Song vibe: House of Cards – BTS

  __________

  FELIX

  The Dungeons, Firestone

  When the doors to the Great Hall closed behind them, Felix and August broke into a sprint.

  Their boots struck stone as they descended deeper, down the cold steps, Felix taking them two at a time. His breath burned in his chest—not from the run, but from the echo of Quintus’s voice still ringing in his ears. They did not slow until the air turned damp and the iron scent of the dungeon reached them.

  The four guards turned first. Quintus, standing between them, let out a hollow laugh.

  Looking only over his shoulder, he sneered, “Here on her orders—to end it quietly?”

  Felix’s jaw tightened; he pushed away the retort and growled, “Who let you out?”

  Quintus glanced at August and laughed—a confident, gloating sound.

  Something in Felix’s gut twisted—not fear, but an unplaceable unease.

  “Don’t vex me,” August snapped. “I'll take another finger for it.”

  “Drop the act now, Augustus,” Quintus said. “To think—Hyland’s own would stand for the truth?”

  Before Felix could react, steel flashed. August withdrew a knife, grabbed Quintus’ wrist, and slammed his palm flat against the stone.

  Felix flinched despite himself—the sound of flesh against rock echoing in the narrow corridor.

  “It was you, ask the guards!” Quintus wheezed, hand twitching under August’s grip. “You let me out of my cell. You led me to the festival. The guards didn’t even blink.”

  “Is this true?” Felix demanded, turning on the guard at the stairwell. “Did August let Quintus out?”

  “Yes, m’lord,” the guard replied, exchanging confused looks. “The mage came to Quintus' cell and ordered it open. He escorted him to the Great Hall. Told none of us to come."

  “Felix, I—” August’s eyebrows furrowed together, his grip loosening.

  Felix silenced him with a wave of his hand.

  “Get Quintus back in his cell,” Felix commanded. “Lock it and give me the key. No one opens these doors but me.”

  When the cool weight of the cell key sat heavily in his pocket, Felix set back down the hall with August.

  Once they reached an empty corridor, Felix stopped.

  He studied his friend for a long moment. Not the mage. Not the strategist. Just August—pale, self-assured, and shaken.

  “I’ve known you for over a decade,” Felix said quietly. “Make this make sense to me. Because I want to believe you, that you're not possessed, that you—”

  “I... Fye. No..." Any colour left in August’s pale face drained away. “How could I miss that? The signs were all there…”

  Felix’s stomach tightened.

  “Say it.”

  “It was never possession. Not an illusion or manipulation.” August grabbed Felix’s shoulder, fingers digging in hard. “Corvina’s grandfather—he didn’t go missing, he was fed, eaten by—”

  “By what?"

  “Don't you see?" August breathed. "The blood vials in the vault. People seeing me do things I don’t recall...we’re dealing with a—”

  Felix felt the blood drain from his cheeks, the corridor tilting slightly beneath his feet.

  “—a facestealer.”

  The word settled like spawnrot between them.

  Almighty, it was right under our noses. It was never Dusty harming livestock or people. Felix wiped the sweat from his brow. A nightspawn needs to feed—and all they eat is flesh.

  Above: Felix and August realise what they're dealing with.

  “We killed Ammon,” Felix whispered. “Left no facestealer alive in his pit. If any survived, there’d be no spawnlord to direct them, to—”

  “Gorda,” August hissed back. “With her power, she could pull its strings.”

  Felix closed his eyes for half a breath. If it wore August’s face, how long has it been close to us? What has it heard? What have I missed?

  “If there’s a facestealer of you walking around,” Felix said, opening his eyes again, “then we stick together.” He turned toward the Great Hall, setting a pace. “We report in. Saphira will decide our next move.”

  “Tsek, Felix,” August swore, grabbing his shoulder, trying to slow him down. “She’s still a girl—by the rot, it’s wearing my face!”

  Felix stopped.

  The mage's pale eyes were wide; sweat glistened on his forehead—for the first time, his eyes truly frantic.

  “Remember Nox’s orders,” Felix said calmly, though his pulse thudded hard in his throat. “Protect his wife.” He lowered his chin. “She’s proven herself, August. She’s part of the crew.”

  And if I get this wrong, Firestone burns.

  He placed his hand on the door handle and forced a smile into place.

  “For now, we have an advantage—Gorda doesn't know we know.” He pushed the door open. “Do us a favour and smile.”

  Felix ambled through the crowd, posture loose, laughter easy. He slapped backs, accepted a cup of wine he did not drink, and nodded at faces he saw. Every instinct he possessed stretched thin—counting hands, exits, shadows.

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  August followed behind him, a sullen mouth—but deadly eyes.

  Felix caught Lysander’s eye and gave him a look—sharp, unmistakable. The bowman melted away into the crowd without a word.

  When they reached Saphira, Felix raised his glass in a casual toast. As he leaned in, he murmured, “Tell Orson to bring out more wine. When everyone’s distracted, excuse yourself and meet in the side chamber.”

  She nodded regally; the order was made soon after.

  They converged in the small chamber adjacent to the Great Hall.

  The moment Rell locked the door, Felix crossed the chamber and knelt beside the low chest they had hidden there the night before, tucked beneath a tapestry. The lock gave a soft click as he opened it.

  "Arm yourselves." Felix lifted his hooked swords from the felt-lined interior and slid them into the hidden sheath along his spine. "We know how Quintus escaped. Gorda’s got a facestealer."

  Lysander shuddered; Rell's hand steadied him on the table.

  "A...what?" Saphira tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

  "It's a type of nightspawn that can take the form of humans if they consume their blood," Felix explained gently. He threw on his cloak over his shoulder, concealing his blades. "And this one's wearing August’s face."

  Her violet eyes widened. Fear flashed—quickly contained. “How… much does it look alike?”

  “I... still have nightmares about them." Lysander's fingers paused, midway through unbuttoning his coat. He steadied the trembling before he strapped leather armour over his chest. “I’ve faced them before—wearing the faces of allies. Cold eyes. Something is always off. The clothes, the mannerisms.”

  "They're magical abominations." August fastened on leather bracers, then the cuirass. “They gave us hell in Ammon's pits. Magic can't trace them. They're freakishly strong. Hell, they seem to even shift their organs around, so strikes to their vitals don’t kill them."

  "You've got to make them bleed to know for sure," Rell added. "And we will."

  Felix watched Saphira as they spoke—her expression steady, her posture unbroken.

  She won’t falter. Felix almost smiled. Damn you, Nox. You were right that night... she’s the woman you need.

  “We should get Dusty,” Rell said, tightening the strap on his hidden blade. “A few weeks ago, she and I caught August lingering outside Saphira’s bedchamber, but Dusty wouldn't let him near the room. Who knows what that thing was planning? Dusty sure sensed it."

  Felix’s spine prickled.

  “I want Dusty near me,” Saphira said softly, “but the crowd are already spooked by her. She should stay with Marigold and the children.”

  Relief flickered through Felix despite himself. “Thank you.”

  “Saphira’s the target,” August said, securing the final buckle on his leather greaves. His gaze met Saphira’s. “We have Gorda’s location locked down. If we move on her, she’ll call her creature—wherever it is—back to protect her.”

  After a moment, Saphira nodded. "Then end this, now."

  “We'll split,” Felix said. “Rell and I stay with Saphira. August and Lye, you find Gorda.”

  "No!" Rell's hand closed over the hilt of Ignis Solaris. "Felix, I've fought this creature and Gorda already, alone. Felt her magic try to—"

  "Aurelian," Felix replied patiently. "We found three vials of blood in the vault. August’s, Nox’s, and yours. If I were Gorda, I'd use your face to get close to Saphira. The moment you leave her side, it creates doubt." He squared his shoulders. "Now's not a time for a grudge match. We stay calm. We follow Nox’s orders."

  The silence stretched, taut as drawn wire.

  “You’re right,” Rell said finally, taking off his coat and hiding his sword under it. "Nox trusted me for moments like this. And I'm his."

  "Thank you," Saphira whispered, the lightest of touches on his arm steadying them both.

  "My lady," Lysander murmured, offering Saphira her belt knife. "I have a feeling you’ll need this.”

  She glanced down at the blade, then back up at him, expression dry. “Where do you expect me to put this, Lye?”

  “Centre bodice, darling,” Lysander said simply, testing his bowstring. “Between the stiffened panels. It’ll lie flat.”

  Felix was already moving. He stepped in close, turning his body just enough to block the others’ view. Saphira slid the knife down her neckline, the silk of her dress shifting slightly to conceal the blade.

  Above: Saphira hides her belt knife.

  “Can you tell?” she asked quietly, cheeks red.

  “Not at all." Felix shook his head. "Let’s hope you don’t have to use it.”

  “Nox may come home any moment,” Saphira said. “He won’t know about the facestealer. What if—”

  “He won’t be fooled,” Felix reassured, closing the chest. “Nor will we. Watch the details—clothes, speech, scars, anything out of place.” He placed his hand on Saphira's shoulder and whispered, "It's not too late to cancel this, my Lady."

  "We've got her backed into a corner," Saphira said, eyes wide. "As long as the innocent aren't threatened, I won't back down."

  “Then I'll send Coral to protect Marigold and the others," August offered. "The rest of the syndicate can guard the hall from Gorda’s influence."

  "Thank you." Saphira said, “I’ll summon Nox’s shadow to help. She was right about August—just not how we thought. She responds to lilies." She looked around the room, making eye contact with each one of them—her gaze rested last on August. “Almighty protect you all.”

  When they returned to the hall, Felix offered Saphira his arm and did not let go. Rell followed closely behind.

  If danger comes, it comes through me first.

  A few curious eyes caught them as they walked out, but no one said anything.

  Felix adjusted his grip on Saphira’s arm and guided her into the flow of the room, setting a slow, deliberate circle around the hall. Now, beneath the music and laughter, he felt a restlessness in her—a tremor under silk. He did not let her arm leave his.

  Movement helps. If she stops, they’ll see it.

  They smiled at guests. Felix sampled a dessert he did not taste, offered a compliment to a lute player, and laughed at a joke he did not hear. As he walked, he measured every step, calculated the distance between Saphira and each exit.

  They reached the windows along the outer wall—where Rell had moved a vase of lilies. Felix opened the door to the balcony, and they slipped out onto the narrow stone balcony overlooking Firestone’s outer wall.

  From below the balcony, he heard movement.

  His muscles locked.

  “You needed me?” the voice whispered, hovering just above the noise of the festival.

  Felix squeezed Saphira’s arm—not hard, but firm enough that she would feel him there.

  This voice could be anyone—even the creature that hunts us. He closed his eyes, following his instinct. My gut tells me it's safe—trust Nox.

  Saphira turned her face toward the dark beyond the balcony rail, her voice pitched low, words shaped so they would be lost to the night. “Gorda is inside Firestone. Find her.” Saphira bit her lip. “Kill her, if you must. There is a facestealer, wearing the flesh of August. Harm the creature, protect the man. Your trust word is ‘lilies’.”

  The words settled.

  “As you wish.”

  A cool breeze blew in from the mountains, bringing on it the scent of rain.

  Felix reached back and pulled the balcony doors shut, sliding the latch home with a muted click. Thunder rolled overhead as the first heavy drops struck stone—then the heavens opened, rain hammering down against the glass.

  For a moment, they stood there, watching the sheets of water blur the world beyond Firestone’s walls.

  Above: Felix and Saphira watch the rain.

  “It’s the waiting,” Saphira breathed. “The not knowing…”

  Felix felt the weight of her words settle. This was the kind of fear she would have given to Nox alone, late and unobserved. The fact that she let it slip here, with him, tightened something in his chest.

  She’s carried more than any of us realised, burdens that were never meant to be hers. For a woman of only twenty years, she seems older, wiser. Felix rested his hand on the windowsill near her hand. I can’t step into his place, but I’m here to guard it.

  He turned to her, keeping his expression untroubled, gentle rather than bright.

  “How about a dance, my lady?” He offered his hand. “It’ll help keep the festivities going.”

  “That’s the last thing I feel like doing…”

  “I know.” His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles. “Just stay with me for another hour, and then another hour after that... and we keep going until it's over.”

  Her breath caught, just a fraction.

  “Come,” he said more softly. “Trust me to keep you safe.”

  He guided her back toward the centre of the hall, matching his pace to hers, aware of every shadow at their periphery, every gaze that lingered too long.

  “You focus on leading Firestone,” he continued, low enough that only she would hear. “I’ll hold the rest.”

  The music swelled as they stepped onto the floor.

  Felix smiled—and carried her fear as if it were his own, careful not to let it show.