We can’t ask,” she whispered, voice sharp with panic. “Nobody can know.”
Kailorien stilled.
“No one will,” he swore. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, anchoring her to his promise.
She softened under the weight of his vow.
“You look far too relieved,” he teased.
“I just…feared you would insist on involving the Noctris or someone else.”
“No. I see now that this is far beyond the knowledge of the city. If only we could reach Kael’Vethar—”
She tilted her head.
“It’s a city of magic. The largest repository for such knowledge on the continent. But, the mages there have isolated themselves for centuries. The city levitates in the sky, moving with the clouds. It isn’t a matter of sending a hawk or written inquiry.”
Auryn looked at her hands. Picked at the fur blanket.
“What is it, starlight?”
“It is easy to forget how vast the world is when one is trapped in the dark.” She leaned into his touch when he smoothed his large hand against her cheek. “I wonder if we could ever see that vastness…step into it together.”
“Do you wish to leave the city?”
She didn’t meet his eyes. Couldn’t, when his tone was so taut. Like a string overstretched.
“Sometimes. But there is more to do here first.” She sighed. “And now this Flare has become a secret for us to protect.”
He drew back to brush his thumb across her bottom lip.
“It isn’t the only secret between us.”
Her breath caught when he pressed down with his fingertip to feel the softness of her skin.
“What we are to each other,” she offered. “The way we love, it’s—”
“Yes, but more than that. The way I give you breath,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper, “the voice inside you called it Breathweaving. The city—no, even the world—would not understand such a miraculous thing.”
She nodded, throat tight. “But… Shu’Khan…”
“He must have some inkling, or he wouldn’t have tried to mimic it. But it’s nothing more than amusement to him. A game.” His jaw flexed. “Leave that part to me.”
She reached for him, fingers curling in the fabric of his robe. “Kail…”
“You still look rather pale,” he said abruptly. A twitch at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were too intense, too focused, for the excuse to land.
Auryn arched a brow. “Really.”
“Deathly pale,” he insisted, not quite hiding his playful smirk.
She smiled. “Well, Resh’Agar, I suppose you’ll have to fix that.”
He didn’t need another invitation. Kailorien bent down and brushed his mouth against hers. A tether. A promise. He inhaled—and then exhaled into her, not just air but essence.
A soft blue mist shimmered between their lips, sighing into her lungs and blooming there.
Her body arched toward the sustenance, arms winding around his shoulders.
A gentler rush this time. Familiar. Trusting.
Her limbs tingled, her skin flushed, but she wasn’t afraid.
No hesitation could exist when he held her like this.
Just the warmth of him inside her, resonating through her veins, wrapping around her aching magic like a balm.
When he drew back, she sighed, dazed but glowing.
“Gods,” she whispered. “Kailorien…”
He smoothed her hair from her brow, hand cupping her cheek.
“I’ll do it as often as you need. Even if my only reward is that sound you just made.”
Auryn flushed. “You’re shameless.”
“And you’re still too pale. I think you might need more.”
She laughed until her voice caught. He brushed his nose against hers, and for a moment she lost herself in his azure gaze.
Not the fire of the Resh’Agar. Not the boundless ocean.
Just Kailorien. Her Silari, looking out from his soul to hers through a window.
Seeing that—his adoration, his fierce need for her—kindled to life a softer ache in her throat, one made of something too tender to name.
“I’m already so full of you,” she said, barely above a whisper. “If you give me any more, I may well burst.”
His pupils widened, and she shivered at the sight.
“Not full enough,” he said, voice suddenly rough. “I want to fill every space between us. Until you stand upright. Until, no matter how the wind blows, there’s no room left for you to fall.”
Her fingers traced the edge of his jaw. “You say things like that and expect me to walk anywhere without floating.”
His lips quirked. “I expect you to walk beside me.”
“And if I stumble?”
“Then I’ll carry you.”
A silence passed.
She leaned forward and kissed him. Fully. No Breathweaving this time. No ritual. Just her mouth on his, soft and sure, threaded with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.
He didn’t move at first. Then his hand came up—doting, gentle—smoothing against the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss, groaning low in his throat like she’d unspooled something primal inside him. When she finally took a moment to breathe, her smile was all shimmer and satisfaction.
“I think I have the courage to face the day now.”
“Oh?” He raised a brow. “And what plans does my Sokar have?”
“Let’s go to the Prismatum,” she suggested. “I want to see the Lustrate.”
Kailorien frowned. “There’s still blood on the looms.”
She kissed his cheek. “Should I be frightened?”
Somehow, he looked frustrated, impatient, and irritated all at once.
“Right now?” he asked, voice hoarse.
She nodded. “If I’m to go before the Council soon, I need to have a good grasp of everything that’s happening.”
He stared at her. A long, unreadable moment. His eyes dragged over her skin like fire, cataloging every inch, every thread of softness, every breath she took.
Then—without warning—he lunged.
Auryn squeaked as he pulled her down into the blankets and pinned her beneath him, careful but wild, eyes glowing like blue embers banked too long.
“I will take you,” he murmured darkly, mouth brushing her throat, “before the Prismatum. Before the whispers. Before the world dares to question your right to stand beside me.”
She didn’t protest.
Didn’t even pretend to.
His lips grazed her pulse, and she gasped when he whispered:
“Let me fill every part of you that still aches.”
Her fingers clenched in the folds of his robe.
And when he bent to claim her again, the world spun away—
Like silk unwinding from a spindle.
Like breath curling into mist.
Like two stars collapsing into one.
Later, the chamber still smelled of him.
Warm spice and glyphing oil, a whisper of crushed flowers and something exotic—crisp air and rain and musk.
The bedding had been remade, the sheets freshened and scented with oils and incense.
All evidence of the wild morning had been erased, but the subtle tremor in Auryn’s thighs made it impossible to forget the way Kailorien had taken her only a few hours before.
Now, she stood still while Lu’ma tied the final knot at the small of her back, each motion careful and precise.
Today, Auryn would wear one of her new gowns for the first time.
Each one was a work of art, unique and unlike anything she’d ever seen before.
At first, Auryn wondered if Lu’ma possessed the skills to dress her in the eccentric and complex gowns Krystopolis favored.
For years, Auryn had worn nothing but the simplest of dresses.
“You are incredible, Lu’ma,” Auryn smiled. “I couldn’t have figured out these knots without hours of study and demonstration, yet you immediately knew how the style was intended to be worn.”
'Your Radiance praises this Nameless too much.
It is duty. The Sokar was always meant to wear fabrics like this.
To glow. To show others her divinity,' Lu’ma signed with a graceful flourish of her fingers, her dark eyes luminous with approval.
'Truly, His Quintessence has chosen a dress fit for the Sovereign Star. '
Auryn managed a smile, one hand brushing along the gown’s curve at her waist. “He has good taste,” she murmured, half to herself. Then, with a soft huff of breath, “Too good, sometimes.”
The gown was white, stark as snow, but threaded with gold that caught the light in sunfire glints.
It clung to her waist and hips, then fell into a column of sheer, shimmering silk that moved like water with each breath.
Her shoulders were bare, her collarbones kissed with a touch of rose balm, and a long veil cascaded down her back from beneath the slim circlet that crowned her brow.