The Matchmaker - The Arrax Saga Book 1 Chapter 73

It had been days.

Saphira hadn’t stepped beyond the threshold of her room since the truth had detonated inside her chest, sharp, relentless, and echoing. Everything she thought she knew had splintered, ripples of memory and revision bleeding through each corner of her life.

Her room had become her refuge, her barricade, her stillness. A hollow space where no expectations reached her, where silence wrapped tight enough to muffle the noise outside and the even louder noise within.

Visitors came in waves.

Finn and Amara had been the first, quiet, warm presences who sat without pushing. Finn had offered a tentative smile, Amara a hand on her shoulder. They didn’t press her to talk. Didn’t ask her to move. They simply brought stillness of their own and stayed long enough to leave a lingering trace of comfort in their wake.

Then came Raven and Talia. They stood in the doorway, uncertain and tentative, hovering like they weren’t sure if they belonged inside the weight of her grief. Raven had offered her favourite blend of tea, her fingers trembling just slightly. Talia brought two books and a tired smile. They didn’t stay long.

Nikolas had come too.

He never asked how she was. Never asked anything at all, really.

He just sat. Sometimes near. Sometimes across the room. Occasionally, he would speak, providing soft updates about the search for Damon. Leads that led to nothing. Glimpses of movement in the eastern woods. Names. Locations. Suspicion. She absorbed the words, nodded when it felt expected, but they floated past her like leaves on the current. She wasn’t ready to hold them.

He’d also told her, in that low, carefully weighted tone of his, that Zafira and Anastasia had both been discharged from the hospital. That they were safe now. Resting. Staying just down the hall. He had even told her the room numbers, not in expectation, just in case. As if planting signposts on a trail she could choose to follow when she was ready.

She remembered nodding. Maybe even saying “thank you.” Or maybe just thinking it.

But on the morning of the fourth day, something shifted.

The air tasted clearer when she woke.

Saphira lay on her back, blanket tangled around one leg, her eyes tracing the familiar wooden beams of her ceiling. For the first time in days, her chest didn’t feel like it was collapsing inward. The pressure was still there, but thinner. Bearable.

A dream clung to her, faint now, like mist evaporating under morning light. The cold stone corridors of Silvermoon. Lupus’ voice, too smooth to trust. Cassandra’s smile, honey-sweet and venomous. Every word sharpened by control. Every kindness manufactured.

It matched Anastasia’s story too perfectly.

The way Lupus had played his role. The way the Elders had closed the door on her birth with chilling finality.

But it was the last thought, the one that hit her just as the sun filtered through the curtains, that hitched her breath and sat like stone in her chest.

*Why did the Elders get involved at all?*

She sat up slowly, blanket dragging across her shoulders. Her fingers clenched around the fabric, anchoring herself in that single question.

There were too many missing pieces still.

But that one? That one didn’t just not fit. It shouldn’t have been there at all.

The hallway was quiet when Saphira finally stepped out of her room, the kind of quiet that felt purposeful, as if the walls themselves understood she wasn’t ready to be seen just yet.

Her feet moved on instinct, bare against the cool wood, drawn more by an ache in her chest than any clear decision. She’d showered, pulled on something comfortable, loosely braided her hair.

When she reached the lower levels, she paused at the curve in the hall, her hand hovering near the frame of Nikolas’ office door. Voices, low ones, drifted from inside.

She pushed gently.

Nikolas and Jed were mid-conversation, seated across from one another at the worn oak desk. Both looked up, startled but not unkindly.

Nikolas stood immediately, concern flashing across his face. “Saphira.” He took a slow step forward. “Hey, are you...?”

She raised a hand, voice quiet. “I’m sorry. I should’ve knocked.”

“It’s okay,” he said gently, his voice losing any edge. “Come in.”

Jed half-stood, glancing between them. “Do you want me to give you some space?”

Saphira shook her head. “No, its fine, you can stay. I don’t mind.”

She eased into the chair opposite Nikolas, her hands settling in her lap. The room smelled faintly of cedarwood and worn parchment. Familiar.

Nikolas leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the desk. “How are you doing?”

Saphira’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m… okay,” she said, but it wasn’t convincing, even to her. She flicked a glance toward Jed, then Nikolas again. “There’s something I wanted to ask about.”

They both stilled a little, listening now.

“Zafira,” she said. “Does she remember anything? From when she was taken?”

Nikolas exchanged a look with Jed, his jaw ticking subtly before he responded. “Not much. Barely anything, actually.”

Jed nodded. “She was subdued fast, too fast. Whatever they used, it wasn’t normal. Every time someone entered, she was… put to sleep. Magically.”

“A witch,” Nikolas added. “One skilled enough to mask the energy. It explains why we weren’t able to find her before.”

Saphira’s fingers tightened slightly in her lap. “So, they didn’t want her to see who was involved.”

Nikolas exhaled, nodding grimly.

Saphira looked down for a moment, then raised her gaze. “There’s something else,” she said quietly. “Something Anastasia told me. About my birth.”

Saphira hesitated, the words lodging behind her ribs for a breath too long. But then she released them.

“She said it was the Elders,” she murmured. “They were the ones who confiormed I died to her.”

Nikolas stilled. He leaned back slowly, eyes narrowing as the words settled. Across from him, Jed’s brow furrowed sharply, his expression darkening.

Nikolas blinked, almost to himself. “I… wasn’t expecting that,” he said, surprise roughening his tone.