Page 207 of Sokâr

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 Sokâr.

“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 shedaresto 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. TheCompanions 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.

43

The Gift

After the Pouring of Grace was done, the Resh'Agar and his Sokâr walked at a measured pace back to his wing. The moment the heavy marble doors closed behind them, their performative gauze and ceremony fell away like ash in rain. Auryn moved in jagged, anxious motions, shedding the weight of her mantle as she crossed the room. Lu’ma stepped forward to assist her, but Auryn shook her head.

“Forgive me, Lu’ma, but tonight…I wish to be alone. I will take care of it.”

Lu’ma signed her understanding. 'Your Radiance, you haven’t eaten. May This Nameless bring your meal in a few hours’ time?'

Auryn nodded, reluctant, and her friend bowed. In a few swift motions, she ducked out of the chamber.

Kailorien searched her face, gauging her mood. “Starlight—”

“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp, frayed at the edges. “Don’t try to calm me, Kail. I’m far too angry.”

She paced to the window, then back again, the remnants of her gown sweeping against the crimson-veined black marble like wind through tall grass.