Song vibe: So Far Away – Agust D ft. Suran

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  SAPHIRA

  The Apothecary, Firestone Castle

  Warm light woke Saphira. She jerked upright; sweat chilled her skin as her heart pounded wildly. Her breath came in shallow gasps, the nightmare clawing at the edges of her mind.

  She lay in a bed of clean linen. Potted herbs lined the shelves and hung from the rafters above, drinking in the sunlight filtering through the glass ceiling. Saphira reached down and touched her belly. An empty floppiness met her hand. This is real. Asher is really gone.

  “Nocturne?” she called out, his name echoing in the silence.

  She curled inwards, sobbing loudly, curling her arms around her middle. Her cries faded to breathless gasps as her throat turned raw.

  A polite knock echoed on the door.

  “Saphira… hey. You’re safe.” Aurelian wore crumpled clothes and carried a breakfast tray. “Fye, I didn’t think you’d be up so soon.” He hovered in the doorway, chewing the piercing on his lip, awkward, helpless. “I can wake Verity if you need—”

  “I don’t want Verity,” she rasped. “I want him.”

  “I know.” He swallowed, then stepped forward, placing the tray beside her bed. “First, eat something. I’ve been having bone broth for the past week. It helps with healing.” He backed away, eyes wide with uncertainty. “Quintus always tells the kitchen about our guests, but there wasn’t enough time. I’m no Valentino in the kitchen, but I tried my best.”

  Above: Aurelian brings breakfast.

  With a numb nod, Saphira accepted the bowl and brought it to her lips. The broth tasted simple and salty, and the moment it touched her tongue, the emptiness in her stomach ached.

  Aurelian still stood, watching her eat nervously. Verity appeared quietly in the doorway with a jar of herbs, but Aurelian waved her off with a flick of his fingers. She gave a small nod and retreated, quiet as a wraith.

  Saphira exhaled, feeling strength return as she ate. Pushing the tray aside, she finally looked up at Aurelian and murmured, “He should be here now. Where is he?”

  “He left, late last night,” Aurelian admitted.

  “Gone?” Saphira lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed and dull. “He made a promise. No message?”

  “None,” he admitted, softer. “But Nox did ask for one thing—for me to look after you.”

  Saphira’s shoulders slumped. The ache in her chest sharpened—hot and jagged, radiating outward.

  Aurelian dropped to a crouch beside her bed, meeting her gaze. “He just—” He raked his hand through his dark hair. “Look, even Quintus doesn’t know where he is, and that man knows everything. Nox must have had a good reason to leave suddenly. Just trust him, alright?”

  Saphira turned away, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, biting back tears. Don’t cry in front of Rell. Saphira wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, chin trembling.

  “Go. Find him. Please…”

  “Alright. I’ll be back.” Aurelian bit his lip piercing, then nodded. “I promise.”

  Then he was gone. Silence fell again, suffocating in the warm and sterile apothecary.

  Saphira stared at the pale ceiling, bile rising in her throat as she remembered the blood, the pain. She forced herself to sit up slowly. Her joints ached, and the wound in her shoulder throbbed, but she found her feet. I need to get out of here.

  She reached for her shawl, draped it over her shoulders, and stepped barefoot onto the warm stone floor. The castle hallways were too quiet—pressing in, like the castle itself was listening.

  Saphira padded through stone corridors, hand trailing along the warmth radiating from the stone walls. She passed a dusty alcove where a fire had long since burned out. The smell of mildew clung faintly in the air, masked by lavender oil. At each turning, she expected someone to stop her—but she saw no one.

  She turned a corner and froze.

  An old man stood just ahead, half-concealed in shadow beside a narrow window slit. Pale eyes, white hair, and keys jingling softly as he shifted—so many doors in his keeping.

  He watched her for a moment, then bowed his head slightly. “Master Quintus Sunfire, castellan to Firestone, as my father was before me.” His spindly fingers brushed his belt absently, grazing the iron keys. “Why in the fires are you up and about, girl?”

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  “Lady,” she murmured, “It’s Lady Saphira. I’m…the Countess.”

  At that, Quintus’s eyebrows rose, creasing his pale forehead. “My sincerest apologies, Lady Saphira. I wasn’t aware your marriage was official. You understand—rumours swirl about our Count.” He placed a hand over his heart and bowed again, deeper this time. “We’ve had no contact with Lord Nocturne while he fought Golgog. The day-to-day of Firestone has long fallen to me, so if you require any—”

  “I just want to rest.” She closed her eyes, rubbing the pounding headache forming at her temples. She felt unsteady on her feet, and the wound on her shoulder tugged at her skin, burning. She breathed, using the last of her strength to say, “Please… take me to our chambers.”

  Quintus nodded graciously and turned.

  Above: Quintus holds the keys to Firestone.

  As they walked, the air thickened with mildew and age. A tattered tapestry hung limp on the wall, its colours long faded to murky greys. The wooden shutters on the windows were sealed, muting the light. Rusted swords hung between empty sconces, their handles tarnished, blades dulled.

  What kind of lord allows his castle to rot around him? she thought bitterly. This decay, this indifference—I never saw this in Renatus. She clenched her jaw, headache worsening. Now I’m expected to call this ruin home?

  “You’ll notice nothing has changed since His Majesty resided here,” Quintus remarked. “Though he wasn’t yet Crown Prince then. We were without a Lord for many years before Count Nocturne arrived. I’ve kept Firestone running, as best I could.” He glanced sidelong at her. “So if you need anything—anything at all—I’ll see to it.”

  “All I want is my husband—and rest.” She paused, bracing a hand on the wall as a fresh wave of pain surged through her shoulder. Her knees buckled slightly, but she caught herself.

  Quintus slowed, waiting with a look of sympathy that did not quite reach his pale eyes. Then he continued, leading her up a flight of stone steps and across a moth-eaten rug. He stopped at a trio of heavy doors.

  “Lord Nocturne left in the middle of the night,” he said, touching the largest copper key at his side protectively. “Rode out with Sir Lucian and Sir Lysander—Ashen Blades only. He said little. Only that it was urgent.”

  Saphira’s gaze dropped. Of course he did. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “When will he be back?”

  “We never know.” Quintus shrugged. “He comes and goes as he pleases. He’s always been a private man.”

  He offered a sympathetic smile. “Now… about your chambers.” He drew a long breath, as though bracing her. “They were not prepared. We hadn’t expected his return—much less with a bride. Please understand—His Lordship isn’t one for… instructions. One learns to guess.”

  “Then I’ll prepare them myself,” Saphira exhaled, feeling the blood drain from her cheeks.

  She rested her hand on the centre door and turned the handle—locked. Of course. A cold pressure rose in her throat. He hadn’t even thought to leave it open.

  “I can only open the Lord’s chambers in an emergency,” Quintus replied smoothly. “If I access it without explicit instruction, I risk my post, my life. And it would reflect poorly on us both.”

  He pulled out a thick copper key and opened the second door. “I hope this is acceptable.”

  She pushed open the door. Pale blue velvet and white linen shimmered in the warmth of the mountain sun. At last…a place to rest and forget.

  A brief feeling of relief swelled through Saphira—and then she saw a cot of oak in the centre of the room, next to a toy rocking horse, and a pile of tiny, moth-eaten swaddling blankets.

  Her stomach twisted, the grief making her clutch her sides. The dreams she had clung to surged in an instant—laughter, soft hair, tiny hands—all gone. She numbed herself, unable to feel the full weight of the loss, not now.

  “No doubt his Lordship warned you. This belonged to King Edwin’s child—it’s been untouched since the tragedy,” Quintus murmured, watching her carefully as he shut the door.

  Black spots danced in her vision.

  “Uncle,” came a familiar voice. With a wave, Felix strode over. “You’re needed in the Great Hall—there’s a dispute over the table arrangements. I’ll show the Lady to her chambers.”

  The knight placed a firm, fatherly hand on Saphira’s shoulder. He waited until Quintus shuffled out of earshot before saying, “You’re in no state to be walking about. Come, I’ll take you back to the apothecary.”

  “No,” Saphira said weakly. “It reminds me… it—”

  “I understand,” Felix murmured, squeezing her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Saph, I really am. Come. The guest wing is close by. There’ll be fresh linen set.”

  She nodded weakly and followed him through the corridors.

  Inside the guest room, a small bed, clean and simple, waited, along with a threadbare tapestry so worn that the image was barely discernible. It smelled faintly of old smoke.

  “I’ll have Orson bring something hot to eat,” Felix said, his mouth set into a grim line. He strode over to the window and pushed it open, letting in the fresh mountain air. “A maid too, to help—”

  She shook her head. “Just quiet. Rest. Please…”

  Felix nodded. “I’ll get Nocturne here. Right away.” He inclined his head and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

  Saphira stood in the centre of the cramped room, the stale air pressing in, unable to move. Her shawl hung limp around her shoulders, heavy with the scent of smoke and lavender, and beneath it, her skin burned.

  Exhausted, she eased herself onto the narrow bed. The straw mattress creaked beneath her weight. Her shoulder throbbed with each breath.

  Nocturne, why did you leave?

  She glanced around and saw a desk stained with old ink and warped from water. The tapestry on the wall was too faded to read, just a smear of rust-red and blue-gold threads clinging to shadow.

  You didn’t even ask for a room to be made ready. Do I mean so little to you?

  Her stomach twisted, bile rising fast. Her vision blurred, but she did not vomit. Her cheek pressed against rough linen. Her body felt as though it had splintered inward.

  A whisper of warmth touched her hip—then the soft, insistent weight of something curling beside her.

  Saphira tilted her head. Dusty rubbed her head against her side, purring faintly. She reached out a hand, but white-hot pain tore from her shoulder and shot down her arm. She whimpered, trying to hold on to Dusty.

  Don’t leave me. Not again. Her body refused to move, and her shoulder screamed with each breath. Dusty’s purr was the only thing keeping her conscious. Her vision darkened. A soft mew rang through her ears.

  Then, a cautious knock echoed on her door.

  She thought she imagined it; she fought the burning pain in her shoulder.

  Then again, gentler than before.

  “Saphira…”

  Nocturne. She opened her mouth, but no sound came—only a helpless inhale.

  “I’m sorry. I’m here now.” He paused. “Please… unlock the door.”

  He knocked again.

  “I’ll… wait. Until you’re ready to open it.”

  In the silence, tears slipped down the sides of her face, soaking into the pillow.

  Help, she thought, as the world tilted as she drifted out of consciousness, the pain in her shoulder too sharp to bear.