Song vibe: Still With You – Jungkook

  __________

  RELL

  The Apothecary, Firestone Castle

  Sitting back, Rell felt the anger drain, leaving only horror. This is the woman who treated me when Golgog near took my leg; who cured the belly parasites I got from Akoni’s cages; who mixed the salves that faded my whipping scars.

  “That’s not funny, Verri,” he said hoarsely. “C’mon—you’re joking, right?”

  Instead, Verity sagged in her chair, the fight gone from her eyes. “The snakeroot was from my stores. I tested it three times to make sure.” She reached into the neckline of her dress and pulled out a small iron key. “I keep it locked tight. Not even our Count can get to it.” She slid a heavy logbook across the table. “Look. My signature’s there, signing it out. It’s not forged, it’s written by my hand.”

  Her gaze darted to August, as if to steady herself. “Orson said I carried the tea to the Solar myself. But I don’t remember it. Not a moment.”

  Rell sucked on the piercing in his lip, doubt striking.

  “I swear it,” Verity breathed. “I waited so long to tell you because it doesn’t make sense. I kept on looking for an explanation, but the evidence just kept coming back to me.” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “So, I confessed to August. He…” she looked at him with a glimmer of hope. “…he has a theory.”

  August leaned back, voice flat. “She was possessed.”

  He let the words hang.

  A sick feeling rested in Rell's stomach.

  When we perform magic, the threads we use to pull create permanent binds. Powerful mages can pull the threads of magic you've created, and control you like a puppet...it's slavery, but without your knowledge.

  Rell stiffened. "Verri's no mage."

  “I’ve been teaching her a few minor spells—healing, nothing more. Nox would hate it. The clans, too. But we need more mages, and... well, Verity’s gifted."

  At his cold praise, Verity flushed and looked down at her lap.

  “Verity’s agreed to stop, for now,” August continued. “When Rell burst in, I was cutting her ties. Same thing I did for Saphira when she came to Firestone. Before this, the risk of possession was minimal. Her threads were few and weak, only reachable by someone extremely close. But somehow—someone took control.”

  “Almighty." Lysander cursed, drained his tea in a gulp, and stalked to the desk. He seized the rakia, poured four glasses, downed one, and brought the rest over to the table. "I just spent the night in the ledgers with Felix, thought things couldn’t get worse.”

  Above: Lysander pours shots for everyone.

  “But possession…” Rell spoke slowly, ignoring his drink. “A mage can’t make you do something you didn’t already want, unless they’re bloody powerful. Isn’t that right?”

  “Aye,” August said, accepting the shot of rakia with a nod. "It's not limitless. If you've never thought of it before, they can't make you do it."

  “Rell’s right. But I know that look, Verity—you’re torn in two." Lysander downed Verity's rakia and reached across, covering Verity’s trembling hand with his own. His hazel eyes were steady, gentle. "You don’t have to carry it alone anymore. Tell us.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded, words catching as they came. “Bastian Yule. Great merchant—horrible husband.” Her hand rose to her throat. “He did business with Crassus—the type where you asked no questions. But when Bastian refused a job, Crassus had him executed—along with every man tied to him.”

  Lysander leaned in, coaxing. “That left you with nothing, didn’t it? And anger like that… it doesn’t vanish.”

  “Yes.” The word tore out of her. Tears streaked her freckled cheeks. “Bastian was cold, but… loyal—even until the end. He swore I was clueless. I walked away with nothing but the clothes on my back.” She lifted her gaze, emerald eyes fierce through the blur. “Do I carry bitterness toward Renatus? Of course I do. But I swore the Herbalist’s Oath. I would never harm someone in my care. Never.”

  “I believe you,” Lysander whispered, looking to Rell.

  “Better than believing we’ve got a traitor at our table," Rell said.

  “There is—but it’s not one of us,” August said flatly. He set down his glass. “And I’ll find them. My wards protect against long-distance attacks. That leaves someone close. And someone strong enough to possess someone with so few ties to the arcane.”

  Rell’s gaze slid to August, the thought unbidden: and yet, the most powerful mage on the continent sits at our table. He shut his eyes for a moment, hearing Nox’s voice as if he stood there still: They’ll try to tear us apart. Hold the line with trust—in each other. When he opened them, his eyes fixed on Verity. “No matter what, we stick together—for Nox.”

  Lysander pushed back his chair and drained the last of his glass. “Whether you like it or not, Verity, you’re in the inner circle now. No more secrets. You tell us everything, we’ll do the same.” He rose, and took back his red ledger. “You three sort this out. I’ve got enough to untangle in the treasury. Remember... keep it down next time.” He slipped out, leaving the three of them in the glow of the fire.

  “I’ll call in Firestone’s syndicate. They’ll scour the keep for traces,” August said.

  The Mountain Folk distrust magic. This is a bad call. Rell leaned forward. “Saph said she didn't want the servants interrogated with magic. Instead, I’ll send men into the walls to hunt. I’d bet my left ball there’s something there.”

  “Do what you want, but the syndicate is mine to command." August almost smiled. "We’ll be subtle. But if it comes to it, I won’t hesitate. I’ll find who did this to you,” August said to Verity, his tone almost careless. His gaze slid to Rell. “Stay on guard.”

  Rell touched one of the many piercings in his ear, imbued with August's protective magic. "No possession could make me betray Nox."

  “Aye,” August replied. “That I know for certain.”

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  The words hung, heavy. Did that mean August had tried? A sick dread pooled in Rell’s gut. He felt again the cold sting of chains at his wrists, shackling him. I’d rather die than be someone else’s puppet—their property—again.

  “Rell.” August’s bark snapped him back. “What did you come here for?”

  He exhaled, gathering his thoughts. “Saphira’s nightmares are worse. She wakes up exhausted. You two need to help.”

  Verity folded her hands, hesitant. “I have tinctures to calm her, herbs to force dreamless sleep. But they’re not cures.”

  August’s face was unreadable. “It’s the energetic imprint of a spawnlord.”

  The words dropped heavily between them.

  Rell fiddled with his cup. Fye.

  Verity’s eyes widened. “I’ve never… heard of such a thing.”

  “In the pits—even after Golgog died—his voice lingered in our heads. The taunts, the sickness, the doubt,” August explained. He reached into his sleeve and drew out a small vial of white pills, revealing the secret to Verity. “The body remembers. That’s why we take these—to clear the imprint.”

  Rell nodded grimly. He knew the ritual well enough: harvesting Golgog’s remains, bones, and brain to be succussed into a remedy. The reason the Ashen Blades can go from pit to pit, without mental collapse.

  “So, you’re saying…” Verity said, “Saphira’s been in a spawnpit?”

  “Perhaps.” August’s gaze flicked to Verity. “More likely an ancestor of hers. When the dragon’s claw cut her, unbinding this corruption within her, I absorbed the force and tested it. It spoke, saying only a name: The Pale One.”

  Rell snorted. “That sounds like magical horseshit. Golgog was a name to fear. Ammon with his face-stealers—him I hated worst. And Ammon's spawnhounds—” he shuddered. “But ‘The Pale One’? Sounds like a bad tale.”

  “I searched the archives,” August said. “No record. Too old. Ancient. My guess? It was sealed into her blood by someone powerful.”

  “But you can help her...right?” Verity whispered.

  August let out a short, mirthless laugh. “Not unless I had the flesh of that spawnlord itself. Without it, I can’t clear the imprint.”

  “The Royal Archives might hold something,” Verity offered.

  “It’s older than that. If answers exist, they’re in Renatus. And the Gregor’s syndicate guards them.”

  Rell shifted uneasily. Renatus—the ancient seat of the continent, brought low by Lux’s wars. It keeps on coming back to that little pit-spawn Duke.

  “I need to tell Saphira the truth," Rell said.

  A look passed between August and Verity. August spoke first, flat and final. “I’ll write to Nox. Have Lucian sever her subconscious ties to the imprint, though it will remain there, dormant. I’ll search for answers. Until then, she needs peace.”

  “She’s the Lady of Firestone,” Rell said. “You don’t get to order that.”

  August met his eyes without flinching. “I’ve known Nox longer than any man here—”

  “August—” Verity tried, laying a hand on his sleeve.

  “—as head of the Firestone syndicate, I make that call,” August finished, glaring at Rell.

  Still pushing me aside like I’m a boy.

  Rell surged to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword. “Too proud to admit a pit-rat might see clearer than you, huh?”

  He shoved the chair back so hard it scraped like steel on stone and stormed out, boots hammering the apothecary floor. The door shuddered on its hinges as he slammed it behind him. His chest heaved, fists flexing, every stride back toward the Solar heavy with anger he could not bleed off.

  The guards stiffened as he approached, but Rell barely saw them—only heard it: Saphira’s sobs, raw and jagged, spilling down the corridor like a wound torn open.

  “Why are you just standing there?” he snarled.

  “She's been like that since you left, Squire.”

  The words cut him; the sob cut deeper. It dragged him back to that first night of chains, the hollow ache of crying into a filthy blanket, praying someone—anyone—might come.

  Rell swore viciously, shoved open the Solar, and without hesitation he took out the key he used to clean and unlocked Nocturne’s chamber door. He flung the doors open, the wood crashing against the wall.

  Saphira lay tangled in the sheets, her body shuddering, sweat beading at her temple. A broken sound tore from her throat, begging for help as she slept.

  Rell froze—he knew that cry. He moved before he thought. He gripped her wrists to still the thrashing. When she stopped writhing, he released her, slowly.

  Above: Rell takes action.

  “Saph…wake up.” His voice cracked. He cupped her face in both hands, rough and trembling. “You’re safe,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Someone came.”

  Blearily, she blinked awake. “Nocturne…?” Confusion, then shock, crossed her features.

  "It's me, Rell."

  “Get out!” She yanked the blankets up.

  “You were crying, nightmares—”

  “I’m almost naked! What if Nocturne—”

  A throat cleared. Felix and Quintus stood in the Solar, frozen for a heartbeat, starting through the open chamber door. Saphira’s last words hung in the air.

  Quintus’s robes whispered as he turned away, satisfied with the scandal already brewing.

  Felix did not move. His golden eyes blazed as they fixed on Rell. “I told you to be careful." He stepped closer, his voice low and deadly calm. “Do you have any idea what this looks like?”

  For a moment, he seemed ready to tear into Rell further. “Stay put. Don’t make this worse,” he snapped—then he wrenched the Solar door shut hard enough to make the frame rattle.

  “Wait for me,” Saphira managed, “In the Solar.”

  Alone, Rell paced before the fire, fists clenching and unclenching. The crackle of the flames only fed the blaze already roaring in his chest. He snatched up his ale, drained it in one swallow, and cursed under his breath.

  That old castle creeper couldn’t hate me more if he tried. But Felix… Felix looked at me like I’d driven a blade into Nox’s back. He dragged a hand through his hair, breath ragged. I only wanted to help. She was crying. Alone. Same as I was.

  The door opened, and she stepped in, wrapped in Nocturne’s heavy cloak, slippers on her feet and her hair hastily platted. She paused, searching his face.

  “I was only trying to help,” he breathed.

  “I know, Rell.” She padded to the couch by the hearth. Sitting, she drew her knees to her chest and hugged the cloak. “I wonder what Quintus will say.”

  “Nothing. If he knows what’s good for him.”

  “Felix will smooth it over, won’t he?” A broken, exhausted sob escaped her. “I... just wish Nocturne was home, Rell. I know he'd take care of all this."

  Rell sank to his knees before her. He wanted words that would fix it—words he did not have—so he squeezed her hands instead until she blinked.

  Saphira wiped her face on her sleeve. “I’m sorry I yelled. I was frightened. Only Nocturne has ever…seen me like that.” Heat flushed her cheeks. She pulled the cloak tighter, as if to hide the shame more than the skin. “It isn’t proper. I shouldn’t have—” She broke off, staring into the fire.

  Rell felt his face burn. “I… didn’t think. I’ve seen plenty of girls—” The words stumbled out, ugly and wrong. “In the slave dorms, there was no privacy. You stop noticing. I—” He forced the confession out. “But this…this was different. This was Nox’s. And I’m sorry."

  “You… did the wrong thing, Rell. To me. To him.” Saphira’s voice was quiet, but the fire crackled sharply behind it. “But I don’t think you meant harm. Truthfully? I wished someone had woken me sooner.” Her purple eyes grew distant, lit with an orange glow. “These past nights… I’ve been afraid to close my eyes. It feels like something waiting in there, clawing. I wake and I can’t tell if it’s me… or something else.” Her voice broke. She pressed her fists to her eyes and curled tighter in Nocturne’s cloak. “I can feel it, Rell. A shadow wearing my skin.”

  Damn your orders, August. Only Nox can control me.

  Rell put his hand on her slim shoulder, felt it trembling beneath his palm. He squeezed, steadying her. “You’re not crazy,” he murmured. “Here’s it straight: there is something in you. No one knows what yet. But we will. And when we do, it’ll be removed.”

  Wide-eyed, Saphira looked up at him—vulnerable, trusting. Her lip trembled, but she nodded.

  “You just need to trust us.” His hand went to the amulet at her wrist, fingers worrying the metal as if he could steady whatever trembled beneath it. “August’s strong—he’s an arse, but he won’t fail Nox.” He shut his eyes. “But I failed you. I failed Nox. I’ll take whatever penance—permanent patrol in the hills, whatever it takes. I’ll fix this.”

  Saphira’s gaze snapped up, fierce and sudden. “Leaving isn’t penance. It’s cowardice.” Her words cut sharper than the fire’s crack. “This is your home. And like it or not—we’re family. If you want to make it right, then stay. And prove yourself worthy of that name.”

  For a moment, Rell only stared, caught by the blaze in her eyes. He swallowed hard against the knot in his throat and gave a single, rough nod.

  “Then I’ll stay, Saph. No matter what comes.”

  He swallowed hard, squared his shoulders, and pulled away. The firelight faded from his skin as he crossed to the chamber’s edge, back into the shadows where a guard belonged. He set his stance by the door, every muscle taut with shame and duty.

  Fye, Nox. Forgive me. I’ll not fail again.