Song vibe: Agust D – Interlude: Shadow

  __________

  SAPHIRA

  The Solar, Firestone

  Saphira ate slowly, savouring strawberries and the memory of Nocturne—his taste lingering like a secret on her lips.

  Then came the sound of boots in the corridor. August and Lysander entered the Solar, faces drawn from a long night. Felix followed, his usual smile nowhere to be found.

  By the time they finished speaking—the hidden room, the gold, the blood—Saphira’s pulse had slowed in a cold shock. Her tea sat forgotten, over-brewed and bitter.

  If only we had discovered this place one night sooner, I could have warned Nocturne. He won’t want Quintus banished now—he’ll have to pay. She touched the keys at her side, the cool metal calming her. He’s placed his full faith in me. I can’t fail him.

  Then came the final blow: Quintus had been stripped and searched for signs of Dusty’s bite—he was unharmed. Beside the fireplace, Dusty’s ears perked up. She let out a small growl.

  “We’ll find them, baby,” Saphira soothed, “Whoever hurt you.”

  She exhaled slowly, straightening her shoulders, and began relaying Nocturne’s orders—every one of them, including who was to take Quintus’ place.

  “Val?” Felix broke into a grin, though the tension remained. “So, he’s finally decided to stay?”

  “Only took him a decade,” August muttered, already moving towards the door. “The truthstone is ready. With your permission, Lady Saphira—it’ll be me and Lysander in the room.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said, checking that her belt knife sat within easy reach.

  “My Lady,” Felix murmured, resting a hand on her shoulder, “August isn’t going there to talk. He’s going to interrogate. You’ll see things—see us—in ways you shouldn’t have to.”

  “I watched my own mother bleed to death in a cave,” Saphira whispered. “This will be no worse.”

  “Then swear this,” August said, testing the edge of his knife. “No emotion. No weakness. No hesitation.” His pale eyes locked on hers. “Do not flinch, do not intervene. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.” She nodded once, steeling herself. “I’ll fetch a cloak… they say it’s cold in the dungeons.”

  “I’ll stay in the Solar. Begin the arrangements for our new castellan,” Felix said. “If the Wardens come knocking, better they find me sipping tea than standing there. Plausible deniability.”

  As they walked through the castle, Lysander offered his arm with a small flourish, eyes bright despite the sleepless night. “If it gets ugly, I’ll conjure a reason to pull you out,” he said lightly. “I’ll make it convincing.”

  “I want to hear the confession from his own lips,” she said. “And for him to know I’m not afraid.”

  “You don’t have to prove you’re fearless,” he said, squeezing her arm. “You married Nox—you’ve already done the impossible.”

  Above: Lysander guides Saphira into the dungeons.

  As they descended into the bowels of the keep, Saphira drew Nocturne’s cloak around her. His scent clung to the fabric—iron, smoke, and pine—steadying her just enough.

  Torches hissed in their brackets as the passage narrowed, bare stones cold through her slippers. The servants had cleaned the dungeons too, though there were no rugs, no paintings—no luxuries. Just solid, unyielding stone. A chill seeped through—there were no thermal pipes behind the walls, carrying hot spring water—but it was dry and secure.

  The first cell was occupied—a soldier slumped on the floor, snoring faintly, the smell of stale ale cutting through the chill.

  They walked past, nodding to the goaler as they went to the cell deepest in the dungeon. Outside the door, Rell stood guard.

  He looked like he had not moved all night. The torchlight flickered over the ink on his neck and arms; stubble shadowed his jaw; His eyes stayed sharp, fixed on the hall.

  When he saw Saphira, he straightened at once.

  She touched his shoulder gently. “Thank you, Rell. You did well.”

  Pride flickered over his expression. His lips twitched into a smile—though he bit down on his lip piercing before he let it show. Warmth stirred in Saphira’s chest. To think I could make him so pleased—with just a few words.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Above: “Thank you, Rell. You did well.”

  “Wait,” he said, voice rough. “You’re not going in there, are you?”

  “I have to do this,” she replied. “Not just for me—but for Firestone.”

  “Then I’m going in with you.”

  August sighed. “You’ve been on watch all night. Go rest, Rell.”

  “Like hell I will,” he growled. “I’ll sit in the corner, keep quiet, and sharpen my blade. That’s all.”

  Saphira nodded. With these men, I’ve learned what can bend—and what never will. Rell’s line is drawn here. He was ordered to protect me, and he’ll break before he yields on that.

  “We begin,” August said.

  Through the narrow, barred window, she could see Quintus lying on the wooden bed, his back to the door. He coughed once, a dry, hacking sound.

  Rell took the key from his belt and unlocked the door. He held it open—August first, then Lysander, who drew a chair into place for Saphira. Rell closed the door behind them, arms folded across his chest, the watchful presence of a guard dog waiting for the command to bite.

  “Get up,” August said.

  Quintus turned in the bed and rose slowly, bones creaking, pale eyes flashing with defiance. He still wore his nightclothes and slippers, though a cloak was wrapped around his shoulder. Whisps of his patchy white hair were unkempt, his jaw shadowed silver with stubble.

  “Sit.” August forced him down on the stool in front of the table.

  “How dare you,” the old man rasped. “Drag me from my bed in the dead of night. Lock me up—without cause, without charge.”

  “You forgot the part where we stripped you bare,” Rell muttered.

  August shot him a glance sharp enough to cut—enough.

  Quintus’ lip trembled, the taunt finding its mark. “Never—never—in my seventy years have I been treated with such indignity. Such disrespect. I, who have served faithfully since the foundation stone was laid.” He clutched his cloak around his shoulders. “When Lord Nocturne hears of this—”

  “Do not invoke my husband’s name,” Saphira interrupted, her voice as firm as the steel piercing in her ear. “I am the Lady of this castle. When I speak, it is as he speaks. Now listen well, for I will say this only once.”

  She leaned in, her tone softening to something far more dangerous—and smiled, the same smile he had once seen on her father’s lips. “Lord Nocturne released you from service, Quintus.”

  The old man’s eyes widened; his mouth opened in shock.

  Saphira tucked a strand of lavender hair behind her ears and continued, “He ordered your banishment. But that was before we uncovered the full extent of your crimes. Your fate now lies in my hands. And I have decided: the only thing standing between you and death is the truthfulness—and usefulness—of your answers.” She tilted her head slightly. “Do you understand me?”

  “You little—”

  The back of August’s hand cracked across his mouth. “You’ll answer our Lady. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Quintus hissed, blood on his teeth, pale eyes burning with venom.

  Saphira’s legs trembled beneath her green skirts. She crossed them neatly, folded her hands, and met August’s gaze. “Proceed.”

  Don’t come closer, Rell. And Lysander… don’t you dare look at me. Her jaw ached from the effort of biting back her fears. Any tenderness and I’ll lose my resolve.

  August’s eyes lingered on her a moment—something new there, a flicker of respect. Then he moved behind Quintus, calm as a surgeon.

  “Three ways, then,” he said mildly. “One— you tell us the truth. No threats, no lies, and we all behave like gentlemen in front of our Lady.” He twirled the knife once, his tone clinical. “Two— I put you on a truthstone. For the effort, I’ll take a finger for every lie. Last option— we skip the pleasantries and start with the fingers.”

  He paused, voice dropping to a growl. “Your choice.”

  Quintus’ breath hitched. “Everything I’ve done,” he said finally, “I’ve done for the good of Firestone.”

  “Does that include skimming Nox’s gold?” Lysander asked sweetly, settling down at the table and dipping a quill into ink. His hand paused over the fresh parchment. “I found your special room.”

  Quintus’ face went white; his eyes widened.

  “I don’t need a truthstone to see I hit the mark,” Lysander murmured, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “Now, I abhor senseless violence—and for Lady Saphira’s sake, I’d rather not start chopping off appendages.” He rolled the quill between his fingers while he waited for Quintus’s answer. “So please, make this easy. Tell us everything.”

  Quintus coughed, trying to gather what little dignity he had left. “For nearly twenty years, I oversaw Firestone alone. Edwin forgot us for his throne—it was me who kept this place alive. Through the worst of Vandele’s attacks, I was the one holding the walls together. But we survived.”

  “You would’ve been dead if Nox hadn’t killed Vandele,” Rell growled.

  “You think I don’t know the dangers of a spawnpit? My own brother died in one.” Quintus’ gaze sharpened. “One accident, and it would have been over for Lord Nocturne. That gold was our future—you’re too blind to appreciate it.”

  Above: August asks a question as he cleans his blade.

  “Don’t paint yourself the noble caretaker,” August said, his voice flat as iron. “It’s control—your control over everyone and everything.” He leaned closer, cleaning his blade with a rag. “I’ve seen how you look at Nocturne when you think no one’s watching. You despise him.”

  “Despise?” Quintus gave a hoarse laugh followed by a cough. “No. He is strong, I grant him that—he slew a monster we could not. But he is no statesman, no ruler. If he didn’t die early, within half a decade he’d have squandered the gold on drink and women.”

  “You had no right,” Saphira breathed. “That alone is enough to condemn you.”

  Quintus turned his pale eyes on her. “Is this because I tested you, Saphira—?”

  “Lady Saphira,” Rell growled. “You’ll address her with respect.”

  Saphira froze. He gave me a letter from my father, which divulged the rumours about Nocturne. And he made me look—at the old nursery, before sending me to the guest room to sleep.

  “Your test, then, Lady Saphira,” he spat, forcing the word like venom. “Regrettable but necessary. When the Count’s interest wanes, when he seeks the embrace of other women, when he ceases to be the charming knight of your dreams—will you leave Firestone? Will you crave another man’s tenderness—?”

  “Enough,” August snapped. His hand tightened on the knife. “Who are you working with?”

  Quintus laughed again, the sound brittle and wild. “Working with? Boy, the entire mountain is working with me. It’s mine.”

  “You’re a fool,” Lysander said softly, putting his quill down. “Gold doesn’t buy loyalty. It rents it—and the lease always ends. The moment you cost them more than you’re worth, they’ll turn.” He tilted his head, tone silk over steel. “Tell us their names. The real brains behind this operation.”

  Quintus straightened, pride flickering in his eyes. “Names? Brains?” He gave a low, humourless chuckle. “Do you think I need help? Protecting Firestone is my job—and I’ve never needed help doing it.”

  “Truthstone it is,” August muttered, drawing from his robe a strange, murky egg. The stone pulsed faintly in his hand, veins of light writhing beneath its cloudy surface—alive in a way that made Saphira’s stomach twist.

  He sliced his palm and let his blood drip onto it. The veins brightened, glowing a muted crimson. “Repeat it. Clearly,” he said softly. “If it turns red, you lose a finger."

  The silence that followed was colder than the stones of the dungeon.

  "Hand on the stone.”

  Who'd you take into an interrogation with you?