Underland. The Dark City.
2352.
49th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Sapphyre.
The fire in the hearth crackled with a muted intensity, but the room itself felt colder with each passing moment. Sapphyre stood across from Emerylda in the queen's parlour, the tension between them as palpable as the air thick with frost. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the back of a chair, trying to keep herself steady in the face of the queen's implacable gaze.
"You think your queensguard won?" Sapphyre's voice was low, controlled, though it buzzed with raw frustration. "They reached the shore first, yes. But it wasn't victory that got them there. It was their willingness to tear apart everything in their path, to sacrifice their own for the sake of speed. They didn't care about anything—anyone—except the finish line."
Emerylda's lips curved into a cool, confident smile, her posture straight, the picture of controlled composure. "And what's wrong with that?" she asked, her voice silky with an edge of condescension. "The test was about reaching the shore first, wasn't it? Your knights were slower, weaker, because they hesitated. They cared too much for the lives of their enemies. My queensguard did what they had to, and they won. Isn't that the point?"
Sapphyre's teeth ground together, the weight of her fury pulling at the edges of her control. "That's exactly it, Emerylda. They didn't care. They didn't hesitate because they didn't care about who they killed or what they lost along the way. They threw themselves at the task like mindless puppets, with no heart, no honour, and no thought for anything but their own victory. And you call that a win?"
Emerylda's eyes glittered dangerously, narrowing as she stepped closer, almost as if she could physically bear down on Sapphyre's resolve. "What do you expect me to do, Sapphyre? Hand my queensguard rules that make them hesitate? Force them to worry about honour while every other kingdom on this earth would be too happy to see us fail? Your knights were slower, not because they lacked the will to fight, but because they stopped to care—to think about the lives they were ending. My queensguard knew better. They understood that the only way to win in a world like this is to sacrifice anything and everything."
Sapphyre's chest tightened. "At what cost, Emerylda?" Her voice was growing louder now, the pressure of this conversation pushing her to the brink of losing her temper.
Emerylda's eyes flashed dangerously, but she didn't back down. Instead, her lips quirked in a cynical smile, as if the argument was exactly what she wanted. "Your knights hesitated, Sapphyre. And that's why they lost. They tried to fight with honour, with some sense of right. But honour has no place in a world where power is everything. Power wins, and my queensguard understand that. They do what's necessary, no matter who stands in their way."
Sapphyre paced back and forth, her fingers brushing restlessly along the worn edge of the table as the words hung heavy in the air between her and Emerylda. The tension crackled, the weight of every unspoken thought pressing down on her chest like a vice. Her heart thudded in her ears, and her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts.
"I need to find Neve," she said, her voice low, but edged with an intensity that betrayed the turmoil inside her. "We need to hunt down the bandits who took her. I'll track them to the ends of the map if I have to." Her gaze locked onto Emerylda, seeking understanding, even though she knew she wouldn't find it.
Emerylda's posture remained perfect, regal even in the face of Sapphyre's desperation. She didn't budge, her gaze unwavering, like a stone wall built to block everything in its path. "Your knights are soft, Sapphyre," she said coolly, her voice calm, but cutting through the tension with a sharpness that stung. "All this talk of chasing after shadows—it's your softness that's driving you to do this. We cannot afford to lose sight of our true objective."
Sapphyre felt her jaw tighten at Emerylda's words, the harshness of them scraping against her nerves. The fire inside her flared, but she fought to keep it in check. "You think I'm soft?" she spat, her voice barely controlled. "You think I don't see what's at stake here? Neve—"
"Enough!" Emerylda's voice rang out like a command, cutting through Sapphyre's rising anger. "You will stop. We have bigger things to focus on. The Narnian king is who allows things like this to happen. We will take him down. We will avenge Neve when the time is right, when it is strategic. Not on your whim."
Sapphyre's chest tightened, her pulse quickening as the weight of those words settled over her like an iron shroud. "Strategic?" she repeated, the word tasting bitter on her tongue. "How many more will we lose while we wait, Emerylda? How many more will fall through the cracks because we're too busy playing at strategy?"
Emerylda's gaze was cold, unwavering. "Sapphyre," she said, her voice quieter, but with an edge of finality. "We have a war to win."
Sapphyre's throat tightened. She clenched her fists, trying to quell the emotions that surged inside her. "I've become everything that we fought against," she whispered, almost to herself. The weight of the words seemed to press down on her, suffocating her. We have. "Standing by when I know there's something wrong. When I know we should be doing something."
Emerylda didn't flinch, didn't soften. She stepped forward, her presence as commanding as ever. "You've done everything for the right reasons, Sapphyre."
Sapphyre's heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her thoughts to herself, the internal struggle pressing at the edges of her mind. She didn't speak the question that clawed at her insides, the question that lingered, too heavy to put into words. Have I?
Instead, she just stood there, staring at Emerylda, the air between them thick with unspoken tension, and the weight of their different worlds pulling them in opposing directions. Every part of her wanted to break free from the chains of restraint, to charge forward and make the world listen, to make something happen.
But for that moment, all she could do was nod, barely, and try to silence the storm inside her. Because she knew Emerylda wouldn't change her mind.
…
The Bight of Calormen. Near the Winding Arrow River.
Emerylda.
The boat cut through the dark waters like a blade, smooth and sure, just as Emerylda intended. She stood at the bow, wind snapping at the heavy cloak around her shoulders, her eyes fixed on the mist-draped coast of Archenland. The Dark City was already behind her, swallowed by distance and shadow.
Everything was proceeding as it should.
Sapphyre's resistance was an irritation, a momentary snag in an otherwise flawless weave. But Emerylda had handled Sapphyre before. She knew exactly how to turn those stormy emotions to her advantage. Sapphyre was passionate, ruled by instinct and heart, and while that made her unpredictable at times, it also made her useful.
It was that same unwavering loyalty, that same fire, that had allowed Emerylda to shape her into the perfect weapon over the years. Sapphyre's anger would pass. It always did. She would see reason, as she always had before.
Emerylda allowed herself a slow, measured breath, forcing down the flicker of irritation that Sapphyre's outburst had caused.
She will come around, Emerylda reminded herself. She always does.
Sapphyre needed to feel like she was resisting, needed to believe she had a choice. It was part of what made her herself. But in the end, she always fell in line. She always saw Emerylda's reasoning. And she would again.
But this—this—was too important to waste time soothing bruised egos.
Rilian. His blood. His magic.
Star-touched.
It was a wild, untamed thing, too dangerous to be left unchecked, and yet, it was also the very thing that made him valuable. The magic of his lineage was both a gift and a curse, and Emerylda needed to understand it. She needed to know how to control it – how to break it, if necessary.
And so, she had left for Archenland.
The seer was said to be there, hidden somewhere among the mountains and valleys of this old kingdom. Emerylda had used seers before; they had been instrumental in her rise, guiding her through the tangled pathways of fate and power. Some called them frauds, but Emerylda knew better.
There were truths buried in their riddles, glimpses of futures yet unwritten. She had learned to listen, to sift through their words and extract what was necessary.
The so called Hermit of the Southern March would tell her how to overcome the magic in Rilian's veins.
The boat began to slow, the looming cliffs of Archenland growing larger, more defined. Emerylda's lips curled into a small, knowing smile.
Everything was still within her grasp.
Sapphyre's emotions, Rilian's magic, the Dark City – it was all a matter of control, of careful manipulation.
And she was very, very good at it.
As the first ropes were thrown to the dock, securing the ship to the shore, Emerylda straightened her shoulders, letting the wind whip through her hair one final time. Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward.
The game was still hers to play.
And she had every intention of winning.
The boat rocked gently as it neared the dock, but Emerylda stood unmoving, her gaze locked on the mist-laced cliffs of Archenland. The wind tugged at her cloak, cool and bracing, but she barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of the past days, turning each moment over like a jewel in her palm.
The test had been necessary.
She had known it even before she set it in motion, and the results had only solidified what she had already suspected. The queensguard – her queensguard – had been ruthless. They had reached the farthest shore the fastest, not because they were stronger, nor because they were better, but because they had known what was required of them. They had not hesitated. They had not wasted time caring for their own.
The Knights – Sapphyre's Knights – had served their purpose.
Once.
Loyal. Skilled. Honourable.
And entirely the wrong tool for what was coming.
There was no place for hesitation anymore. No place for misplaced mercy. The game was shifting, and she needed an army that could match it. The Knights had been useful once, had served their role in stabilizing the Dark City, in gaining ground where diplomacy had been required. But that time had passed.
The world was sharpening its edges, and Emerylda needed a force that would not flinch.
The thought sent a flicker of satisfaction curling in her chest. The queensguard had proven themselves, and they would prove themselves again. And Sapphyre – ah, Sapphyre – she would come to see it, in time.
She always did.
The dockhands shouted, securing the ship, and Emerylda exhaled slowly, willing the lingering irritation away. Sapphyre's emotions were just a hiccup, nothing more. They had clashed before, and they would clash again, but Sapphyre had always come around to see her point of view. That fire, that relentless need to do what was right, had been one of her greatest assets in the past. It made Sapphyre fight harder, push further.
And when Emerylda channelled it correctly, it made her unstoppable.
This would be no different.
The queensguard had shown her what they were capable of.
And soon, so would the seer.
With a final glance toward the receding horizon, Emerylda stepped off the ship and onto the docks of Archenland.
