SONG VIBE: Filter - Jimin (BTS)

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  SAPHIRA

  The Inner Keep, Castle Renatus

  Saphira awoke to the sound of the heavy key being slotted into her tower door. She yawned, flattened down her unbound hair and basked in the warmth of the mid-morning sun streaming through her window. She pressed her face into her pillow, wishing she could still smell her husband’s scent.

  “Still lounging around in bed?” Matron Helena scolded. She grabbed the hairbrush and bustled over to Saphira. “You missed the morning prayers. Didn’t you hear the bells ringing?”

  “I must have drunk a little too much last night,” Saphira said, hiding the wound Nocturne had wrapped under her silken bedrobe.

  A tiny smile pulled on Saphira’s lips. She stretched out on her bed, feeling the sun’s heat on her cheeks with satisfaction. Her body still ached from last night’s activities, and she felt giddy at the prospect of her husband returning with Golgog’s head. Not long ago, King Edwin had knighted Nocturne and given him the Firestone Mountains as his fief—a small, out-of-the-way area that had almost been overrun by nightspawn.

  I can’t wait to see mountains for the first time—and who better to show me than my husband?

  “My, my, why is your hair unbound?” Helena let out a tittering laugh, “Surely you do not think yourself to be a married woman, girl!”

  She raked the brush through Saphira’s hair. Saphira flinched, but it was the wound of her words that stung.

  “What is that?” Helena’s expression flinched and she grabbed Saphira’s wounded arm.

  “I accidentally broke a vase. I cut myself cleaning up." Saphira flinched, trying not to let it show how much the wound hurt.

  “Breaking things? Getting drunk? Missing your morning prayers?” Helena sighed, casting out the suspicion in her grey eyes. “This is not the woman I raised you to be! I remember when you and your sister were little girls—you were so well-behaved, and now look at you!”

  “I am at a loss for what to do, Saphira." Her tone changed, and she looked at Saphira with gentle, motherly eyes. "I don’t mind what you make of yourself in life, but I want you to be an honourable woman. Tell the truth, be kind to others, and do not forget the Almighty.”

  “Isn’t this just a job for you?” Saphira’s expression softened as the shock of Helena’s words faded and their impact set in.

  “I consider you and your sister to be my own—” Helena caught herself, and the wrinkles on her face stiffened. “—I forgot my place, your Ladyship. Now, let’s ensure you are decent—you have a visitor coming.”

  “My husband?”

  “I’ll have no impure talk coming from your mouth,” Helena said, brushing Saphira’s hair so hard she yelped. “The Ashen Blades have left for the Shadowlands. And you will do well to never mention that spawnslayer again.”

  “Why?” Saphira said, pressing further, “What happened last night?”

  “It is a sordid story; offensive to the sensibilities of any decent woman.” Helena rolled her grey eyes. “Of course, the washerwomen won’t stop gossiping!” Her thick fingers found the lock that Saphira had cut and given to her husband. Helena held up the stump of hair and demanded, “What happened here?”

  “The pearls got stuck. I had to cut them out.”

  Shaking her head, Helena selected a simple dress of peachy white linen from the wardrobe. She smoothed out the creases and brushed off the dust.

  Saphira examined the dress as Helena helped her into it. A simple dress, so as not to invite lust, Saphira thought, and coloured pale for purity.

  “If you don’t tell me, I’ll keep on asking,” Saphira said, “it’s better I hear it from you than some scullery maid.”

  Buttoning up the hidden buttons on the back, Helena exhaled. “I suppose you’ll hear soon enough. The Ashen Knight deflowered his woman and left for the Shadowlands with his company—and we shall say no more than that.”

  Satisfaction coursed through Saphira, as she thought, She’s right—he did deflower his wife, but it wasn’t Daisy!

  “Father already told me his plan about Daisy." With a smug smile, Saphira boasted, "the clue was in the bouquet he picked. Please, tell me the details.”

  “If you know his plan, then there is little value to be found in engaging in idle gossip.” Helena finished fastening the last of the buttons. She placed a veil over Saphira’s head and down at the foot of the stairs, a bell rang. “Your visitor is here.”

  “A visitor? In this tower? Father must be feeling generous.”

  Helena helped Saphira into a simple cream-coloured dress of damask with lace trim, and then placed silk gloves on her hands which came up to her elbows. Saphira winced as the gloves went over the bandage, but she smiled in gratitude.

  When they were finished, the matron pulled the cord near the door. From the foot of the tower, a bell rang once.

  “Please tell me about Daisy,” Saphira whispered again, trying to pull on the threads of magic around her voice.

  “You little impling,” she hissed.

  The threads yanked back; Saphira recoiled.

  Helena raised her hand to strike, “You attempt to coerce me with magic?” Instead of striking, she gripped the neckline of Saphira’s dress and yanked her close. She whispered, “You’ve cut your hair and skin, experimenting with magic, and you’ve been burning rowanberries to hide the scent—stop this nonsense—you will be corrupted; they will take you away. Don’t you understand?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “I’m not practising—”

  “Shh.” Helena shoved her hand over Saphira’s mouth, glancing behind her at the door.

  The handle of the door turned.

  Matron Helena released Saphira and said with perfect dignity, “Your father has commanded you to be locked up here for the next month. No one shall doubt your maiden virtue while you are under guard.”

  “Excuse my interruption,” a voice called from the doorway, calm and unhurried, with an edge of sharpness that hinted at its owner's nature.

  Gregor stood perfectly still, his blackened hands hidden in the folds of his dark robe. His face remained unreadable, partially obscured by the hood of his cloak, leaving only the faint glint of his eyes visible—a deep, inky black, like the heart of a storm cloud.

  He did not wait for Saphira’s invitation, instead, he slipped into the room with the smooth, almost imperceptible grace of someone who learned to move without being noticed. His black leather slippers barely made a sound as he approached Saphira’s desk, his fingers drifting over the edges, prowling, sniffing the air.

  From beneath the folds of his cloak, Saphira could catch the faintest scent—a sharp tang of rowanberries, like crushed leaves after a rainstorm, undercut by something richer, almost earthy, that clung to him like smoke. The smell of pure magic, Saphira thought, her eyes watering with the overwhelming, addictive smell.

  His slippers dampened his footsteps as he moved to the window, lingering as he scented the air. As many mages did, Gregor had learned his craft in Hyland—much to the disgust of King Edwin. However, having to share a border, Renatus tried to keep the peace between Hyland and Lux.

  Helena, who had been standing by the window, watched the mage with a wary glance, her arms crossing over her chest as she pursed her thinning lips. “Is everything to your satisfaction, your Mystic?”

  Gregor’s grey lips remained closed. Instead, his gaze shifted toward Saphira, his eyes narrowing slightly as if calculating something. Then, as though he had sensed the question lingering in the air, he spoke, his voice smooth and cool. “My wards have held strong, Matron. Though… something lingers here, doesn't it?”

  Gregor slithered closer to the Helena. Around him, in a shift so subtle Saphira almost missed it, she felt the magic pull between Gregor and Helena, tightening like a vice. He said in a sugary voice, “Matron, you promised me a moment alone with the Lady, remember?”

  Helena’s grey eyes glazed over as she murmured hazily, “I did, didn’t I? Of course, your Mystic.” Muttering to herself, Helena left the room and shut the door behind her.

  Saphira stepped closer to the door, her hand inching towards the alarm bell. The Ashen Knight was the first man she had ever been alone with; Gregor was the second—although, Saphira thought, some don’t even consider mages to be men as they're infertile.

  “No need to sound the alarm, my Lady." Gregor’s eyes followed her, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his features. His voice was smooth and laced with a quiet curiosity. "I only wanted to be able to go about my work without being disturbed. The common folk are very suspicious of us people. But you are far from common.”

  “You should not have sent the Matron away like that.” Saphira wrapped her arms around her chest, hiding the wound on her arm.

  “Ever perceptive, I know you notice how the air subtly shifts…the way things seem to call to you.” Gregor continued, almost conversationally, “Not everyone can. But you’re not everyone, are you? You see things that others miss. You feel things in ways others cannot. It’s why I’ve come to you, as the tides of time awaken.”

  "And what is it you think I can offer you?” Saphira stiffened slightly, but she kept her composure.

  “What you offer is not of your own making, Lady Saphira." Gregor’s lips twitched. "You are a mirror, reflecting the world around you, and it is the reflection I seek.”

  He moved slightly, his robes brushing against the air, and for a moment, Saphira thought she felt something flicker just beyond the edges of her vision—a shadow that was not his, a figure standing just outside the door. But when she turned, it was gone. She blinked, her eyes narrowing, unsure if it had been a trick of the light.

  “There is more at play than you know—more than anyone here knows." Gregor, seemingly unaware, continued in the same detached tone. "I have come to see where your path leads, because it's going somewhere important. Whether you like it or not.”

  “And what if I don’t want to walk that path?”

  “That is not up to you to decide,” Gregor informed. “I will simply watch as you walk it, regardless, and if you choose to have my help—I will be here.”

  Saphira’s breath caught, the weight of his words settling around her like a heavy fog. Gregor’s presence was overwhelming, but not in the way she expected. She glanced at the window, wishing for the rain to start again, to drown out the silence that stretched between them.

  He drew close again, approaching Saphira from the front. She could see under his hood now and saw that he had no whites to his eyes—they were as black as a moonless night. Around his eyes, his veins bludged and blackened, his lips almost non-existent, the insides of his mouth stained black. His nose touched her veil, and he sniffed. “You reek of the spawnslayer.”

  Above: "You reek of the spawnslayer"

  Saphira recoiled. Closed her eyes to compose herself and then said with a smile, “Yes, he somehow managed to slip past every guard, scale the walls in this weather, break through your wards, and enter the tower without me raising the alarm.”

  “Very amusing,” Gregor said, without mirth. He sniffed the air again. “You cannot fool me. I know the path you walk—because it has already been determined.” His voice turned soothing, as he said, “The corruption is drawn to you. It wants you, Saphira, we want you.”

  He drew his hands out from his robe and reached out, his fingers like blackened, grotesque twigs, steaming in the warm morning air. He grasped her shoulders, sending icy chills throughout Saphira’s body. He said, “Study our ways; pull on the rope; be led to the place of true knowledge—true power is knowledge.”

  But then, just as abruptly as it had come, the moment passed.

  Gregor straightened, stepping back. “I trust you’ll come to your senses, Lady Saphira. Until then, I will be watching and waiting. Do you see how easily it was for me to get you alone?”

  “If my father learns of this…”

  “I know you won’t tell him." Gregor smiled, showing his blackened teeth. "He’s not your ally. We are. Do you want proof?” He gestured around the room. “I could’ve come here any time I wanted. I could make you do whatever I wanted. But that is not what my power is for. When you need me, pull on the threads. Whether you’re here or a thousand leagues away—I will come.”

  The door burst open.

  "You have no chaperone! You need a—” Matron Helena’s face was coloured bright red as she panted, bent over as she caught her breath “—I do not know what came over me. Gregor, the Duke will need to hear of this. Saphira is not to be left alone with any man for the next two months.”

  “No need to tell the Duke, Matron." His voice spoke again, coated with honey. "You were here the whole time, remember?”

  “Oh yes,” Helena said suddenly, with a smile. “I must have forgotten. I remember now.”

  “The Duke will be pleased—my wards are intact. No one entered this tower."

  And with that, as silently as he had entered, he was gone—leaving behind a trail of that strange, peppery scent and the feeling that she had been touched by something ancient, something that did not quite belong to this world.

  With a scowl, Helena locked the door behind her. Saphira stood still, her mind racing with the weight of what had just transpired.

  Guilt struck her, fast and heavy. I can't believe I did the same thing to Ginny. But when I did it, it felt harmless.

  This... this made me feel sick.

  I'll never try it again. She flopped onto the bed and exhaled. But thank the Almighty my secret is safe. My husband really must care about me to have been so careful.