25. Whispers Behind the Curtain #3
'Not preserved,' the High Priest signed as he joined the conversation. 'The body was incinerated under protocol.'
Auryn’s face didn’t move.
Kailorien’s hand flexed behind his back, the only visible sign of reaction.
“We understand,” Auryn murmured. “Then no attempt was made to trace identification via shed matter.”
'The traitor possessed no Batcher on his body,' the High Priest admitted, stepping forward, eyes downcast. 'No numeric rune. No city record.'
Auryn’s gaze swept the chamber again, colder this time. “Then we are to believe the intruder was Solutus.”
'Yes, Your Radiance.'
A long pause.
“Order a full sweep of the facility. We require a clean trace of every ward, every imprint left in the stone, every drop of dried blood or weft-caught cloth. And every discarded hair.”
The room fell to a hush.
The Priest signed with hesitation, 'Your Radiance, days have passed.'
“We are aware,” Auryn nodded, eyes still forward. “But you will submit regardless.”
Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. The royal “we” carved the command into air like an engraving. She turned toward the altar next, fingertips brushing a segment of disrupted mana still caught in the warded pattern on the floor.
It trembled beneath her touch.
Kailorien stepped forward then, his voice low beside her ear. “You knew to ask about the hair.”
“Of course,” she said. “We have spent decades in the courts of the ones who set such traps.”
His lips quirked. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Not yet.
Auryn turned from the blood-streaked loom with regal precision, the silver of her braid catching in the Polis-light. Her expression didn’t waver. Not even when she passed the faint scorch mark where the intruder had fallen.
“We will speak now with the Selen priests regarding the Cycle of Growth,” she decreed, and the attendants nearby bowed so deeply their palms brushed the floor.
Kailorien moved to follow—but paused before crossing the threshold of the Lustrate’s arched doors.
Something tugged at him.
His gaze lifted to the curve of the upper frame, where his old containment ward had once flared. The runework was gone. Not shattered. Not carved out. Unmade.
A Sovereign Rank seal. One of his own creation. Requiring not just mana, but blood and authority to bypass. Even Zarrek, trained in Runesgrams and sigil-tongue from childhood, could not have unraveled it without days of deconstruction.
Yet Auryn had done it in a breath.
He stared at the space for a long time.
She's not just adapting, he thought as he turned to follow her to her next destination. She’s ascending.
The chamber reserved for priestly counsel smelled of incense and lotus ash. Auryn stood at its center, surrounded by hanging scrolls and mana scry-plates still pulsing with ceremonial light. Several high priests had gathered already, cloaked in pale linens marked with Selen’s curling sigils.
They greeted her with low bows, signing prayers and half-formed apologies for one thing or another—none of which she acknowledged.
“We understand the Cycle of Growth approaches,” she said without preamble. “And that the Grand Festival has been set for the third moon. We would be briefed on the rites planned for Our station.”
There was a pause—confused glances exchanged behind ceremonial masks—then one of them stepped forward. 'Your Radiance. It is unusual for the Sokar to request briefings in advance. But of course, we would be honored to present the schedule.'
Auryn inclined her head once. “We prefer to be prepared.”
The priests bowed, but before they could continue, a soft chime rang from the entryway—the mana-braided sound that always preceded the arrival of a Companion.
The air changed, pluming with Sahtra smoke the color of violet dusk, carrying with it a cloying, dizzying scent meant to relax the mind and lower inhibition.
A hush fell over the chamber as Zeera entered, her dark hair oiled and bound tight, not a single strand left loose.
The gleaming emerald on her choker pulsed with light.
Her silks were cut close to the body—revealing, elegant, designed to shimmer under fluxlight.
Four Attendants trailed behind her, each in matching crimson livery, their eyes averted.
They moved like a trained flock, always behind, always watching.
Zeera swept into a bow before Auryn, her voice like smoke.
“Your Radiance,” she purred. “Forgive the interruption. I was in the area and thought to check on the Lustrate. I hope my presence does not disturb your…recovery.”
Auryn did not move.
Zeera straightened slowly, eyes glittering.
“You look well. Paler than usual, though,” she added, gaze raking down the Sokar’s figure. “For days now, your skin’s been so wonderfully flushed. We were beginning to think His Quintessence had finally taken an interest in the virtues of rest.”
A pause.
Then, sharply sweet, “It must be such a comfort, staying with him. You hardly look tired at all.”
The Attendants tittered, lips half-covered in performative modesty.
Auryn kept her Sokar's mask firmly in place.
“Zeera,” she began as though emerging from some deep thought. “Have you no concern about the attack that took place here some days past?”
The chamber stilled again.
Auryn stepped forward, only once, to remind everyone who held the center of the room.
“This is, after all, your only home. When you visit Our Jade Lattice, We are glad to welcome you as a guest. But you must take care to keep order here, where you have support and protection.”
Zeera’s face tightened.
“And as for Our Resh’Agar,” Auryn added, lifting one hand with imperious ease, “We believe he may speak for himself.”
She turned her palm toward the chamber’s edge.
Only then did Zeera follow her gaze.
Kailorien stood in the archway, shadow-cut and silent. He had entered without a sound, but every eye was on him now.
He still hadn’t pushed back his hood, but even from across the chamber, the glow of his eyes was unmistakable.
And they were fixed on Zeera.
The silence hung thick until Zeera stepped forward, her clothes whispering against the polished marble.
Her scent preceded her; today, a heady blend of violet root and blue orchid, soft spice coiled with honeyed smoke.
It was the kind of perfume that clung to the throat. The kind meant to linger in memory.
She smiled as she crossed to Kailorien, her head tilted just so, like a question with teeth.
“Your Quintessence,” she drawled, her voice languid and coy. “How wonderful that the Void has blessed us with your gaze today.”
She stopped just short of him. Not touching, but close enough that her breath brushed the edge of his cloak.
“I had not expected to find you in the Prismatum,” she continued, voice lilting with suggestion. “Much less…attending your Sokar as she sees to her duties.”
Her gaze flicked to Auryn before sliding back to him.
“You have been absent from the Companions’ Wing for so long. We had all begun to worry. One might almost think you were otherwise…occupied.”
It was a blade, sheathed in false concern.
A challenge, cloaked in courtesy.
A test.
Kailorien didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His gaze—shadowed beneath his hood—settled on Zeera with absolute stillness. Not the hesitation of a man uncertain how to respond. The certainty of a predator deciding whether to let her walk away in one piece.
Behind her, Auryn hadn’t spoken. Zeera’s words hadn’t bruised. If anything, they’d clarified her standing.
Zeera waited. Her body poised, her voice honeyed, her breath measured to the second. But Kailorien still didn’t answer. His gaze didn’t waver, not even when Auryn approached, silent, elegant, a study in composed sovereignty.
The chamber watched with bated breath. The Sokar’s steps echoed like rain drops across the polished floor, each one calm and deliberate.
The scent of her skin—cool jasmine and fire ember laced with dragon blood—met the last traces of Zeera’s heavy perfume and overrode it, like a shower of rain cutting through the burn of a hot day.
She didn’t spare Zeera a glance. Merely stepped beside the Resh’Agar, placed two fingers to his wrist in formal contact, and bowed—not low, but precisely enough to mark respect without subservience.
“We will be taking Our leave to prepare for the Grand Festival,” she said, voice even. “Once it pleases you, Your Quintessence, We will converge beneath the Void once more.”
Then, without waiting for response, she turned. But as she moved, she let her Bond whisper slip like a silk thread between them.
I really do need to observe the stage and plan for the procession. You know where to find me.
And then, because she couldn’t quite help herself, she added, try not to bite her too hard. She bruises easily, and barks more loudly when she’s cut.
Behind her, Kailorien exhaled once. To Zeera, it was a breath. To Auryn, it was the Bond answering back. I won’t be far, starlight.
No one else in the chamber heard the promises that passed between them.
But they felt the silence that followed.
Zeera stood perfectly still, her lips parted as if to speak, only to realize there was no space left for her in the conversation.