Page 21 of The Starlight Savior

“Mute?” Saige whispered, brows furrowing at the spiral mark. She studied it, finding herself oddly acquainted with it.

“Have you not noticed?”

Shock shuttered through her body. Pulling her wrist out of Conor’s grasp, she cradled the cuffs against her chest. She scanned her body for the magic that pulsed inside her, but came up empty. It was unlike the liquor numbing her veins. Even then, she felt a dull buzz. But with the cuffs, Saige was empty.

She was so accustomed to the phantom feeling of an itch crawling across her body. To feel nothing was foreign.

“What happened to me?” Saige whispered, refusing to look up. “What did you do?”

He reached for her limp hand once again. “It’s to protect you until you’ve begun training. The cuffs…well, they essentially put magic to sleep.”

Considering Saige despised her magic, she hadn’t expected to feel so bare without it. “So, when will I be trained?”

Her hand fell into her lap as Conor rose from the bed. “Once you’re more acclimated, you’ll begin training with Athalos’s maester. First, you need to rest though. There is so much ahead of you…” He paused, running a hand through his ebony hair. “I want you to be prepared.”

Saige nodded numbly as Conor turned towards the door. “You’re leaving?”

His smile was small as he looked back at her. “I’ll return later.”

The door clicked behind him as Saige fell back against the pillows.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Limbs shaky, Saige swung her feet over the bed. Even with the extra rest, she was drained, stomach rumbling with hunger.

Looking away from the cuffs shackled to her wrists, she noticed a tray of food sitting next to her. Steaming chicken, potatoes, and fresh bread and butter sat waiting for her. The moment she took a bite, all anguish faded away. She groaned with each passing moment as her gut swelled, and crumbs littered her lap. Saige and Judith were both fine cooks, yet this tasted straight from the Otherworld.

She reached for the clay pitcher, pouring herself water. Her fingers itched as her hand wrapped around the handle. It was ingrained in her to fight back against magic-wielders, despite the anguish flowing through her veins. What was stopping her from breaking this against the wall and turning it into a weapon?

She shook her head. She couldn’t fathom what she’d even do with it. Stab Conor? Break out of the castle and explore a kingdom she knew nothing about? She couldn’t access her magic. Nor could she control it either. There was nothing left for her in Brevil. She had to sit tight, learn as much as she could, and finally get a grip on her power. It was why she came here, wasn’t it?

Setting the bowl aside, she walked towards the wardrobe. Instead of wearing her faded green dress, she was in a thin white sleeping gown. Running her hands across the row of clothes, she lingered on the black cloak. It was the only thing she took from Oswan. Belonging to her mother, she had woken with it wrapped around her. Whenever she drew it close, the scent of lilies rose with it. Maybe her mother’s lingering presence was magic too.

Shedding the white gown from her body, she laced up a simple linen dress, accompanied with her cloak. The light blue fabric was soft against her skin as she padded barefoot over to the window.

Saige always found Brevil beautiful, but Etrane was a whole other world. The snow-peaked mountains were shadowed by hues of purple and blue. The evergreen forests were tucked tightly below them, peaks of blue creeks and ponds in the distance. She pressed her face against the glass to peer right. She could barely see a winding stone road leading to a cluster of buildings. They were all different sizes, a layer of fog sitting upon the streets and buildings.

Athalos. The Capital of Etrane.

Saige wasn’t one to spend time worshipping the deities. Most believed the Gods and the Goddesses crafted each layer of Opela, from the Otherworld below to the skies above. Their power and blood was weaved into everything. Saige found minimal solace in such stories, keeping them tucked in her mind as simply lore. As she looked out though, Saige could understand such beliefs.

Compared to Brevil, the colors depicting the kingdom seemed more vibrant and alive. The moon was larger, more full, the stars brighter. Althea mentioned that the snow in Etrane never melted, not even when the sun was blazing in the sky. A never ending winter where magic could survive. A kingdom forged by the storm God, Tonirus.

Saige didn’t know if she was sick or amazed. But did it matter? She was here nonetheless.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

When Saige awoke, she was greeted with a heaping day meal on her bedside table. Eggs, sizzling pork, fresh bread, and coffee had been prepared for her. Her mouth watered as she raised the steaming mug to her lips. It was perfect. Whoever prepared it had added a spoonful of sugar, a pleasantry she let soak on her tongue.

As the sun rose in the sky, she spent her time in solitude. Saige was never one for social interactions, but the seclusion of her room was a bit agonizing. In Denholm, her loneliness was stifled by routine. Here there was nothing to do but wait, restless with the overwhelming swell of her thoughts.

Diverting her attention away, she sifted through the hundreds of books on the shelf. Most of them focused on the lore of Opela, the seven deities, or the meager conflicts prior to the wards falling. She was grateful to find that one book caught her attention for the majority of the day.

A love story between a mortal and witch tugged at pieces of her heart she didn’t know existed. She loved reading back in Brevil, but being encompassed in romances often left her feeling drained rather than distracted. Now she couldn’t seem to drag her fingers away from the pages.

It was often frowned upon for wielders and mortals to be together. It was rare to hear of such a thing in Brevil. Bedding a wielder could be punishable by death, spreading the magical bloodlines through Terrus’s land. Yet in this book, the couple was far from the confines of the mortal world. Saige devoured every word.

The door behind her opened with a click, interrupting her solitude. Turning, she watched Conor’s tall frame slide into the room, velvet jacket buttoned to his throat.