34. Divine Mandate #4
Kailorien’s arm curled lazily around her shoulders.
Now and then his thumb swept in a slow arc along her spine, reminding her of the sacred pleasure to be found in stillness.
Her hair clung damp to her temples, breath just a shade uneven, body loose in the way it only became when he had driven every last thought from her in favor of his adoration.
She could have stayed in this liminality forever and called it victory enough.
“You’re still flushed,” he murmured, voice rippling through her.
“You breathed too much mana into me,” she said without opening her eyes.
He made a quiet sound, amused, and traced the stardust of white freckles now glowing silver across her cheekbones, shoulders, stomach, and thighs.
“Maybe I like seeing you like this. Steady. Sated. Glowing.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m sated,” she teased, flicking her gaze toward the untouched food trays across the pool.
“Don’t worry. Soon I’ll feed you grapes and sweetmeats one by one—until you bite that cheeky tongue.”
She smiled, nuzzling him. They sat in the warmth for a while, the mist weaving around them like a lazy tide. When she finally lifted her head, her eyes caught his—clear, steady.
“Kail…”
He stilled at the tone. Knowing it. Bracing, as he’d learned to do over decades by her side.
“I want to go to the Conduit Chamber.”
The ripple in the water might have been his breath. His gaze sharpened—not with anger, but with dread.
“I’m not going to sit idle waiting for Shu’Khan to make good on his word. I need direct proof that the Estár doesn’t feed the Shields, and I can’t retrieve that without going to the Conduit and seeing it myself.”
“I’ve been studying my own managrams,” he replied. “Trying to see if there’s any tie between you and the Shields. If there is…Auryn, the wards down there are older than Krystopolis. I don’t know how they’ll react to your magic. To your Weaving.”
“I don’t plan to Weave,” she frowned.
“You never plan to Weave, little one, yet somehow that is always what happens.”
She softened at the rare endearment, but her chin lifted in quiet defiance. “I won’t.”
He exhaled. “If the Shields are tied to you, they may not react at all. But if they see you as an intruder…”
“Then what?” she asked.
His jaw worked. “I’m not ready to find out. Not yet. Let me prepare for it. For you. Make it safe.”
They sank into silence again, the kind that didn’t need mending. Her eyes drifted closed; his arm tightened subtly around her, anchoring her in the steam and the slow thud of his pulse.
The knock was soft, but the sound of Lu’ma’s boots against the tile broke the spell. Kailorien’s arm loosened so Auryn could turn as Lu’ma stepped in, a long scroll cradled in her hands. The silk wrapping was rich, the carved ends glinting with the seal of the Jade Lattices.
Auryn sat up. Kailorien reached for towels.
By the time they were dressed, the scroll lay unrolled on the low table between them.
For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The silk fell away with a whisper, the weight of the decree settling like a stone.
Gold-thread calligraphy shimmered in the lamplight, sharp and precise, every letter a blade.
Auryn’s eyes caught on the words 'cessation to the Estár ritual' as if they’d been written in another language.
A year.
One year without the drums, without the spectacle, without Vargrún gnawing at Kailorien’s dignity and mind during that terrible rite. Her pulse skipped then surged. The air thinned. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat.
Kailorien leaned over her shoulder, reading in silence. Warm at her back, unmoving, as though his body alone could shield her from the ink.
“While the impact to the Shields is assessed…” she whispered.
“And during that time,” he finished grimly, “Companions still permitted as guests in the Jade Lattices. But their wing will be…closed.”
“Renovations.” The word tasted wrong. “It must be because of the Sokar’s wing.” Her lips thinned. “This will fuel Zeera’s rage. The Selen pair won’t take this lightly. There will be a fight.”
“Not in the open,” Kailorien said.
“No. Behind the curtain. Behind Sevrion Hale’s machinations.” She drew a broken breath. “But this… Kail…this is a victory. However small, it buys us time. To think. To plan.”
His hand came down over hers, steadying her curled fingers. “Everything with Shu’Khan has a price. And I don’t know what this one will cost you.”
“I won’t say it is worth it,” she murmured. “Some years ago, I might have, but I am no longer so naive. We will feel this—and we must endure.”
The bathwater cooled behind them, the azure mist long gone. Yet she still felt the echo of his heartbeat under her cheek, as if it had imprinted there. For one treacherous moment, she wanted to believe the decree was a gift.
But the shadow of Shu’Khan’s smile lingered—the spider closing in on its prey.
In the back of her mind, a voice broke over her anxiety like thunder over clouded skies.
Struggle, little ember. Fight. I will be here for every rise and every fall.
When you’ve truly fallen, you will call to me. Both you and your Resh’Agar.
And I will answer.