Song vibe: Blue and Grey – BTS

  __________

  SAPHIRA

  The Astrarium, Firestone

  “Here it is—The Astrarium,” Saphira said, handing August the keys. “Your instructions were followed to the letter.”

  The newly restored tower chamber still carried the scent of limewash and new mortar. Oak beams arched overhead, holding a glass dome that caught the daylight. Empty tables and bookshelves waited, their surfaces bare but for a few unlit lamps.

  “Thanks,” August managed, shadows under his eyes. “Not the place I wanted to call home, but it will do.”

  “The view is nice,” Saphira offered, seeing the peaks of the Yule Mountains through the winter mist. “Peaceful.”

  “Tactical,” August replied. “That’s why I picked it.”

  And close to the apothecary, Saphira thought smugly. Verity’s already found half a dozen excuses to visit.

  Footsteps echoed up the spiral stairs.

  “Here they are now—my Syndicate.”

  Three figures entered and bowed. August gestured to each in turn.

  “Misha, fellow Hylander exile—they cut out his tongue at the Blackspire.” The silver-haired man inclined his head, his stillness grave and unsettling.

  “Bako of the Sapphire Isles,” August continued, clapping the tall man’s shoulder. “Scholar of the old ways.” One of Bako’s hands was shrivelled and blackened, but his bearing remained regal. “And Coral, his wife.”

  The woman’s skin glowed bronze in the sunlight; her voice, when she greeted Saphira, carried the slow, rhythmic grace of the southern shores.

  Saphira took them in. Gregor’s syndicate was five times larger—and half as loyal. This one feels…like a family. A strange, dangerous family.

  “Welcome to Firestone,” she said, resting her hands on the keys at her belt. “While I can’t offer a formal reception in court, I hope this marks the Mountain folk’s acceptance of your role."

  “I saw an old Sunfire servant throw salt at us we passed; another made the symbol of the Almighty,” August said, half-laughing. “At least he didn’t spit. A promising start to integration.”

  He gestured to the group. “Misha specialises in wards—he’ll reinforce the castle interior. Bako studies ancient magic—he’ll investigate what was done to you.”

  “And Coral?” Saphira asked, glancing at the woman’s calm smile.

  “Defence,” August said simply.

  Coral inclined her head, her eyes warm—but beneath that warmth, power coiled like a viper waiting to strike.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Saphira concluded.

  As she descended the tower, a shiver trailed her spine. I’m glad this Syndicate is on our side. Each one of them carried the same quiet danger she had once felt around Gregor. But August trusts them. And Nocturne trusts August.

  Her fingers brushed August's amulet at her wrist, cool against her skin. It’s strange, trusting what I don’t understand—but doing it anyway.

  On the next landing, she slowed, hearing laughter from the corridor above. I won’t tell August about what I saw in the dream cave—only about the warded gate. Nocturne deserves to know first.

  Reaching the final stair, she smiled faintly. I’m not out of breath. Almost back to normal. She smoothed out the pale pink dress—another gift from Marigold. Lysander checked. The treasury is nearly empty. No money to waste on dresses and jewellery. Just cleaning this place up, securing our defences, and winning the people over with better conditions.

  As Saphira passed through the halls, her heart warmed. The floors sparkled, the air smelled clean, and the servants walked with their heads held high, bowing as she passed. She caught the occasional whisper or sideways glance from the older folk, but Felix's intervention had smoothed out the worst of the rumours. I'm Countess now—in name and in recognition. I'll turn their begrudging respect into something more, soon.

  Soon, Saphira found herself at luncheon with Marigold and Verity—cousins through their mother’s line—sharing laughter, baby cries, and the rustle of maids ferrying yet more of Marigold’s belongings from Brightwood Estate.

  When at last the bustle faded and even Verity excused herself, Marigold rose at the sound of Isais’s drowsy protests. Without hesitation, she pressed Charmaine into Saphira’s arms and disappeared into the adjoining room.

  Left alone, Saphira cradled the infant, inhaling that milky, newborn scent. Tears gathered in her eyes—not from grief, but from a longing so tender it almost hurt. One day, somehow, I’ll hold my own child—Nocturne’s child.

  “You’re a natural.” Marigold’s voice came softly from the doorway.

  “No, just practised,” Saphira murmured, patting the baby’s back. “My half-brother, Heath, was born when I was about fourteen. I used to pretend he was mine—his mother died in childbirth, Lady Peony, father’s fiancée.”

  Saphira’s hand stilled. But if what I saw in the dream is true—if my mother’s bargain is to be believed—father had no intention of marrying her.

  “I’m sorry,” Marigold murmured, closing the door behind her with a soft click. “You smile so well, but underneath, it still hurts, doesn't it?"

  Saphira nodded, swallowing hard.

  "Moving away from the lowlands was hard enough for me. I can't imagine the struggle you've gone through." Marigold returned to the table and poured the last of the tea from the teapot into their cups. Her honey-brown eyes glimmered with understanding. “It’s a lonely life, isn’t it? Being married to a spawnslayer.”

  Saphira’s hand stilled as she patted Charmaine’s back.

  “Honey?” Marigold offered.

  “Just a touch,” Saphira murmured.

  Marigold stirred in a drop. “Felix once told me Nocturne had resigned himself to a political marriage, never happiness. But the night you were married, Felix said he’d never seen him so...certain.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “I… never knew that,” Saphira whispered, guilt and wonder warring in her chest.

  Marigold’s fingers brushed the two black pearls at her ear. “I lost two babies between Isais and Charmaine. Felix was away both times, fighting in some spawnpit. I thought I’d failed him when he came home to an empty cradle.” Her voice softened, steady but filled with ache. “Perfection doesn’t make a man love you,” Marigold said, swirling the tea. “He just needs somewhere to come home to—and someone waiting when he does.”

  Father only loved me when I was perfect. Saphira’s hand froze on the teacup. A home to come to. A woman worth fighting for... is that all Nocturne wants from me?

  Marigold smiled faintly. “Felix said that from the moment he met me, he felt like he’d come home—and I felt the same.” She took a sip of tea. “Of course, turning this crumbling block of stone into a home is a greater challenge than Brightwood ever was. And as Lady of Firestone, you have all the extra duties.”

  Above: Saphira and Marigold catch up, while Charmaine sleeps.

  Marigold paused, leaning over the table as the fire crackled. “Lady Gorda’s been flitting in and out again—ordering the servants about for the Sowing Festival. She was here this morning, insisting on garlands of dried hellebores and hydrangeas.”

  Saphira let out an irritated hum. “They’re a bad omen in Renatus. I told them yarrow and irises instead.” She sighed, holding Charmaine closer. “I gave Quintus charge of the festival preparations—to keep him out of the way of anything that matters."

  “That was wise,” Marigold said. “Perhaps you could host a luncheon with Gorda and the other Ladies—remind them of their ranks. Felix is meeting with Cato Yule and Selwyn about the clan transition.”

  “An opportune time, is what you’re suggesting.”

  “Not suggesting—just observing.” Marigold smiled, tucking a stray ringlet of blonde hair behind her ear. “But if you do, I’ll be by your side, biting my tongue at every asinine comment Gorda makes. And gently stopping Lady Astra from rambling off the same three stories of her youth..."

  Saphira laughed, soft and genuine. “Thank you, Marigold. You and Felix have been so good to me. How can I even thank you—”

  “You already have,” Marigold said warmly. “Hearing how you put Gorda in her place at the Goodbye Ceremony was a gift." She leaned in and whispered. "She put a stain on our first year of marriage—interrupting me whenever I spoke, endless complaints to the Clan, she ever tried to stop Felix taking Brightwood! If she weren't his cousin, I'd have used my belt knife by now!" She laughed. "Seeing you pull rank in person will be a gift.”

  "The Sunfire influence on Firestone fades—I'm here to stay," Saphira said, patting Charmaine as the baby tensed in her sleep. “I’ll have Livia draw up the invitations."

  Nocturne could have brought me to the conclave to share my testimony. But I’m here, safe, recovering—but now is the time for me to awaken; to tidy this home up, ready for him to return.

  An urgent knock sounded at the door.

  “M’lady.” Rell entered with a bow, dust on his shoulders. He winked at Marigold, though the usual playfulness was gone. “Hey, Goldie.”

  With an eyeroll, Marigold gathered Charmaine and retreated to the corner, baby in one arm, book in the other.

  We haven't been alone since the night he barged into my chambers. Her pulse quickened as Marigold gave her a calming nod. A chaperone. A reminder—we can't spark any further rumours.

  “Hello, Rell,” Saphira murmured, offering him a biscuit.

  He hesitated, as if choosing between peace and further self-punishment. Almost overnight, the boyishness had faded—the easy jokes, the unguarded smile. His shirt was buttoned higher, shoulders squared, the mischief in his eyes tempered into something steadier, sharper. After a moment, he accepted the biscuit and took a bite.

  As he ate, Rell dared a look at her. She knew that the shadows that once ringed her eyes were gone; her hair shone, her cheeks flushed with life again. She saw that, as he watched her, the tension holding his expression captive eased—and for the first time since the Solar, his mouth lifted in a genuine smile, the skin around his eyes wrinkling.

  “We’ve sealed almost all the entrances. Just the west quadrant left to flush out,” Rell reported, brushing the crumbs from his fingers and folding his hands behind his back. “Nothing certain yet. Once we find their entry and exit points, we’ll know more.”

  From behind Rell came the faint skitter of claws—then Dusty bounded in, cobwebs on her nose, fur bristling. Without hesitation, the hell leopard leapt into Saphira’s lap, claws snagging her dress.

  Saphira winced; her hands were already scratching Dusty’s thick winter coat.

  “She’s no lap cat. You’ve got to train her, Saph,” Rell scolded, leaning against the doorframe. “She’s been setting off the wards nonstop—getting in the way of me and my crew. A creature like that was meant for war, not rat hunting.”

  “I’m trying,” Saphira said. “She’s wilful.”

  “All the more reason to train her while she’s still a cub.” He reached into his pocket and placed a letter on the table. “But I didn’t come because of that. We’ve got another problem.”

  Saphira’s smile faded. She touched the letter—and saw that Nocturne’s wax seal had been broken.

  “Aye,” Rell said, raking a hand through his dark hair. “Nox's first letter in a month, and the seal’s broken. Faline swears she found it that way, but she’s the only one who’s handled it. Says we haven’t received anything from Nox.”

  “Possession?” Saphira asked, holding Dusty closer.

  “Coral and August checked her. No magical threads. Impossible. Someone is accessing the rookery.”

  “So, an intruder,” Saphira murmured. “It could be Quintus taking the letters. The guards only let the Mountain Knights and Quintus into the rookery."

  “I’ve got eyes on Quintus,” Rell said. “He never left the Great Hall—some catastrophe over missing hellebores and hydrangeas.”

  Good job, Livia. Saphira smiled faintly. I knew you’d rise to the occasion.

  Rell caught the look on her face and huffed a laugh. “You’re as sweet as an apricot—and as scheming as a snake. Saphricot.”

  “You are not calling me that. That’s an order.”

  From the corner, Marigold laughed softly and returned to her book. Saphira rolled her eyes, but his laughter lingered in the air a moment longer before the tension reclaimed it.

  “Read the letter,” Rell insisted, biting down anxiously on the piercing through his lip. “It’s Nox…”

  Saphira smiled faintly. “Patience, young Rell.” Her amusement faded as she brushed a thumb over the broken seal. For a foolish heartbeat, she thought she smelled the salt of Lux’s coast.

  Saphira unfolded it and read aloud: “I’ve set up a meeting in the Yule Mountains, to happen at the new moon. Same place as last time. Yours, Nocturne.”

  “Nox is in Lux.” Rell frowned, dragging a chair over and straddling it backwards. “Is this code between you two?”

  “It’s complicated. And it involves Lucian.”

  “Sounds… filthy,” Rell snorted.

  “Behave, Aurelian,” Marigold scolded, without looking up from her book.

  Saphira smiled despite herself. “We met through Lucian’s dreamweaver mask—we didn’t plan it. I told him what’s happening at Firestone. He knows about you.” She reached out, resting her hand on Rell’s. “He blamed himself. But he still loves you, like a son.”

  Rell’s jaw tightened; he sucked lightly on his lip piercing, hiding the tremor there.

  “That’s how I knew his letters were missing,” Saphira continued, squeezing his hand and then returning it to scratch Dusty. “He told me directly he had sent them, but we've heard no word. He sent this knowing it would be intercepted. Whoever’s reading our letters wanted us to see it—to drive us into that meeting on Yule. But only the Mountain Knights know the full extent of the mask’s power, don’t they?”

  Rell nodded slowly, scratching at the tattoo on his neck. “The new moon’s in three days.”

  Saphira smiled, the thought crystallising. “And with one letter, Nocturne’s sent whoever’s behind this scrambling on a fool’s errand over the Yule Mountains. They don't know I won't have to leave my chambers to see him."

  Her fingers brushed the steel in her ear. My husband—with one scheming act—shows me how much he cares; how he’ll protect me, no matter how small the gesture.

  “When you find the entrance to the West Quadrant, leave it open." On her lap, Dusty purred in satisfaction, asleep in the warm room. "Seal it on the new moon—hopefully, they’ll be on Yule, and return to find themselves locked out.”

  “Or we could seal them in—starve them out,” Rell offered.

  “No.” She drained her tea and set the cup down. “If there’s more than one involved, it’ll be easy for the others to help them escape. When you find the entrance, watch it—unseen. We’ll see who comes to gain access—only to find it locked.” She grinned. "Now, bring me ink and parchment. I'll reply to Nocturne's invitation via Silvark—I'll sell that trap for the person reading our letters."

  When Rell left, Saphira held the letter to her chest. He didn’t have to do this—to write, to reach across the continent.

  Her eyes drifted over the page again. The handwriting was not the calligraphy of a boy raised to be a Lord, but a commander’s hand—sharp, efficient, strong—and signed yours.

  He says he’s mine, and for the first time, I’m letting myself believe it.