I stirred, disoriented for a breath—then remembered the softness beneath me. The room. The silk. Him.
Auren was already up.
He stood near the open window, fully dressed in a simple tunic of soft grey. The seret was folded neatly over one shoulder, secured with a gold clasp I hadn’t seen before. The morning light rimmed his form in silver.
He turned when he heard me shift.
For just a second, his shoulders tensed.
Then he gave a small nod. “Good morning.”
I sat up slowly, adjusting the sheet to cover myself. “Morning.”
“There’s food,” he said, gesturing to a low carved table in the sitting area. “Bread, cheese, fruit. The kitchens send fresh trays at dawn.”
He didn’t say you should eat. He said there is food. Like a servant might mention towels or weather. But his voice was kind, if a little stiff.
I rose, wrapped myself in the soft robe folded at the foot of the bed, and splashed water from the basin near the bath alcove to wash my face. The cold woke me completely. By the time I joined him, Auren had already pulled out a second cushion for me to sit on.
We ate in quiet.
The bread was warm, dusted lightly with seed and salt. The fruit had been peeled and sliced—figs, persimmons, pieces of early plum so ripe they stained my fingertips. A small bowl of honey glistened beside them. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.
Auren took his time chewing. Watching, but not unkindly.
When I reached for another piece of bread, he finally spoke. “You’re free from formal duties today. The rite allows a period of rest and adjustment. But you’re encouraged to attend training sessions if you want. The morning group gathers in the northern colonnade.”
I swallowed and dabbed my fingers. “Thank you.”
A small pause.
Then, gently: “Would I be allowed to continue my temple work?”
His brows lifted slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I used to copy scrolls,” I said. “Mostly theology,sometimes historical record. I liked it. And I’d like to keep studying. I miss the rhythm of it. The clarity.”
He didn’t answer at once.
I saw it—a pause, subtle but visible. His gaze dropped faintly, the corner of his mouth tensed. Not displeasure. Not quite confusion either. Just… thought.
I wondered if I’d asked wrong.
But then he nodded. “Yes. If you want that, I’ll speak to the head archivist. The Scriptorium has openings, and your record will show the work you’ve done. They’ll accept you.”
I smiled before I could stop myself. “Thank you. I—I think it’ll help. I’ve always liked mythology. Especially the older cycles.”
Auren gave a soft sound—acknowledgment, maybe approval. But whatever else flickered in his eyes, he didn’t voice it.
We finished breakfast with only a few more words. Not cold. Not warm either. Like we were both still waiting to see what we were allowed to be now.
When he stood to dress for the day, I watched the fold of his tunic catch the breeze—and wondered, again, if I’d said something wrong. Or if, perhaps, I’d simply asked for something he hadn’t expected me to want.
Chapter
Seven
AUREN
