Song vibe: Daechwita – Agust D

  __________

  RELL

  Nocturne’s Solar, Firestone Castle

  Firelight flickered across Nocturne’s solar. Rell lounged with a mug of ale, guard reports spread across the table. The Ashen Blades missed nothing—every scratch in the walls, every glance at Saphira detailed on the page. Fye, they’re thorough. He rubbed his jaw, the rasp of stubble soothing him.

  He drank deep, letting the fire’s warmth lull him.

  A sharp gasp cut through the quiet, muffled from within Nocturne’s chamber. Rell's hand flew to the hilt of Ignis Solaris. Another sound followed—a tiny, pained whimper.

  Three weeks without Nox. Her nightmares are worsening. Rell tensed, the nineteen-year-old's patience fraying as he listened to her cries night after night. I shouldn't go in there. I can't.

  A sob broke the silence—jagged, tormented. The sound dragged him back—to the slave dorms, stinking and dark, shivering under thin blankets, learning that crying only earned lashes.

  He clenched the ale mug. I was property, forced to fight ’spawn until they left me for dead. A human weapon. He touched the tattoo at his heart—the three flames of the Ashen Blades. Until Nox—the father I never had. The Mountain Knights—my brothers in blood. And now, Saph—a sister, treats a pit-rat like me, like her family.

  Above: Rell drinks alone.

  Another cry—louder this time.

  Rell shoved the reports aside. “She needs Verri,” he muttered. With one last glance at Nocturne’s chamber door, he rose from the chair and turned the key in the Solar lock behind him.

  The two guards shifted at once, stepping in front of the door with their hands on their swords.

  “Let no one through,” Rell commanded. "I’ll be back soon."

  He set off down the darkened halls. The firelight from the torches caught on the freshly-washed stone, making the bricks shine white. New wards glimmered faintly where they had been carved into the stone. August, you bastard—you’ve been busy. These things are everywhere now.

  When he had first arrived at Firestone, the keep’s musky smell was like perfume compared to Akoni’s cages. Now, with the air thick with pine and rosewater, he felt the difference. Firestone is changing. And not everyone welcomes the new.

  A creeping dread filled Rell. He stopped and sniffed the air. A faint taint clung to the stone—fear, blood… something undeniably nightspawn.

  He drew his sword in an instant, muscles coiled, his steps light as a hunter’s. With a flick of his wrist, he drew the fire into himself, snuffing the torches. I’ve always hunted better in the dark.

  He moved soundlessly down the moonlit hall. He heard the clang of pots from the kitchen, the murmur of guards in the courtyard, the rush of a silvark’s wings outside. Beneath it all, he felt it: a heartbeat, wrong and unnatural.

  There. He drove his blade into the wall. Show no mercy.

  Steel ripped through the frame of an oil portrait. Wood splintered; the canvas fell. Behind it, a panel swollen with damp gave way beneath his blade, crumbling to nothing.

  The sick feeling prickled Rell's instincts.

  A narrow hollow gaped beyond, wide enough for a man to slip through. No blood. No ichor. Just faint gouges on the stone. He ran his fingertips over the marks. Not nightspawn. But unlike a human's...

  A mew came from the dark crevice in the wall. Dusty bounded through the gap and landed heavily against him. He staggered under the hell leopard’s weight, catching her against his chest.

  A throat cleared.

  Rell turned around.

  August stood at the far end of the corridor, silent, dark eyes hard.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “I…can explain,” Rell muttered, kicking the wreckage aside.

  Dusty hissed foully, fur bristling, ears pressed flat back.

  August stared a moment too long, head tilting, then turned and vanished into the shadows.

  Fye, I must look mad, stabbing walls in the dark. Rell watched the space where August had stood, hell leopard under his arm, blade pointed straight. Ever since I started guarding Saphira, he's been cold to me. Usually, he mutters something. One dry word. Rell flinched. Does he think Nox should have left Saphira in his care, not mine?

  Dusty's body relaxed, and he set the creature down, stooping to stroke her fur.

  “You smell it too, don’t you? This place isn’t right.” He nudged her forward. “Your mistress needs you. Go.”

  Rell slid his blade back into its sheath and continued down the moonlit hall. Firestone’s never been perfect, but it’s the first home I’ve known. The same dread Rell knew from the pits filled him. Since the night Nocturne returned from Hawthorn’s Rest, armour dripping nightspawn ichor, I haven’t felt right.

  “Fye, Rell,” he muttered with a nervous laugh, threading his fingers behind his head as he walked. “They’ll lock you in the dungeons at this rate. August has checked the walls, sealed every exit, carved fresh wards into the stone. If something was here…you’d know it.”

  He reached the spiral stairwell, torchlight flickering below. Voices drifted up—servants, whispering. “Strange one, isn’t he? Always so deep in thought.” And then, “Best not to meet his eyes. They say a mage can control you with a look.”

  Rell passed the servants with a nod, memorising their faces. Someone disloyal spiked Saphira’s tea with snakeroot—and I’ve still got no answers. Nox won’t be happy with me.

  Nocturne’s last words rang in his head: Protect her—spill blood if you must; I’ll answer for it. Rell's shoulders straighted as he walked. Most warriors would sneer at guarding a woman. But I’ve seen the way Nox looks at her. I’m no longer the boy he saved—I’m the man who’ll guard what he loves. And I won’t let him down.

  At times, though, in moments when her guard slipped, he found himself watching her smile. Uninhibited, bright, softening the hard edges of his childhood. She’s pretty when she smiles like that. The thought came unbidden, followed by another he kept to himself: I wish Nox could see it.

  At the apothecary door, Rell paused. Voices drifted through in low tones—Verity and August, no mistaking them. His brow furrowed. I just saw August in the hall.

  He shoved the door wide, forcing a grin. “What’s this, Gramps? You and Veri fooling around in the—”

  The words died.

  Verity’s shoulder was bare, her cheeks blotched red, copper hair tousled. August’s hands pressed against her skin, his platinum hair slick with sweat, sticking to his forehead.

  For a heartbeat, Rell froze. August? How did he get here so—

  “I—” Verity flinched, tugging her sleeve up, eyes wide with something closer to fear than shame.

  “It’s not what you think.” August straightened, his cold, pale gaze cutting through Rell.

  Rell’s instincts prickled. The room stank of magic, sharp and metallic, clawing at his throat. His nose was keener than any of the Mountain Knights—and August knew it.

  “It’s none of your concern,” August dismissed, reaching for his cloak as though nothing were amiss. “Go back to the Lady.”

  “Don’t sneer at me while you skulk in shadows,” he snapped, slamming his hands down on the table. “I saw you in the hall. And now here. What trick is this? What are you two up to?"

  Above: Rell slams his hands down on the table.

  August’s eyes narrowed, voice low. “Watch your tongue.”

  "Don't you—”

  From the hallway, a throat cleared.

  “Gentlemen,” Felix drawled, stepping into the apothecary. His smile was warm, but his golden gaze cut cold—the unspoken command clear: shut your mouths. “Surely there’s a better place for a shouting match? You’ll rouse the servants.”

  Behind him came Lysander, clutching a stack of red account ledgers under one arm. He looked half-dead with fatigue, his blonde braid loose, ink smudged on his fingers.

  Rell’s jaw tightened. Two more witnesses. Just what we need.

  A shuffle in the corridor made all of them turn. Quintus loomed in the doorway, his beakish nose twitching like a hound catching scent. His pale eyes darted to Verity, then to August, lingering far too long.

  Tsek. The Castle Creeper. Things keep getting better.

  Lysander moved gracefully, tilting the ledgers out of sight.

  Felix’s smile snapped wider. “Uncle! Perfect timing. Lysander and I have just finished the budgets—everything’s in order.” Before the castellan could sniff further, Felix slid an arm around his shoulders and steered him down the hall. “Tell me, what’s your opinion on striking a deal with the Yules for—”

  Their voices dwindled into the distance.

  The apothecary fell silent again. Rell, August, Lysander, and Verity stood facing one another, tension tight as wire.

  Lysander swung the apothecary door shut and turned the lock. “You three ought to know better,” he muttered, stowing the ledger in his cloak. He sniffed. “Is that chamomile tea brewing? Pour us all a cup, Verity—before the Old Vulture comes sniffing back.”

  Grateful for the task, Verity busied herself at the hearth. The mugs steamed between them soon after, though August and Rell left theirs untouched. August’s gaze lingered on the rakia bottle; Rell’s fingers drummed against his knee, sharp with impatience.

  The silence stretched. Rell did not take his eyes off Verity and August.

  Lysander stirred in a teaspoon of honey, then leaned back in his chair. “Almighty, Rell, your glare could skin a man. And August—” he tilted his head “—you’ve been staring holes in the wall.” He gave a small, weary smile. “You’re both as subtle as an arrow to the eye.”

  Verity flinched at the words, nearly spilling her cup.

  “Why so jumpy, Veri?” Rell growled, still on edge.

  “I’m not—I just—” She bit her lip, colour rising in her cheeks.

  August’s gaze flicked to her, sharp as a blade. “Verity.” His voice cut through the air. “Speak it."

  Her shoulders sagged; she set the cup down with trembling hands. “The snakeroot,” she whispered. “It was me.”

  Rell’s hand slammed against the table, knuckles whitening. Lysander’s palm came up at once, stopping him from rising.

  Fye, Nox… the rats are inside our own keep. What do you want me to do?