SONG VIBE: Run - BTS

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  SAPHIRA

  The Outer Wall, Renatus

  Saphira’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched Nocturne. He kicked his midnight-black stallion forward. Gin’s hooves struck the frozen earth with measured precision. He wore no shining titanium armour, no banner announcing his rank or house. Instead, his form was draped in dark leather, fitted for quick riding and for war.

  Saphira’s hand shot to the battlement wall to steady herself. The blood drained from her face, and all she could focus on was him. Her knees nearly buckled under the sudden wave of relief that surged through her. Alive…thank the Almighty, he is alive.

  Above: Saphira can see that he is alive.

  Looking behind him, Nocturne’s hand rose in the air in a silent command.

  Along the main road leading to the castle gates, a pony hitched to a cart trotted forward. Inside the cart was a head the size of a boulder, decapitated at the neck. As the pony trotted closer, Saphira stood on the tips of her toes to see her first nightspawn—even if it was just a head.

  The illustrations of nightspawn Saphira had seen had not prepared her for the size and her revulsion. The head has already started to decompose—grey flesh with scales on its bald head, a multitude of empty eye sockets writhing with maggots. A crow flew down and landed on the creature’s ears and nose and pecked at the flesh, trying to eat the soft flesh of the creature’s tongue.

  An eastern wind blew the stench of putrid rotting flesh on the walls, a sharp, foul smell of mouldy cheese and fermented garbage. Saphira clutched her mouth and suppressed a vomit; her eyes watered—her senses more delicate than normal.

  As the pony approached the closed gate, it nickered. Crassus lowered his hand, and the archers stuck their arrows into their fire pits.

  Saphira let out a yelp as the flaming arrows shot mercilessly upon the defenceless pony and its cargo. The fire arrows exploded as they hit small pockets of gas trapped under the decaying flesh. The pony neighed in terror, rearing high with the whites of its eyes bulging as it tried to get away from the flaming cart.

  Saphira slipped her hands underneath her veil and hid her eyes. She could not block out the pony’s pained, desperate neighs.

  She heard an arrow hiss through the air, and the pony fell silent. Saphira removed her hand and saw Birch by the battlements, crossbow in his hand. The pony lay dead, a bolt in its forehead.

  Sage laughed cruelly. Birch shook his head and returned to the Duke’s side.

  The fire consumed the rest of the nightspawn’s head, spreading a sickly, rancid scent all over the battlements.

  Gregor stepped beside Duke Crassus. Saphira felt a shift in the air as he pulled on the winds around them, ready to amplify and carry his master’s voice so all could hear.

  Nocturne urged his stallion forward, and Augustus rode closely behind, pulling at the winds to carry his Count's voice to the walls.

  “You should welcome the head of your slain enemy with celebration, not fire." Nocturne's voice dripped with disdain.

  “And welcome disease into my city?” Crassus leaned heavily on his dragon’s claw cane, his lips curling into a mocking sneer. “Golgog’s spawn still attack my lands. You killed the wrong nightspawn.”

  Nocturne’s exhaustion gave way to smouldering anger as he straightened in his saddle. With deliberate precision, he drew an obsidian sword from his side. Its jet-black handle gleamed like liquid darkness. He held it aloft, letting the light catch on its wicked edges before tossing it to the ground.

  “Be sure the Obsidian Knight’s family receives this—it is a blade of legend,” Nocturne said coldly, his voice unwavering. “Let this spawnlord be remembered as Golgog the Knightslayer—for he bested many fine warriors before I ended his reign of slaughter.”

  A ripple of unease coursed through the parapets. The soldiers shifted, their murmurs rising like the rustle of dry leaves before a storm.

  Crassus silenced them, saying, “I was prepared to welcome you to my lands, spawnslayer, but you come set for war.”

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  “I come in peace. Give me my gold and my wife, and I will be on my way—lest you provoke me to violence.”

  Above: "Give me my wife."

  Saphira’s breath caught in her throat. He calls me his wife, she thought with a swell of relief. He wants me to be with him.

  “I will give you the gold when the Council of Dukes verifies that you actually killed Golgog.”

  “But you have burned the evidence.” Nocturne’s hand tightened around the reins of Gin. “If you cannot afford our fees for services rendered, then that is a matter for Edwin’s courts. Give me my wife today, and I will be satisfied.” Nocturne’s voice darkened, every syllable heavy with accusation.

  He waited for a response, but none came.

  “Why the silence, Duke? Do your people not know that you have promised Lady Saphira, Countess of Firestone, to Duke Vladislav of Hyland?”

  The murmurs swelled into discontent. On the wall, soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. The Duke’s face hardened, his fingers tightening on the claw of his cane.

  “And who else will defend us against the Shadowlands?” Crassus spat, his voice rising like a battle cry. “Edwin? Ha! He's a washed-up spawnslayer. He only cares for his gold mines and mead. Oh yes—” the cruelty rose in his voice “—Edwin talks alliances, of marrying a daughter, but he would take whatever he can from us and leave. We've been abandoned.”

  "Edwin sent not a single soldier to aid us, all while we bore the brunt of Golgog’s fury." Crassus turned, his gaze raking over his men. “Mark my words, there will be more spawnlords. But now you question my judgment? I have promised my eldest daughter to the man who will help us achieve our future! Together, Duke Vladislav and I, will drive back the Shadowlands! We are Renatus!”

  The soldiers roared, their cries reverberating off the walls. Saphira felt the pull of their fervour, the surge of unity in their voices. Her heart clenched as she fought the instinct to join their cries, to stand with her father and his men.

  This is no ordinary rallying, Saphira thought, feeling the strange pull of magic around her. Someone is manipulating their reactions.

  The Duke’s expression darkened as he turned his gaze back to Nocturne. “Did I not promise you, spawnslayer, the woman you bedded? We all know the story—you were overcome with lust on your wedding night, so much that you were happy to take my bastard daughter.” He looked at Daisy. “She is a beauty, so I understand. Nevertheless—” The Duke’s expression darkened, “One is a daughter of pedigree, the other a plough horse—fit for a backwater farmer like you.”

  A laugh rippled through the soldiers on the wall. Crassus shoved the cane into Daisy’s back. She yelped as she stumbled forward onto the battlements, catching herself on her hands before she fell.

  Sage’s cold hands grasped Saphira. With a rough shove, he pushed her next to her half-sister.

  “Daisy’s womb is ripe with your child. Take her and leave. I have no use for her.”

  “I do not want your pretender,” Nocturne said. “I made a vow to your eldest daughter—before the Almighty—and I will have her.”

  “I would not throw my eldest away to a commonborn." Crassus let out another cold laugh. "Take the daughter you’ve ruined.”

  All Nocturne has to do is tell everyone the truth of our night together. She looked at her father, and the sharp tip of the dragon’s claw cane in his hand. Up on top of the walls, I’m at my father’s mercy.

  “I recognise no child by this woman," Nocturne declared.

  “A whore’s child by a whore’s son!"

  The crowd’s laughter grew, cruel and unrelenting. Daisy’s face crumpled under the weight of their mockery, clinging to the battlements for support.

  “I didn't bed that woman,” Nocturne reiterated. “You tried to fool me by switching the brides, Crassus, but I've fooled you with my own switch. The man you saw go into the wedding chamber? Not me.”

  "A fanciful lie!”

  “Takes a liar to spot one." Nocturne laughed with cold cruelty.

  Rage coursed through the Duke’s steel blue eyes. “Gregor—bring the stone!”

  Daisy’s expression flinched as she clung to the battlements. On the Duke’s command, Gregor swept forward, his truthstone in his hand, dripping with his fresh blood. Daisy placed a pale, trembling hand on the truthstone and said, “It was me in the wedding chamber. I shared a night with the Ashen Knight. I carry a babe in my belly.”

  The truthstone turned blue. Saphira thought, Was she genuinely fooled by the switch? She examined Daisy’s words critically, concluding, Her words are careful—too rehearsed.

  “The matter is settled,” Crassus declared, “Take this girl and take your leave.”

  Anger coloured Nocturne’s tone. “I claim what is rightfully mine—the woman I have made vows to.”

  “I don’t care what you vowed, if you did not consummate the marriage, then there was no marriage.” Crassus looked at Daisy with a shrug. “Have the woman you ruined. You have no claim over my trueborn daughter.”

  Saphira touched the chunk of hair shorter than the rest, and thought, he has my Lover’s Bind—he has everything he needs to legitimise his claim, why won’t he speak up?

  The laughter turned into jeers and taunts.

  “Who is the silent one now?” Crassus dismissed, “You are as worthless as your men. Slink back to your backwater fief, spawnslayer. You’ve outlived your usefulness.”

  Saphira found her hands again touching her own belly, thinking, I have the irrefutable proof here, and it swells more every day. Fear dampened her spirits, locking her voice away in her throat. She saw her Father chuckle triumphantly to himself, a smug smile on his lips, and then, he looked to Saphira and nodded, as if she had thanked him for an act of courage.

  As the taunts died down, Saphira took in a deep breath. She pulled on the winds around her, feeling her way through the flighty, erratic pattern to them.

  She tugged, feeling her voice float with the wind, and said, “I lay with him.”

  The crowd stilled in collective disbelief. Her father froze, his cane poised mid-air, the anger etched into his face momentarily displaced by surprise. At the edge of her vision, she caught a flicker of movement—Gregor’s blackened hand, hidden beneath his dark robes, shifting subtly. His smile deepened, and she swore she felt his magic thread through hers.

  “—I lay with him and—” Saphira said, her voice trembling but resolute, “—and I carry his child.”