42. The Law of Eight #2
The rhythm of the drums built and crested, and in a single dramatic note, the Companions moved in sync and assumed a final glorious pose.
Bronzed skin shimmered in the Polis light.
Sahtra floated around them like an adoring cloud.
Their veils blended together but never tangled.
Each motion planned. Each pause choreographed and drilled to perfection.
Eight Companions. Two to represent each district and to carry its voice to Councilors that favored them.
And to the Resh'Agar. Always to their Quintessence.
The music faded, and the Companions bowed.
Hands rose in the air to clap, and those whose emerald chokers were lit gave restrained praise.
The emeralds on the Companions' necks flickered to life, freeing their voices.
They'd earned the right to speak now, and at last, it was their turn to approach the Resh'Agar.
Zeera stood first.
And stumbled.
She caught herself just in time to keep her motions fluid, but Auryn's heart leapt into her chest. Her gaze narrowed on Zeera's feet, and there—just at her ankle—the strap of her sandal had snapped, much like Auryn's earlier that night.
Beside her, a flicker of emotion—of satisfaction—crossed to her through the Bond.
Kail, did you see—
Unusual for a Companion of her rank to make a mistake But if she continues to interfere in matters above her station, her next offense will be punished with more than a moment of humiliation.
Zeera let none of her emotions show on her face. Recovering instantly, she glided to Liora and placed her hands on the new Companion's shoulders. The drums began to beat again, though they now beat a calmer, steady tune.
As the girl came their way, the drummers and musicians slowed their rhythm and song even further.
The air itself seemed to still, the rustle of fabric pausing as she stepped across the space between them.
Auryn watched her with rapt attention. The Companion was meant to kneel and sign her words of loyalty before touching her forehead to the Resh’Agar’s hand.
To say an impassioned prayer. To gush about how enthralled she was, how much she looked forward to their days—and nights—together.
But the moment her gaze caught on his face for a fraction too long, her steps slowed.
Faltered, even. Her first sign came late, her fingers curling clumsily on the stroke of his title.
She froze, her face draining of color. A startled ripple went through the balconies—whispers, clipped gestures just sharp enough for anyone to catch if they were watching.
And Krystopolis always was.
Standing behind the girl like a lioness with prey between her claws, Zeera’s mouth curved.
The girl corrected her form and bowed low, kneeling at the Resh’Agar’s divan, pressing her forehead to Kailorien’s outstretched hand.
Auryn caught her startle—not visible enough for the sponsors to remark on, but enough that the girl’s next breath shuddered through her.
It was neither excitement nor adoration.
Not anything Auryn had ever seen the Companions show.
Yet, she recognized the look.
The tremor in the girl’s shoulders.
The way her pupils contracted.
Kailorien’s fingers brushed her silky black hair, a gesture so brief and unreadable that it could be mistaken for ritual. But Auryn saw the faint tilt of his head, the same way he read the fear in a soldier before a battle. His blue eyes glowed, unreadable to all but his Sokar.
“Arm of the Void,” the girl mumbled, her voice too weak to reach across the room. “We See. We Serve. I am the new Han representative of the Companions. Liora.”
“Serve the Void well,” Kailorien replied, bored of the spectacle. Formal. Cold.
Auryn could have sworn the girl flinched at his voice, and she had to focus to keep her brow from furrowing. Through the Bond, she sensed the shadow of Kailorien’s own confusion, the faint tightening in his chest. As though expecting the fear. Accepting it.
Her anger flared, and she put up a wall so her thoughts wouldn’t spill over to her Bonded.
She fears his touch, and it angers me. As a Companion, she could hold him before all the Council, and the city would cheer and praise her for it.
She could take him in ways I’ve only dared to imagine, could bear the full weight of him without his restraint.
His body could cover hers without fear of breaking her.
She could worship him openly, as he deserves.
Yet she dares to flinch.
Liora rose to her feet. Graceful. Flawless.
She stepped back into place among the other Companions.
Zeera leaned close, whispering something in her ear.
Liora’s gaze flicked to Auryn—quick, uncertain—and then away.
She didn’t look again. But Zeera did, and the amusement in her eyes did not bode well for the newcomer.
I shouldn’t let this anger me. She is but another life caught in this spider web. And yet…in this moment…I resent her freedom. At least Zeera claims the gifts she’s been blessed with. Shamelessly, fiercely. But to refuse him? To turn away from the worship he is owed?
I cannot stomach it.
Taking a breath, she lowered the wall blocking her thoughts, concerned Kailorien would sense something was amiss.
The musicians resumed their songs, and the room breathed once again.
Rumors flew like wildfire through the crowd.
Many would speak of this night for years to come.
The patterns in the marble caught the light, Polis lanterns glowing as the Sahtra smoke curled higher with each musical crescendo.
The Companions bowed in unison, the hall echoing with the soft percussion of beads and the whisper of silk.
Auryn held her posture until the final note of the drums faded, then let her gaze pass once more to Liora. The youngest, newest link in a chain that had claimed too many.
She will not last long. They will devour her.
Then she will fade, and another will take her place. So it has been for centuries.
But Auryn couldn’t stop thinking of her trembling shoulders and how the girl reminded her of so much that was broken in Krystopolis.
Of the Pale Madness in the temples.
Of the rebellion in the veins of the earth.
Of Repurposing.
Of those who died far beneath this balcony, nameless and forgotten, only because they did not fit a certain mold.
And inside, Auryn knew—she could not sit back and do nothing.