Page 130 of The Starlight Savior

“I know.” Conor’s breath was heavy, his voice in anguish.

“How can you bear to hold onto her like that?”

“She needs help. She can’t walk!”

Her eyes burned as she tried to open them, to understand more of where she was and her surroundings. A flash of black hair caught her attention, moving in and out of her vision. The purple and blue hues of her quarters blurred into view before all she could focus on was Conor’s hand resting against the bare skin of her glowing arm.

“Lay her down,” another voice said, calm and familiar.

Saige’s whole vision was obstructed by Tobin’s face. The dip in his brows was the only indicator of concern. As Conor rested her on the bare bed, she longed for his touch. All her blankets were pulled back. His hands were gentle as he shed her cloak and dress, revealing thin undergarments. Normally, a blush would creep up at the exposure of her body, the intimacy behind the act. Tonight, her body leaned into it, relishing in the feeling of his touch.

Conor spoke quickly, explaining what happened in the forest. The mist seeping through the mountain, her hands burning against it, her attempt at pushing it back. “Her body is absorbing the magic,” he said with a choked laugh, “no channels to release.”

A slither of fear crept into her stomach. Her arms felt heavy as she held up her palms before her face. The pus filled blisters, once red, were blackening. Her glowing wrists were blinding. Now that she understood the impact of the mist, the ache and pain were beginning to return.

“We need to help her release.” Tobin said. “Magic channels through the hands. This mist has blocked them. She will burn from the inside out. Imagine the opposite of burnout. Consumed by magic wholly.”

“Fuck,” Conor growled. He ran a cool hand over her forehead, smoothing her curls down. Strips of cold cloth were placed over her skin, wherever it was exposed. It eased a bit of the burn, but she squirmed as her consciousness ebbed and flowed.

“We’ll have to work quickly.” Pressure was placed on her arms as she was held down to the bed.

“What are you doing!” Conor’s voice was hoarse beside her.

“This is the only way.”

“Only way? Can’t you just heal her hands?”

“There is no one in this land who can heal the impact of the mist. You know this. My hope is her blood will heal her hands just fine.”

“And if Sydera’s bloodline doesn’t live inside her? Then what?”

The silence between them was heavy. No one had an answer to that.

The pressure in her arms resided, replaced by the gentle warmth of Conor’s body suddenly clinging to her. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured against her ear, breathing through clenched teeth.

“Hold him back, Eva,” Tobin said smoothly. Conor’s body was wrenched from hers, replaced by four pairs of hands holding her down. Their limbs were wrapped and gloved. Her body revolted at the sound of Conor’s roars and the sharp pain in her hands. Her eyes bulged as the stinging increased to a ferocious burn that consumed all her energy. Back arched, mouth filling with blood, she bit down on her tongue. Tobin’s knuckles were white as he gripped the hilt of a red slicked dagger.

“It is done,” he said, passing the dagger to Eva.

Eva tapped the blade against the top of a vial before sealing and slipping into the folds of her dress.

Before Saige could ask what it was for, another wave of pain overtook. Her palms were wet. Blood flowed quickly from open wounds. The burning sensation and ache in her chest subsided. The room glowed around them, blocking out any visuals of Conor, Eva, Tobin, or the handmaids. Saige let out a guttural scream, but in relief instead of anguish. A sigh escaped from finally feeling her magic flow through her hands.

Just as quickly as the room lit up, it all went black, the sounds of the people around her fading into the crevices of her mind.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The first thing Saige saw as she awoke was the large sleeping figure in her bed. They had returned the blankets onto the bed, wrapping her tightly. Her slumber had been unusual and dreamless. At least her mind and body were rejuvenated.

Conor lay on his side, hair falling onto his forehead. It was the most peaceful she had seen him. No smirk of sarcasm or humor. No furrowing brows from frustration. His lips were parted in sleep, the scars from the manor fading. It had been weeks since she had seen him. Longer since they had kissed. The urge to curl up next to him, to move his arms around her and rest her lips against his neck, was strong.

Raising her hands to her face, Saige grimaced. She had expected the events of the last handful of hours to be fuzzy, but they seared bright. The blisters, burns, and boils had healed, leaving jagged lines and angry red scars. All from a little bit of mist. It was coming closer, creeping towards Athalos.

And she couldn’t stop it.

It had completely disabled her.

They all believed they had more time. That she had more time to practice, gaining the confidence to face such a thing.