Chapter 15 - Saphira

SONG VIBE: Everythingoes - RM

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SAPHIRA

Inner Courtyard, Renatus Castle

Within the sanctuary of the women's garden, Saphira knelt on the cold ground, her bare hands trembling as they cupped a delicate crocus flower. The vivid purple petals stood defiant against the starkness of winter, soaking in the rare morning sun. Saphira laid the flower gently on the edge of the sandstone garden box, her breath visible in the icy air as she carefully sketched its outline onto a clean sheet of parchment.

The castle hummed with activity, desperate to make the most of the clear winter’s day. From outside the private courtyard, Saphira heard the clang of hammers ring out as blacksmiths toiled in the forge, sending up columns of steam into the crisp air. She could hear stable boys rushing about, their boots crunching on the snow-dusted cobblestones as they tended to restless, stamping horses. Somewhere above, a silvark screeched, circling before it dove into the aviary. In the distance, guards patrolled the walls, their breaths coming out in heavy clouds as they spoke in low, clipped tones.

These are preparations for battle, Saphira thought grimly.

Saphira tried to focus on her drawing, but her thoughts constantly strayed to the child growing within her, the morning sickness—and to Nocturne. It had been almost five moons since their wedding night together. Is he safe? Had he defeated Golgog? Does he know about the child growing within me? Her fingers faltered, smudging the line she drew as a wave of morning sickness came over her. I've made it half-way through this pregnancy and I'm still so nauseous—will it ever get easier?

She had bound her now swelling belly with strips of cloth, trying to hide the growing bump. The aches in her body reminded her how little time she had before her secret would be impossible to hide. The thick fur coat she wore had been a blessing, hiding her growing belly, but it would be no use in the impending warmer months.

She exhaled sharply and adjusted the parchment. She had felt her body changing rapidly; her skin was softer, her pale violet hair glossy and thick, and fat gathered around her face. Don’t vomit now. Focus. Breathe. She closed her eyes. Nocturne will return for you—he promised he would.

Her pencil moved to annotate the flower’s uses. “The dried stigmas of crocus flowers…” she murmured, pausing as her stomach cramped slightly. She set her pencil down and pressed a hand discreetly against her midsection. I haven’t felt the baby move yet, she thought, anxiety prickling her nerves. If it weren’t for this binding, maybe I would. I can’t even ask anyone what I'm supposed to feel for.

“What are you writing?” Ginny’s cheerful voice cut through her reverie. The young maid peered at the page, trying hard to read the intricate annotations. Her strawberry blonde hair was covered by a knitted woollen hat, and her breath was visible as she exhaled in the cold.

“The dried stigmas are a remedy for gout,” Saphira explained quietly, her voice barely audible over the castle's background noise. She did not look up, afraid that Ginny’s keen blue eyes might linger too long on her changing face.

“Magic flower, is it?” Ginny teased, plucking the crocus from the sandstone edge with a grin.

“Not magic—medicine,” Saphira said, trying to snatch it back. “And I need that intact to draw.”

Ginny laughed, extracting the vivid crimson stigmas from the flower before placing its shell back on the stone. “There you go, my Lady. Now you can draw the rest.”

“That’s not how life drawing works,” Saphira muttered, exasperated.

“Use your imagination,” Ginny said with a cheeky shrug. She waved a small basket full of harvested crocuses. “Chef has been limping around the kitchen—maybe that’s why he’s so desperate for these. Now help me gather the rest before he gives me an earful.”

Saphira shook her head with a tired laugh. “You said you would gather them. I only agreed to keep you company.”

“Less talk, more cutting!” Ginny plopped down beside her, nudging her with a shoulder.

Saphira set her parchment aside with a sigh and reached for her gardening scissors. Each flower she snipped free felt heavier in her hand than it should have. Her fur coat, though warm, made her sweat uncomfortably, and the tightening bonds around her belly made every movement a chore. She paused, pressing a hand to her side as another twinge of discomfort rippled through her. She glanced around the courtyard, her heart racing as anxiety set in.

When the mountain snow melts, Celestine will be back from the royal court at Lux, and she will know right away that my body has changed. But she will keep my secret—just like I’ve kept her secret. She sniffed the crocus flower and thought, But what will I say if someone else finds out—someone who can’t keep quiet?

The sunlight glittered off the frost coating the garden beds, and for a moment, the world felt too bright, too harsh. She closed her eyes, her mind slipping again to Nocturne.

Please, Almighty, is he still alive? The thought stole away her breath, and she drew back her sadness. He should be here. He should know about this child and about me.

“Lady Saphira?” Ginny’s voice softened. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Saphira said quickly, forcing a smile. “It’s just the winter cold.”

Ginny handed her another flower with a wink. “Well, don’t let it freeze you. If you faint on me, I’ll have to drag you to Matron Helena—and you know she’ll talk our ears off.”

Saphira chuckled weakly, but the sound lacked warmth.

image [https://img.wattpad.com/d5be06415d0dbb8977328287fb2e0b382adef9b6/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f387056794f7448516a31507046413d3d2d313535343732373234372e313834643763636131643063636363653334353035363038393530392e706e67]

Above: Ginny and Saphira pick flowers in the Women's Garden

[This is just for vibes and not a totally accurate depiction. AI-generated image]

“Don’t look now,” Ginny muttered, plucking a crocus flower, “Daisy is crossing the courtyard. Flaunting it as usual.”

From across the courtyard, Saphira saw Daisy walking under the escort of a matron, resting her hands under the curve of her pregnant belly to make it look larger. She was returning from her morning prayers at the cathedral—after the incident, Daisy had become the most pious woman in Renatus, praying morning and night.

They say she prays for the Ashen Knight’s return, Saphira rolled her eyes, I get up at dawn just to avoid bumping into her at the cathedral.

The bastard daughter nodded and smiled with unbearable smugness at all the women passing.

Saphira muttered in clanspeak, “She thinks she’s the queen of the realm.”

With a frown, Ginny asked, “Huh?”

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“It’s clanspeak,” Saphira said, returning her gaze to the garden, “I’ve been studying the main dialect lately—and I bet Daisy doesn’t know a word of it despite acting like she’s Lady of Firestone.”

Ginny lowered her voice and whispered, “They’re saying that the Ashen Blades will never return—the Ashen Knight has forgotten about her…or they’re dead.”

“Dead—?”

A small gleam lit up Ginny’s sky blue eyes. “Slain before they even found the spawnpit.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Saphira said, plucking another crocus and pulling out the stigma. Her heart raced and she sweated. She thought, Please stop saying those things, Ginny. Matron Helena always said that stress isn’t good for babies.

“They found a giant set of armour in the mountain passes. It could have only belonged to the Ashen Knight. Now, he’ll never get to meet his child.” Ginny ended her thought with a shrug, plucking a snow pea and eating it whole. “I can’t wait until spring.”

Saphira suppressed another gag; even the sound of the vegetable crunching made her feel sick. Despite feeling so sick, I’ve started to put on weight now, Saphira thought, the women will start gossiping.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Matron Helena stood over them. She grasped Saphira’s hands and exclaimed, “Your fingernails are dirty! We can’t let His Grace see you looking like a peasant.” She sighed, saying, “Well, we won’t have time to clean you up, he is ready for you now. Hurry, get your veil on!”

Wiping her dirty hands on her apron, Saphira put her sketchbook and pencil into the deep pockets of her fur coat. She placed her veil over her face and exited the Women's Garden.

Helena set a cracking pace through the cold stone hallways; Saphira panted, struggling to catch her breath. Two purple-clad servants let Saphira through to the Duke’s private meeting chamber. As she waited on a seat of velvet and mahogany, she viewed the Duke’s map, How things have changed since I last looked, she thought.

First, she searched for the ash-grey piece which represented the Ashen Blades—she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as she saw none. Instead, her stomach sank further as she saw the changes in the map—where once small villages existed on the borders of Renatus, there were now Shadowlands, creeping further inland. Long ago, the Shadowlands had once been sparse, small blips on the map that travellers avoided. Now, the shadows had extended, separating the human realms from everything else—and grew more and more every day. This is bad; Father must be stressed—and angry.

The doors to the Duke’s chamber flung open. Age had not touched the Duke’s face, though shadows of fatigue pooled under his eyes. His sharp, angular features remained pristine, framed by sleek, blonde hair that brushed the collar of his dark crimson tunic. His piercing eyes, a striking shade of steel blue, held an unsettling glint—calculating and cold beneath his charm.

Drawing her coat tightly around her waist, Saphira forced herself into a curtsey, every movement precise, every line of her body controlled as if a single tremor might give her away. Her father’s hand stretched toward her—a hand adorned with the enormous crystalith stone that gleamed like an eye, cold and unblinking, and his ducal ring. She took it, brushing her lips against the polished surface of the ring. “Your Grace,” she said, voice smooth but hollow.

“You have gone nearly five moons without needing a single rebuke from me.” His smile cut cruel lines into his otherwise flawless face. “I finally tamed the nightspawn from you.” He laughed, and then reached out, his long fingers settling possessively on Saphira’s forearm.

“It is my fault,” he said then, his voice softening as if he mourned some distant tragedy. He squeezed her arm—perhaps in affection, though it felt more like a warning—and let her go. “I thought it best to shelter you, to protect you from the horrors of this world.” He turned toward the map spread across the table. “But exposing you to the brutality of those spawnslayers, even for an evening, seems to have knocked some obedience into you—you understand why I punish you so.”

Saphira kept her face utterly still, every muscle frozen into a mask of composure. “Is there news of the Ashen Blades?”

Stroking the dragon’s claw on his cane, Crassus simply shook his head.

Dread filled Saphira, turning her limbs cold and her mind numb. She wanted to shed tears, but all she felt was never-ending nausea. Swallowing her fears, she pointed to the shadowed parts of the map and asked, “River Town should be there. Where is it? Where is the Tower of Hanover?”

The Duke’s reply came with chilling calm. “We lost River Town two moons ago. Reliable reports say there was a gigantic nightspawn with an obsidian blade—”

“—Golgog.” The name tasted bitter on her tongue.

The Duke’s hand tightened on the dragon’s claw, his knuckles blanching white. “Last week, we heard rumours of nightspawn moving on Hanover. Runners were sent. None have returned. Cedar wants to go back, but there’s no point.”

Saphira studied the map, every gap, every shadow, a gaping wound in their kingdom. “Horrocks Pass is unguarded,” she murmured.

Crassus nodded stiffly. “A new unit is on its way. Sir Finley was… unable to hold it. The nightspawn have overrun the area.”

Horror filled Saphira as she said, “We cannot keep this up.”

The Duke’s voice turned colder, harder. “Every single day, I hear more reports—villages attacked, children dead, men and women dragged screaming into the shadowlands, their homes razed. I can only conclude that the spawnslayer has failed his mission.”

“No,” Saphira objected, sharply, desperately. “It’s not possible. We would know. There would be evidence—bodies, something!”

“Bodies do not last long in the shadowlands.” His tone was impatient. “The nightspawn would have devoured them, or worse.” He shrugged, concluding, “The Ashen Knight is dead.”

Grief and nausea twisted together inside Saphira, squeezing the air from her lungs. She bit the inside of her lip until she tasted blood, anything to stop the sick, trembling sob rising in her chest.

image [https://img.wattpad.com/5bcc0493d27e1010b3f4c2a8027f3058bdb8d563/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f67487a7565775846774f344e62773d3d2d313535343732373234372e313834643764626635313233343032623639353536323331343838342e706e67]

Above: "The Ashen Knight is dead."

[This is just for vibes and not a totally accurate depiction. AI-generated image]

“Look at our kingdom,” Crassus commanded, sweeping a hand over the map. “Thirty lords are sworn to me—thirty fiefs I must protect. Do you understand what you see?”

Saphira forced herself to look. The map was a ruin of what it had once been. Where their proud purple banners had stood like defiance against the dark, now there were only scattered remnants—concentrated near their central cities, their strongest defences.

“You’re retreating,” Saphira said quietly. “You’re leaving the outer villages to fend for themselves.”

The Duke’s upper lip curled. “King Edwin will not send his forces to aid us. He has not lifted his sword to fight a nightspawn since his youth.”

“Do we not have the gold to buy more blades?”

For the briefest of moments, something flickered across her father’s face—anger, shame, regret, she could not tell.

“You think so simply,” he said, his voice like a lash. “We could buy an army, but no company has the spine to face Golgog. Even the Rat King turned me down. No, we are on our own, and we face annihilation.” His voice softened then, then struck like a viper. “We must make new alliances. The Duke of Hyland has offered ten thousand men to aid us in pushing back the shadowlands.”

Saphira froze. “Ten thousand men? A Duke would not part with that freely. What are you giving him in return? Gold? Crystalith? Surely not Remus Mount?"

"Something far more precious." Crassus met her gaze with unflinching finality. “The hand of my daughter in marriage.”

“Celestine…?” she whispered, looking up to see the gleam in her father’s steely eyes. She gasped, “No…don’t do this to me.”

“It is time you learn the true worth of a Duke’s daughter,” he said, his voice low and pitiless. “Duke Vladislav has sent runners—his convoy is crossing through the Flaxen Pass and will arrive for the wedding tomorrow. It will be a hasty marriage, but one deserving of your status. Then, with Hyland’s strength, we will defeat Golgog.”

Saphira whispered in horror, “The people will never accept Hyland.”

“The people know we are doomed,” he replied coldly. “You cannot understand their suffering—you are safe in your tower. Or perhaps…” He stepped closer, looming over her. “Perhaps you mean you will never accept Hyland?”

Saphira shook her head. “Father, no—”

“Vladislav is older, yes, but he is disciplined, and that is what you need. And a fruitful womb is what he needs.” He commanded, “You will do your duty.”

“But I'm already married!”

“Only words,” he snapped. “Words are easily broken.”

Saphira swayed, gripping the back of a chair for support. If Nocturne is dead… if he truly is dead… then perhaps another marriage would buy me more time. Her fingers dug into the wood. Until the baby is born four months after the wedding. She whispered savagely, “If you see me again, I will have blackened hands and grey eyes.”

The Duke’s gaze narrowed, sharp as steel. “You will do as your husband commands.”

Her breaths were shallow and ragged. “Then, who will inherit your title? Celestine?”

A cruel laugh burst from him, but Saphira did not understand the joke.

Before Saphira could reply, the mahogany doors slammed open. A runner stumbled inside, breathless and wild-eyed. “Your Grace—the Ashen Blades are at the castle walls! They’re armed!”

The Duke’s face blanched, if only for a second. Then his expression hardened like stone. “Lock the gates and ring the bells! Send every fighting man to the walls!"

Saphira caught his sleeve, her eyes wide. “Father, what if he comes in peace?”

Brushing her asm aside, he swept forward, his cloak billowing behind him like a shadow. Servants leapt aside as the Duke passed, his stride swift, unrelenting.

Saphira followed in his wake, dread curling in her stomach. Please let my husband be alive and amongst them.

Crassus barked to the servants, “Tell Gregor to ready the magicians…and bring me my armour! This bastard won't take anything from me."