Song vibe: ON – BTS

  __________

  SAPHIRA

  The Courtyard, Firestone Castle

  Around Saphira, the farewell song lingered faintly, threads of harmony dissolving into the air.

  Saphira saw a shadow stirring in the apothecary window. August’s storm-grey eyes locked on her, still and unblinking. The rest of the world blurred, the voices, the colours, the press of bodies—all gone. Only his stare, cutting straight through her.

  Her chest constricted, breath stalling. Prey caught under a predator’s gaze. Gregor’s eyes had looked the same—measuring, merciless. Her stomach clenched. He’s right not to trust me. If I were him, I wouldn’t trust a Renatii either.

  Then—almost imperceptibly—his gaze flicked toward the steps where Quintus lingered. The smallest shift, but it pressed the chill deeper into her chest.

  She turned away; her pulse drummed in her ears, drowning out the crowd. When she looked back, the window was empty.

  The last of the Blades disappeared through the gates, their banners vanishing down the mountain path. The weight of the moment pressed into her body at once, heaviness dragging at her limbs. She steadied herself against Rell’s arm, balance slipping for an instant.

  Rell’s free arm caught her around the waist before she could fall. “Careful. Need to rest?”

  She nodded faintly.

  Verity appeared on her other side, slipping under her arm to take some of the weight. “Exhausted already? Mm. I’ll wager the Count’s to blame.” She rose on tiptoe to whisper, a sly grin tugging her mouth, “Did the apricot silk do its job?”

  Heat rushed into Saphira’s cheeks.

  Rell looked away quickly, ears reddening.

  Verity arched a brow, shepherding them both through the dispersing crowd. “…Well?”

  “I’m… not sure.” Saphira rubbed her forehead. “Tell me—are there any more events today?”

  “Even if we were more prepared, you’re in no state to host,” Verity said lightly, though the smile lingered at her lips.

  Then, Saphira stumbled.

  Verity’s smile vanished. Her eyes sharpened, glasses pushed briskly up the bridge of her nose. “Get her to the Solar,” she snapped to Rell. “Now.”

  Rell nodded, half-guiding, half-carrying her through the halls of Firestone.

  At the door to Nocturne’s Solar, Verity took her keys and unlocked it.

  Rell ushered her inside and eased her onto the couch by the glowing coals. Saphira felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

  "Really, I'm okay. Maybe I just ate some bad food," she muttered, feeling her head spin.

  Above: Verity checks Saphira's pulse.

  As Verity knelt before the couch and checked Saphira’s temperature, Rell wandered about, eyes wide. “Feels weird. Being in here without him.” He snatched an uneaten hunk of bread from Nocturne’s plate, chewing as he looked around. “Nox only lets a few servants in here—and none in his chambers. So I guess I'll have to clean up this mess. You’re a lucky woman, Saph." Rell leaned over the back of the couch with a grin, looking at Nocturne's chamber door. "No one goes beyond the threshold.”

  "Oh, stop your jabbering, Rell," Verity muttered, pressing her fingers lightly to Saphira’s wrist. "I'm trying to concentrate."

  He laughed, but his smile softened, almost awed. Then he glanced at Verity. “So, what’s the prognosis, Verri?”

  “It's Verity," she snapped. "Unfortunately for you, there’s no cure for being nosey!" Her voice lowered. “It’s… unusually slow.”

  Saphira fell backwards onto the couch, exhausted from the effort of holding herself upright.

  Verity's emerald eyes gleamed as she looked at the teacup beside the couch. Picking it up, she sniffed the remainders of the tea, then dipped her finger in and tasted it. “Snakeroot,” she declared.

  “I drank it this morning,” Saphira whispered, purple eyes widening. “I thought it tasted…strange.”

  “If you had finished the whole cup, you would have been out cold for the rest of the day,” Verity replied. “In larger doses, it stops the heart. I’ll take it to the apothecary to test. But from the taste of it, it wasn’t intended to kill—only stall.”

  Verity and Rell exchanged glances, but then, their gazes rested on Saphira.

  What should I do? Saphira stared out the window, her fingers fiddling with her new silver piercing. I promised Nocturne I wouldn’t fail him. I can’t call him home the moment trouble brews. I’m stronger than that—and now, he's relying on me.

  She bit her lip. But how am I supposed to think straight when someone tried to hurt me? She glanced at the teacup, the faint stain of honey still clinging to the rim. Nocturne would know what to do. He’d kick down every door until the culprit confessed. Father? He would have caught them before they even acted.

  “Summon Lysander and August. They’ll—” her voice faltered as she searched for the right word in clanspeak, “—they can help.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Rell gave a brisk nod, shoulders squaring, but it was Verity who slipped out with quick, purposeful strides, skirts whispering against the stone as she vanished through the door.

  Saphira let out a slow breath, watching Rell stir the fire. His hand gripped the poker like a spear, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the flames as though he could fight her enemies there. Even he bristles for battle, she thought. And me? I’m no warrior. I’m no cold strategist either. What can I do?

  The flames leapt higher, sparks showering up the chimney, and she pressed her hands tight in her lap. But I am clever. I survived Father’s court, where every smile was a blade. If I could hold my own there, I can thrive here. I’ll do what I’ve always done—adapt.

  Verity brought in August and Lysander soon after, the frowns on their expressions telling her that they had been briefed on the situation before they arrived.

  “Are you well, my Lady?” Lysander asked softly, kneeling before the couch.

  “I will be soon, thank you.” Saphira swallowed; she felt as though dust had lined her throat.

  Above: Lysander checks in on Saphira.

  "An antidote," Verity said, handing Saphira a steaming cup. "Ginger, to counter the 'cold' from the snakeroot. Milk thistle will cleanse your liver."

  Pull it together, she ordered herself, sipping the tea slowly. Nocturne said they would follow my commands, if needed.

  “Lock the whole castle down,” Rell declared, his fist tightening on the poker. “No one leaves until we find who did it.”

  August folded his arms, eyes like flint. “Better—put every servant on the truthstone. Quicker than interrogating an entire keep. The guilty will show themselves. And we remove them.”

  The words crowded in on her, one after another—commands, solutions, each heavier than the last. Her chest tightened, her pulse thudding in her ears. Come on, Saphira. Speak. How many hundreds of hours did you sit in Father’s court, tongue bitten bloody while he made decisions for you? You’re better than this.

  She gripped the handle of her teacup and forced her voice out. “Interrogate the servants? And what will that show them?”

  The room stilled. All eyes turned to her.

  “That I harm the innocent and rule by fear?” Her voice steadied as she felt the tea warm her belly, clearing the stuffy feeling in her head. “That I humiliate the servants who were just trying to do their job?”

  Lysander tilted his head, golden braid slipping forward as he studied her. “She’s right. Too public. But…” his hazel eyes sharpened, glinting. “We can’t look weak, either. If you want the snake, don’t smash the grass flat. You lie back, set the bait, and wait. Do you want me to weave that trap, my Lady?”

  Saphira’s back straightened; a strange calm settled over her as she took another sip of the tea. “No. Not yet. When I strike, it will be because I am certain. And they will not see it coming.” She let her gaze sweep each face in turn before fixing on Lysander. “For now, let them think they fooled us. We build our defences. Then, we attack from a position of strength.”

  The fire popped in the hearth, filling the silence.

  Then—without a word—the three knights glanced at one another. A single nod passed between them, subtle but deliberate.

  Trust. Relief eased through her, as her hands settled on the keys to the castle, looped on to her belt. Or at least… acceptance.

  “First, I want to be safe.” Her voice wavered, but steadied as she looked to Verity. “I need a maid. Someone I can depend on.”

  “I have just the girl in mind,” Verity replied. “Livia Sevenson, my cousin through marriage. Being tied to the Yules, even distantly, keeps Quintus from hiring her. All the best positions go to the Sunfires here.”

  “That needs to change,” Saphira said firmly, finishing the last of the antidote and setting the cup aside. “Starting with Livia. A castle this size should have twice the staff. If what you say is true—if Quintus has controlled the hiring—then bringing in others isn’t just practical, it’s protection. Their loyalty will lie with the ones who gave them work.”

  Lysander inclined his head, a flicker of respect in his eyes. “Then I’ll set guards to be with you day and night, my lady. Men whose loyalty is unshakeable.” He looked to Rell. “Coordinate them. No gaps.”

  “Thank you, Lysander.” Saphira closed her eyes, drawing strength from the vision she had shared with Nocturne—the vision he had commissioned her to create. “And then—we clean up this place, restore its dignity. After that, better rations for staff and soldiers. A happy belly makes for a loyal heart. Once we’ve secured our footing, only then do we think about striking.”

  “This all requires… funds,” Lysander advised cautiously.

  Saphira’s hand smoothed over her plain dress. “I don’t need new gowns or jewels. Whatever Nocturne set aside for that can be used elsewhere.”

  “Are you sure?” August’s gaze sharpened, the faintest crease between his brows betraying a reassessment. “Nox was insistent that you have all the—”

  “For better or worse, I’m my father’s daughter.” Saphira let out a bitter laugh. “And if my father had one true gift, it was in making money. Eight weeks isn’t enough to change Firestone’s fortunes—but it’s enough for me to get the economy’s wheels turning.”

  “There’s plenty of opportunity,” Verity agreed, though her tone was cautious. “Only be sure you keep the ledger clear.”

  Saphira nodded. “I want oversight of our accounts. Numbers, at least, I understand.”

  “Remus Sunfire is treasurer,” Lysander offered. “I’ll give the excuse—we need to know how many new servants the keep can sustain. I’ll get you the figures, without raising suspicion.”

  “Good.” A wry smile touched her lips. “Would Nocturne mind how much I spend?”

  August gave a sharp, derisive sound—half laugh, half scoff. “Fiscally responsible and Nocturne don’t belong in the same sentence.”

  “Then I’ll stick with the essentials until he returns,” she replied swiftly, almost surprising herself with how easily the words came. “Leaking roofs, cracked walls. Restore the pride in this place first. That’s where you come in, Verity. You know what needs doing more than anyone.”

  Verity’s lips curved, pride glinting in her emerald eyes despite herself.

  “For now, that will be enough for the people to feel the change.” Saphira exhaled, hands folding around the keys. “It’s a great deal of work, I know. That’s why I need your help—making it real.”

  “Don’t forget,” Verity said gently, “you need to heal as well. Nocturne wouldn’t want to come home to a wife worked to exhaustion.”

  “You? He’d scold,” Lysander teased, nudging Verity. “Us? He’d kill.”

  Then August’s voice cut through. “And how best would you use me, Lady Saphira?”

  Her heart stuttered. He doesn’t trust me. He doubted my fidelity even in Horrocks. He thinks I’ll betray Nocturne. I’ll prove him wrong—that my loyalty lies only here.

  “Nocturne trusts you with his life, August. And so will I.” She drew in a controlled breath, lifting her chin. “Please work with Verity to find the source of the snakeroot. Quietly. Build a record—so when the time comes, we strike with proof in hand.”

  Something shifted in August’s pale eyes—still guarded, but no longer wholly dismissive.

  She paused, then added, softer, “Beyond that… I know in Renatus, Gregor’s syndicate safeguarded my father’s court with wards, runes, protections—from outside attacks and inside threats. Whatever you deem necessary, I defer to your judgment.” She looked at him, her purple eye unflinching. “I put my life in your hands, August.”

  August’s pale eyes lingered on her, unreadable, unblinking. Saphira held his stare, pulse loud in her ears. Only when the silence had grown taut did he incline his head—fractional, reluctant, but enough. He said, “As you wish, my lady.”

  “And Nocturne?” Rell asked at last, wide-eyed. “Should we tell him?”

  Every gaze turned back to her. For once, Saphira did not flinch from the weight. “If he knew, he would come storming home—and that is what our enemies want. I’ll give him nothing to worry over. When he returns, he’ll find Firestone secure.”

  The silence stretched. Lysander’s easy grin had slipped away, leaving something steadier in its place. Rell straightened unconsciously, as if taking a stance before a commander. Even August, pale and aloof, inclined his head the slightest fraction—watching her with a colder, quieter respect.

  Verity clapped her hands together once. “Well, boys. The Lady of Firestone has spoken. Looks like we’ve got work to do.”