Song vibe: We Are Bulletproof: The Eternal – BTS

  __________

  SAPHIRA

  The Solar, Firestone Castle

  Saphira's skin still prickled from the heat of the hot springs; she could scrub off the sweat from her latest nightmare, but not the memory. Lysander and Rell had slept the night on the Solar's couches—safe, but their blades remained close.

  But steel does little against rumour and gossip.

  Saphira scratched Dusty’s fur too hard, until the hell leopard gave a low huff and lifted her rust-brown eyes to hers. The steady gaze calmed her for a heartbeat, but the weight of the keys at her hip pulled her back down.

  What happened to Verity happened under my care. Nocturne left Firestone in my hands. How do I guard against an enemy I cannot see?

  By the fire, Rell and Lysander jeered over a knife-throwing contest, their laughter bold and carefree.

  Her chest tightened as she watched Rell. Still smiling, even after all those years in chains. For all his impropriety, I could never stay angry with him. He returned to me a shard of myself I thought died with Asher.

  The door creaked. The sound smothered their laughter in an instant.

  Felix stepped in, dark circles carved beneath his eyes. His golden gaze swept the Solar, pausing on her. He nodded respectfully to the Lady of Firestone.

  August followed, his nose buried in one of Nocturne’s ancient tomes, hands hidden within black leather gloves.

  “With your permission, my Lady,” Felix asked gently, standing to attention at the head of the room.

  Saphira nodded; relief steadied her. Felix cares for us all. He’s the shield we all needed.

  “Quintus and I spoke. He’s agreed to call it a misunderstanding,” Felix said, his shoulders easing.

  Rell let out a sharp snort.

  “Aurelian.” Felix’s golden eyes snapped to him. “I burnt a bridge for you. Because you’ve no discipline. If Nox were here—” his jaw tightened, the muscle twitching “—you’d be begging for a beating instead of what he’d do. You disrespected him. Shamed his wife. Nox has killed for less."

  Dusty stiffened on her lap, ears flat. Saphira shrank back into the chair.

  “I’ve never meant to shame him,” Rell muttered at last, the words scraping out rough. “I... accept the consequences, whatever they are."

  “You're reassigned. Form a unit—only the sharpest men. You’ll search within the walls.”

  “If...that’s the order,” he said, relief slipping through the hardened cracks of his voice. “I’ll find what’s there. Count on it.”

  Dusty slid from her lap to curl at her feet. Saphira smoothed the folds of Marigold’s olive-green dress, a weight easing from her shoulders. Thank you, Felix. You knew I didn’t have the heart to dismiss Rell—and he loves Nocturne too much to walk from his duty.

  An icy silence followed, as everyone shifted uncomfortably.

  “So... how, exactly, did you get Quintus to comply?” Lysander murmured.

  “I pulled rank. Ordered his mouth closed—as heir to Clan Sunfire.” Felix’s hand rubbed at the back of his neck, then fell back to his sword-hilt, fingers drumming on the pommel. “My uncles know now. I’m stepping up.” He drew a slow breath, and his gaze drifted to the window, where morning light pressed against the glass. “Selwyn knows his time as Chief is almost up. There’s no telling what moves he’ll pull to cling to power.”

  “I’m sorry, Felix.” Saphira’s purple eyes widened. “Because of me…you were forced into this.”

  “My Lady…” His usual gentleness flickered as he looked at her. “I’ve tolerated enough from my uncles. No more.” His hand tightened on the hilt. “My father’s legacy stays mine—for my children. Not for Gorda.”

  “Thank you, Felix,” Saphira whispered.

  “Thank me when it’s over," Felix said. “August—call your syndicate in from the lodge,” Felix continued. “Wards inside the walls; make an alarm system. Cut any magical ties anyone holds. The time for subtlety is over. They’ve crossed the line.”

  “Show no mercy?” August inclined his head, while turning the page in his tome. “Straight from Nox’s playbook. Finally.”

  “What about Saphira?” Lysander blurted, panic bright in his hazel eyes. “Surely you don’t mean to put me in charge of—”

  “You black-rotted brain, Lye,” August chuckled, the Hyland expression falling naturally from his tongue. “Your reputation with women is worse than Rell’s—”

  Felix’s glare cut August down. He faced Lysander. “You’re too close to the ledgers to be pulled away. Keep digging—find where Nox’s fortune went. Possession they can deny, but not the records; follow the gold and we’ll find the traitor.”

  He crossed to Saphira’s side and set a broad hand on her shoulder. The weight was fatherly, protective—but unyielding. “I’ll see to Lady Saphira’s safety.” He squeezed gently. “With your permission, my Lady, I’d bring Marigold and our children to live here in Firestone. I can’t stand to be apart.”

  Above: Felix asks for permission.

  “Of course,” she whispered.

  “Oh, subtle,” August laughed coldly, not looking up from his reading. “Moving into Firestone—Selwyn will definitely take that as anything but a challenge.”

  “Precisely,” Felix said with a smile. “I’m staking my claim to Sunfire’s succession—while binding it to Firestone’s cause. Which means—”

  Felix’s hooked sword came free with a hiss, the sound sharp as a cut through glass. He dropped to one knee before her, lowering the steel across his palms.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “As heir,” he said, voice carrying in the hush, “I pledge the loyalty of Clan Sunfire to the Lord and Lady of Firestone.”

  The Solar stilled. Even the fire seemed to bow into silence. Rell’s grin vanished; Lysander shifted uneasily; Dusty’s ears pricked, the leopard’s tail twitching in the heavy quiet.

  Saphira’s breath caught. This is real. This is binding.

  Her hand reached, trembling, for the sword. The steel was cold, humming faintly as though aware of what it was about to seal. “I… accept your oath, Sir Felicius of Sunfire, Lord of Brightwood,” she whispered, the words shaking free of her throat.

  Felix lifted his arm, sleeve tugged back. “You’ll have to mark me. Just a scratch.”

  Her hand shook as she drew the blade across his skin. Blood welled bright against pale flesh—startling in its simplicity, terrible in its finality.

  Felix raised the cut high so all could see. “My oath is made with steel and blood.”

  The words struck the chamber like a bell. For a heartbeat, no one breathed.

  Then Felix lowered his arm, rolling his sleeve down to hide the blood.

  It’s done, Saphira breathed. The weight of his loyalty pressed heavier than armour. This oath will not just bleed him—it would bleed Marigold, their children, all those he loved.

  "I'm sorry, everyone," Saphira murmured, "I'm trying to be the Countess worthy of you all, but I've made things harder. I know we can get to the bottom of all this. I don't want us to fracture—only trust."

  "This hasn't been easy—" Felix breathed, his smile thin, "—and I think it is going to get harder. But know this: Firestone was rotting from within, more than what we knew. You didn't cause anything—you exposed it."

  "Expose? Not yet. Not fully. But when we know all the facts, I'll strike—" Saphira's hand closed over the hilt of her belt knife "—and then you will know I'm a Duke's daughter."

  Rell and Lysander stared at her, eyes wide. Behind his ancient tome, August smiled.

  Felix clapped his hands together, the sound startling in the hush. “Right. Let’s get to work. I’ll need to break the news to Marigold—so pray that it’s only a black eye this time.” His laugh came rough but genuine. “August, stay with our Lady—just for today. Dismissed.”

  Lysander slung an arm around Rell’s rigid shoulders, steering him out. At the threshold, Rell glanced back. Saphira’s deep brown eyes met his, wide with regret.

  I’m sorry too, Rell. You’ve been like a brother to me.

  Felix left last with a nod of his head. The door closed heavily. The room fell into a thick silence.

  Dusty remained by her side, one eye closed in rest, the other trained cautiously on the mage.

  Slowly, August placed a bookmark in his tome and set it aside. He looked at her blandly, his expression unreadable. “You seem about as thrilled as I am.”

  “Look, I know we didn’t get off to a good start—”

  “I’m not here to chat.” His voice was flat, but his fingers drummed once against the tome's leather cover, sharp and impatient. “Why don’t you go off to the hot springs. I’ve got more important—”

  “—work to do?” Saphira finished, heat rising in her chest. “Would you mind telling me exactly what I’ve done to earn your disfavour? You doubted my faithfulness to Nocturne. I can forgive that, given what you knew of his circumstances. And so—”

  Grief struck sharp and sudden. She closed her eyes, steadying herself. Nocturne thought he was infertile—and so the Mountain Knights believed my pregnancy was a trick of my father. But then...what was a miracle turned into a nightmare.

  “So, what’s your point?” August asked coldly.

  “You’ve—” she turned her head, letting a tear fall unseen. She steeled herself. “You’ve gone out of your way to intimidate me, to be rude to me—”

  “You expect me to sit here and have tea with you?” A brittle laugh escaped him. “I’m not some stand-in for your husband, Saphira. Don’t expect a friend. I’m following Nox’s orders.”

  “Still—” she pressed, refusing to yield, “—you didn’t have to threaten me.”

  “I've been respectful—even when Nox lost all judgment chasing you. I saved you twice, and now I’m wasting my strength on your cures.” His eyebrow ticked upward. “Threats? Never.”

  “At Horrocks.” Her mouth went dry. “You were tending my wound. You said…your ‘eye was on me’.”

  “What in the pits are you talking about?”

  Saphira’s throat tightened. Her hand closed around the hilt of her belt knife, the weapon unfamiliar under her fingers. “I heard you curse in Hyland. I know the tongue—I speak it too. You were raised there, weren’t you? My father’s mage, Gregor… he came from there as well.”

  “You dare imply I’d betray Nox?”

  “Then why did Gregor say it, too? The same words—about eyes, about paths.”

  “He...said that? Tsek!" August lurched to his feet, the chair screeching over stone. His nostrils flared, but panic flickered behind the fury. "Tsek.”

  Saphira flinched at the foul curse word.

  He shouldered past her to the bookshelf, seized Nocturne’s gin, and uncorked it with shaking hands. He drank deep, wiped his mouth on his sleeve. For a moment, he checked outside the window, his gaze distant and untrusting.

  Above: August realises the truth.

  He turned to Saphira and peeled off his gloves. Underneath, his hands were blackened, the life drained from too much magic use.

  “Sit. Now.”

  The force in his voice—though there was no magic—crushed her into her chair.

  “Answer my questions. Truthful.”

  Saphira folded her hands in her lap, willing them not to tremble.

  “When I ‘threatened’ you at Horrocks,” August rasped, “what else do you remember?”

  “Your eyes went dark,” Saphira whispered. “Your voice wasn’t yours. It’s the same look you have sometimes in the halls of Firestone—you don’t speak; you just…stare.”

  “Next question: when you fell from the walls of Renatus—did you pull on the threads of magic to soften your fall? Because someone was helping me." He swallowed more gin. "Tell me it was you. Tell me.”

  She shook her head.

  His blackened hands gripped the bottle; fear was written plain in his pale eyes. “It’s dangerous for me to be alone with you. I’ll go—”

  “Wait—” Saphira rose and caught his arm. “Please... an explanation.”

  He stared at her, dead-eyed. “At the wall...I felt someone helping me. I thought it was you. But the pieces fit: Gregor. He’s the only one within a hundred leagues strong enough to keep you from dying—and to possess me.”

  Saphira breathed. "He possessed you?"

  "There's no other possibility. He's... done it before."

  Saphira shivered. The night after Nocturne… heat rushed to her cheeks. Gregor had inspected my chambers. He knew, didn't he? That Nocturne had been with me. Yet he never told my father. Gregor has shielded me this whole time. Why?

  August’s shoulders slumped, and for once, he looked smaller than his frame. He lowered himself into the armchair, rubbing at his temple as though the memory itself pained him.

  “My tutor at the Blackspire… was Gregor.” His voice was flat, but the pause after his name carried a weight.

  “The same Gregor who headed my father’s syndicate—?”

  “Yes.” He spat the word. “He possessed me once—just to prove he could.” He dragged a hand down his face, breath catching. “But he wasn’t the only shadow.” His eyes flicked to hers, then away. “You should know: the Archmage of Hyland… he was my adoptive father.”

  The words hung between them, heavier than any curse.

  Saphira’s mouth opened, but no sound came.

  “He’s dead to me,” August snapped quickly, as if to sever the thought before it cut deeper. His fingers dug into his knee hard enough to blanch the knuckles. “His hobbies were drinking—and slaughter. Blood rituals. Cult rivalries. That’s the household I was raised in.”

  His fingers drummed once against his knee, restless. “Gregor’s bloodline ran with the Dawnflame cult. Those phrases he said to you? That's their rites, their language. My father killed them all. Gregor carried that grudge with him when he fled Hyland. And now…” His eyes squeezed shut, as if the thought itself was poison. “Now he’s possessed me again, after Golgog—at my weakest."

  “But you’re not weak now,” Saphira whispered, touching the amulet he made her. “Right?”

  “I’ve detoxified,” August said, though the doubt in his voice betrayed him. “But there’s a crack in my defences, somewhere… somehow—” He stopped, breath catching as if a sudden thought seized him. “Stay here in the Solar. Don’t let anyone in.”

  He left, his footsteps clipped and uneven.

  Saphira sat frozen, wrongness churning in her gut. For the first time since coming to Firestone, she felt unsafe. She touched her mother’s crystalith earrings and felt the warmth under her fingertips. If there were nightspawn nearby, I’d feel them go cold.

  She dropped to her knees and pressed her face against Dusty’s fur. She senses nightspawn, too; she’ll keep me safe and warn me.

  The hell leopard now came up to her knees—too heavy for her to pick up without strain. Dusty’s growing strength steadied her, but the thought still gnawed: If August’s mind could be taken, no one in Firestone was safe.