Page 51 of The Starlight Savior

She didn’t wait for her handmaids or guards to accompany her to her quarters. Instead, Saige walked out into the courtyard and took a deep breath. Snow dusted the ground as the chill of Etrane kissed her cheeks. The sun lowered, bringing dusk upon the storm kingdom. Flower buds, brought forth by sunlight, were closing in. Luminescent leaves and petals were beginning to glow as darkness descended. A small animal ran across the path, shaking snow from its paws. She paused at the door leading into the castle, hand hovering over the handle.

There was a sense of peace in the courtyard. Even though she had the urge to run to her quarters, collapse in the soft bed, and curl up in between the woven quilts, she didn’t want to leave. Breathing in the air, she mindlessly moved to one of the sturdy trees. Little purple flowers blossomed from the branches, blanketing the ground. Lowering her body, she pressed her back against the trunk. She rested her gaze, letting the sound of the chirping bugs and brush of wind against soft leaves ease her heart.

Chapter 23

Saige’s eyes shot open as her stomach growled awake. Sitting up in bed, she rubbed sleep from her eyes. When she looked at her bedside table, it was empty. No meal awaited her. It should’ve been delivered already since dawn was ascending over the horizon.

Cool stone met her feet as she swung her legs over the bed. Trudging over to the wardrobe, she reached for her training uniform. Sweat and tears were still crusted in the unwashed fabric. Letting them fall to the floor, she furrowed her brows deeply. Esme was usually quite prompt. Her handmaids would deliver food and fresh clothes before the sun could rise. Looking around, she noticed her space was undisturbed, an eerie silence ringing in her ears.

A flash of irritation sparked through her. She was becoming too accustomed to the pleasantries and convenience of servants. Saige once was self-sufficient in feeding, dressing, and caring for herself. She used to be the help too, even if the household was often unoccupied. When had this piece of herself faded?

She refused to fall into the royal role, expecting handmaids to take care of everything. If she needed fresh clothes or food, then she’d retrieve it herself.

She slid on the first dress that caught her eyes, waves of blue fabric bunching around her hips. There was no one to weave the intricate braids that kept her face free of loose hair. Instead, she tugged her locks into a tight knot at the base of her neck.

Emerging from her quarters, Saige swung her head left to right. Bleary eyed warlocks often guarded her door, but no one greeted her today. The halls were empty as she walked down the eastern wing and to the main floor.

A handful of wielders scurried past her, wearing the black and purple servant uniforms. Saige trailed closely behind them. The servant’s wing was on the main floor, but she didn’t know where she may find clean training clothes or food. She could ask for help, but that would defeat the purpose of trying to be self-sufficient. If she followed them instead, maybe they’d lead her right to her destination. No assistance needed.

The halls and rooms became less ornate with each step Saige took into the servant’s quarters. Dull rugs laid across the floor. Chipped vases and statues sat upon stained tables. Faded paintings lined the hallways. It was as if the discarded relics of Etrane were placed here. Too precious to throw away, but too damaged to be seen.

Her head swung into each doorway, peaking into the spaces beyond. The rooms were unoccupied, but she found their purpose easily. A pantry held bags of flour, potatoes, and bread. Jars of fruit and vegetables sat upon shelves, ready to be cracked open. She longed to dig her fingers into wet sticky dough. In Moore Manor, she had found it cathartic. Maybe she’d ask Esme to help her bake one day.

The washroom had a dozen tubs of steaming water. Clothes hung from lines of thread across the room. Another space was clearly where some servants slept, two beds on each side, a dresser and wash bucket between them.

Yet every room was empty. No wielders or washed clothes were ready for the day. It was as if they simply disappeared. Even the servants she followed never made it to their destination.

Her stomach growled again, but this time nausea formed deep in her belly.

Towards the end of the hallway, a large door sat slightly open, light streaming through the slit. Fresh baked rolls and sizzling meat tickled her nose. Her knuckle rasped on the wood quietly. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed here. But her guards and handmaids were elsewhere. She was just trying to take care of herself, be ready for the day.

“Hello?” she called, slowly pushing it open. “Just here to retrieve my—”

Stumbling, Saige halted.

Before her knelt dozens of handmaids, cooks, and servants, arms bound by translucent cuffs. Wielders in black skin-tight uniforms stood behind them, palms outstretched. Spheres of water danced in their hands, eyes narrowed at the sudden intrusion. Saige peered closer at the magic binding them to the room. The cuffs weren’t exactly translucent, but forged with water.

Wielders from Tiranos, Saige realized.

It was difficult to imagine how they got here. She was always reassured Athalos was well protected. Even with the recent village attack, the castle was seemingly impossible to siege. The jutting mountain ranges surrounding them prevented unexpected infiltration, leaving one way in, through the main gate, heavily guarded by storm-wielders.

Yet at least two dozen water-wielders stood before her.

Saige tried to take a step back, turning towards the exit. But a handmaid’s face caught her attention. Esme knelt in the front, tears streaking her tawny face. Fresh bruises blossomed under her eyes and around her wrists. As if she had fought and struggled against the water-wielders who snuck their way into the capital.

Esme’s mouth opened, lips moving to form a silent word

Run.

The muscles in Saige’s body urged her to obey Esme’s plea. But her eyes refused to divert from the servant’s faces before her. Some were cold and distant, as if they weren’t aware of the danger around them. Others trembled with fear, their eyes pleading with Saige to do something. The kitchen was beginning to shift from the scent of fresh food to excrement.

“I-It’s her!” cried a shaking warlock, dark purple uniform creased. “She is who you want, not us!”

“Is she?”

Saige looked over her shoulder to find more water-wielders striding in. Up close, their uniforms reminded her of scaled fish. With the right angle, the fabric illuminated dark blue rather than black. A towering man with golden locks peered coldly into her eyes. Aquamarine earrings hung from his ears, matching the hilt of his sword jutting from his hip.

Saige stepped back once again, but a witch with slick black hair and catlike eyes grasped her wrists. “What do you want with me?” She jolted her body forward, attempting to fall from the water-wielder’s grip, but they just held on tighter.