SONG VIBE: Everythingoes - RM

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  SAPHIRA

  Inner Courtyard, Renatus Castle

  Within the sanctuary of the women's garden, Saphira knelt on the cold ground, her bare hands trembling as they cupped a delicate crocus flower. The vivid purple petals stood defiant against the starkness of winter, soaking in the rare morning sun. Saphira laid the flower gently on the edge of the sandstone garden box, her breath visible in the icy air as she carefully sketched its outline onto a clean sheet of parchment.

  The castle hummed with activity, desperate to make the most of the clear winter’s day. From outside the private courtyard, Saphira heard the clang of hammers ring out as blacksmiths toiled in the forge, sending up columns of steam into the crisp air. She could hear stable boys rushing about, their boots crunching on the snow-dusted cobblestones as they tended to restless, stamping horses. Somewhere above, a silvark screeched, circling before it dove into the aviary. In the distance, guards patrolled the walls, their breaths coming out in heavy clouds as they spoke in low, clipped tones.

  These are preparations for battle.

  She pressed a hand discreetly to her belly, where bindings strained against her growing bump. Morning sickness curled through her ribs. It's been almost five moons. Still no movement. Still nausea. She had hidden the signs well enough so far—the fur coat helped, but summer would soon come.

  Breathe. She closed her eyes. Nocturne will return for you—he promised he would.

  “The dried stigmas of crocus flowers…” she murmured, pausing as her stomach cramped slightly.

  “What are you writing?” Ginny’s cheerful voice cut through her reverie. The young maid peered at the page, trying hard to read the intricate annotations. Her strawberry blonde hair was covered by a knitted woollen hat, and her breath was visible as she exhaled in the cold.

  “The dried stigmas are a remedy for gout,” Saphira explained quietly, her voice barely audible over the castle's background noise. She did not look up, afraid that Ginny’s keen blue eyes might linger too long on her changing face.

  “Magic flower, is it?” Ginny teased, plucking the crocus from the sandstone edge with a grin.

  “Not magic—medicine,” Saphira said, trying to snatch it back. “And I need that intact to draw.”

  “There you go, my Lady." Ginny laughed, extracting the vivid crimson stigmas from the flower before placing its shell back on the stone. "Now you can draw the rest.”

  “That’s not how life drawing works,” Saphira muttered, exasperated.

  “Use your imagination,” Ginny said with a cheeky shrug. She waved a small basket full of harvested crocuses. “Chef has been limping around the kitchen—maybe that’s why he’s so desperate for these. Now help me gather the rest before he gives me an earful.”

  “You said you would gather them. I only agreed to keep you company.”

  “Less talk, more cutting!” Ginny plopped down beside her, nudging her with a shoulder.

  Saphira set her parchment aside with a sigh and reached for her gardening scissors. Each flower she snipped free felt heavier in her hand than it should have. Her fur coat, though warm, made her sweat uncomfortably, and the tightening bonds around her belly made every movement a chore. She paused, pressing a hand to her side as another twinge of discomfort rippled through her. She glanced around the courtyard, her heart racing as anxiety set in.

  Celestine will be back from the royal court at Lux, and she will know right away. But she'll keep my secret. She sniffed the crocus flower and thought, But what if someone else finds out?

  The sunlight glittered off the frost coating the garden beds, and for a moment, the world felt too bright, too harsh. She closed her eyes, her mind slipping again to Nocturne.

  “Lady Saphira?” Ginny’s voice softened. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” Saphira said quickly, forcing a smile. “It’s just the winter cold.”

  “Well, don’t let it freeze you." Ginny handed her another flower with a wink. "If you faint on me, I’ll have to drag you to Matron Helena—and you know she’ll talk our ears off.”

  Saphira chuckled weakly, but the sound lacked warmth.

  Above: Ginny and Saphira pick flowers in the Women's Garden

  “Don’t look now,” Ginny muttered, plucking a crocus flower, “Daisy is crossing the courtyard. Flaunting it as usual.”

  From across the courtyard, Saphira saw Daisy walking under the escort of a matron, resting her hands under the curve of her pregnant belly to make it look larger. She was returning from her morning prayers at the cathedral—after the incident, Daisy had become the most pious woman in Renatus, praying morning and night.

  They say she prays for the Ashen Knight’s return, Saphira rolled her eyes, I get up at dawn to pray, just to avoid bumping into her at the cathedral.

  The bastard daughter nodded and smiled with unbearable smugness at all the women passing.

  Saphira muttered in clanspeak, “She thinks she’s the queen of the realm.”

  Ginny tilted her head.

  “It’s clanspeak,” Saphira said, hiding her vexation with a sigh, “I’ve been studying the main dialect lately—and I bet Daisy doesn’t know a word of it despite acting like she’s Lady of Firestone.”

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  “They’re saying that the Ashen Blades will never return—the Ashen Knight has forgotten about her…or they’re dead.”

  “Dead—?”

  “Slain." She hesitated before adding: "Outside the spawnpit.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Saphira said, plucking another crocus and pulling out the stigma. Her heart raced and she sweated. She thought, Please stop saying those things, Ginny. Matron Helena always said that stress isn’t good for babies.

  “They found a giant set of armour in the mountain passes. It could have only belonged to the Ashen Knight. Now, he’ll never get to meet his child.” Ginny ended her thought with a shrug, plucking a snow pea and eating it whole. “I can’t wait until spring.”

  Saphira suppressed another gag; even the sound of the vegetable crunching made her feel sick. Despite feeling so sick, I’ve started to put on weight now, Saphira thought, the women will start gossiping.

  “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Matron Helena stood over them. She grasped Saphira’s hands and exclaimed, “Your fingernails are dirty! We can’t let His Grace see you looking like a peasant.” She sighed, saying, “Well, we won’t have time to clean you up, he is ready for you now. Hurry, get your veil on!”

  Wiping her dirty hands on her apron, Saphira put her sketchbook and pencil into the deep pockets of her fur coat. She placed her veil over her face and exited the Women's Garden.

  Helena set a cracking pace through the cold stone hallways; Saphira panted, struggling to catch her breath. Two purple-clad servants let Saphira through to the Duke’s private meeting chamber. As she waited on a seat of velvet and mahogany, she viewed the Duke’s map, How things have changed since I last looked, she thought.

  First, she searched for the ash-grey piece which represented the Ashen Blades—she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as she saw none. Where once small villages existed on the borders of Renatus, there were now Shadowlands, creeping further inland. Long ago, the Shadowlands had once been sparse, small blips on the map that travellers avoided. Now, the shadows had extended, growing every day.

  The doors to the Duke’s chamber flung open. Age had not touched the Duke’s face, though shadows of fatigue pooled under his eyes. His sharp, angular features remained pristine, framed by sleek, blonde hair that brushed the collar of his dark crimson tunic. His piercing eyes, a striking shade of steel blue, held an unsettling glint—calculating and cold beneath his charm.

  Drawing her coat tightly around her waist, Saphira forced herself into a curtsey, every movement precise, every line of her body controlled as if a single tremor might give her away. Her father’s hand stretched toward her—a hand adorned with the enormous crystalith stone that gleamed like an eye, cold and unblinking, and his ducal ring. She took it, brushing her lips against the polished surface of the ring as she greeted him.

  “You have gone nearly five moons without needing a single rebuke from me.” His smile cut cruel lines into his otherwise flawless face. He squeezed her arm—though it felt more like a warning—and let her go. “It seems you finally understand your worth to me."

  "I understand completely." Saphira kept her face a mask of composure. “Is there news of the Ashen Blades?”

  Stroking the dragon’s claw on his cane, Crassus shook his head.

  Dread filled Saphira, turning her limbs cold and her mind numb. She wanted to shed tears, but all she felt was never-ending nausea. Swallowing her fears, she pointed to the shadowed parts of the map and asked, “River Town should be there. Where is it? Where is the Tower of Hanover?”

  “We lost River Town two moons ago." The Duke’s reply came with chilling calm. "Reliable reports say there was a gigantic nightspawn with an obsidian blade—”

  “—Golgog.” The name tasted bitter on her tongue.

  The Duke’s hand tightened on the dragon’s claw, his knuckles blanching white. “Last week, we heard rumours of nightspawn moving on Hanover. I sent Cedar. He hasn't returned."

  Saphira studied the map, every gap, every shadow, a gaping wound in their kingdom. “Horrocks Pass is unguarded."

  “A new unit is on its way. Sir Finley was… unable to hold it." The Duke’s voice turned colder, harder. “Every single day, I hear more reports—villages attacked, children dead, men and women dragged screaming into the shadowlands, their homes razed. I can only conclude that the spawnslayer has failed his mission.”

  “It’s... not possible. We would know. There would be evidence—bodies, something!”

  “Bodies do not last long in the shadowlands.” He shrugged, concluding, “The Ashen Knight is dead.”

  Grief and nausea twisted together inside Saphira, squeezing the air from her lungs. She sat in a waiting chair, steadying her legs before they gave way.

  Above: "The Ashen Knight is dead."

  “Look at our kingdom,” Crassus commanded, sweeping a hand over the map. “Thirty lords are sworn to me—thirty fiefs I must protect. Do you understand what you see?”

  Saphira forced herself to look. The map was a ruin of what it had once been. Where their proud purple banners had stood like defiance against the dark, now there were only scattered remnants—concentrated near their central cities, their strongest defences.

  “You’re retreating,” Saphira said quietly. “You’re leaving the outer villages to fend for themselves.”

  “King Edwin will not send his forces to aid us." The Duke’s upper lip curled. "He has not lifted his sword to fight a nightspawn since his youth.”

  “Do we not have the gold to buy more blades?”

  For the briefest of moments, something flickered across her father’s face—anger, shame, regret, she could not tell.

  “You think so simply,” he said, his voice like a lash. “We could buy an army, but no company has the spine to face Golgog. Even the Rat King turned me down. No, we are on our own, and we face annihilation.” His voice softened then, then struck like a viper. “We must make new alliances; restore our legacy. The Duke of Hyland has offered ten thousand men to aid us in pushing back the shadowlands.”

  “Ten thousand men? A Duke would not part with that freely. What are you giving him in return? Gold? Crystalith? Surely not Remus Mount?"

  "Something far more precious." Crassus met her gaze with unflinching finality. “The hand of my daughter in marriage.”

  “Celestine…?” she whispered, looking up to see the gleam in her father’s steely eyes. She gasped, “No…you can't! Please, father!”

  “It is time you learn the true worth of a Duke’s daughter,” he said, his voice low and pitiless. “Duke Vladislav has sent runners—his convoy is crossing through the Flaxen Pass and will arrive for the wedding tomorrow. It will be a hasty marriage, but one deserving of your status. Then, with Hyland’s strength, we will defeat Golgog.”

  “The people will never accept Hyland," Saphira whispered in horror.

  “The people know we are doomed,” he replied coldly. “You cannot understand their suffering—you are safe in your tower. Or perhaps…” He stepped closer, looming over her. “Perhaps you mean you will never accept Hyland? Vladislav is older, yes, but he is disciplined, and that is what you need. And a fruitful womb is what he needs.” He commanded, “You will do your duty.”

  “But I'm already married!”

  “Only words,” he snapped. “Words are easily broken.”

  Saphira swayed, gripping the arm of her chair for support. If Nocturne is dead… if he truly is dead… then perhaps another marriage would buy me more time. Her fingers dug into the wood. Until the baby is born four months after the wedding. She whispered savagely, “If you see me again, I will have blackened hands and grey eyes.”

  “You think this is about your happiness?” He shook his head. “This is about Renatus' legacy."

  Before Saphira could reply, the mahogany doors slammed open. A runner stumbled inside, breathless and wild-eyed. “Your Grace—the Ashen Blades are at the castle walls! They’re armed!”

  The Duke’s face blanched, if only for a second. Then his expression hardened like stone. “Lock the gates and ring the bells! Send every fighting man to the walls!"

  “Father, what if he comes in peace?” Saphira caught his sleeve, jumping to her feet.

  Brushing her arm aside, he swept forward, his cloak billowing behind him like a shadow. Servants leapt aside as the Duke passed, his stride swift, unrelenting.

  Crassus barked to the servants, “Tell Gregor to ready the mages…and bring me my armour! This bastard won't take anything from me."

  Saphira followed in his wake, dread curling in her stomach. Please let my husband be alive and amongst them.