Page 83 of The Starlight Savior

Saige was quiet for a moment. It seemed magic truly did have a mind of its own. It chose their owners at random…or maybe it chose the magic that would suit its wielder best.

“I was able to lift the bones too,” Saige finally said.

“You did,” he acknowledged.

Saige sighed, tightening her grip around Conor’s arm as they turned around. The end of the gardens loomed before them. Lingering on the forest’s edge, she hesitated. The music pulsed in the air. But she didn’t want to go back yet.

“Would you like to stay here?” Conor pointed to the stone bench in front of Tonirus’s temple.

“Did you just read my emotions?”

“Not technically. You tend to wear them right on your face though.”

She laughed softly. “Maybe for a bit.”

Tonirus’s stone temple greeted them. A dome shaped structure, a statue of the storm God stood with offerings all around him. Flames sputtered with the wind, bringing forth the scent of jasmine. Saige slid her arm out of Conor’s, sitting on the frost coated bench.

“Doesn’t it feel strange?” Saige murmured.

“Hm?”

“This.” Saige waved her hand towards the party, glittering lights shining through the great hall’s window. “We have good news, sure. But no matter what, the mist is getting closer. Destroying everything in its path.”

Conor sighed. “It does. But what else is there to do? We can’t always wallow in gloom like Denholm.”

“I guess. I suppose I’m not too good at having fun.”

His laugh was low as he leaned back, hand lingering against her skirts. “I want to hear more about you.”

“Me? Didn’t Sebastien say you learned all about me from my father’s letters?”

Conor ran a hand through his hair. “I can explain that.”

“You don’t—”

“You’ve asked for my honesty and trust. I’ll give it to you when I can.” Conor gave a sheepish smile. “When Sebastien and I would come to the capital each summer, we’d often stay with Eva. My father would be busy with his armies, my mother alongside them.

I had…trouble sleeping at night. Our family’s handmaid, Sybil, was like a second mother to us. Knew exactly the tonic I needed to sleep, but the capital never was able to recreate it. Eva would tell us bedtime stories about a famed warlock lost in another kingdom instead. Once we got older, Sebastien and I realized they were about Oscar. The best warlock who led armies through Etrane until he met the love of his life and locked himself behind mortal borders.”

Saige smiled softly. She never tired of hearing about her father, especially knowing the way he devoted himself to her mother.

“Then she began to share about Oscar’s daughter. Sometimes she read directly from the letters, sharing little pieces of the young girl in Brevil.”

“W-What did he say?” Saige’s voice cracked. She hadn’t gotten a chance to see her father’s letters again. With all her training, she only saw her aunt during supper. She could tell Eva wasn’t inclined to just offer the information up. It was her only connection to her brother.

Conor placed a hand on Saige’s knee, giving it a squeeze. Normally she’d push such intimacy away, but instead placed her own hand on top. The warmth instantly soothed whatever emotions surfaced in her throat.

“Eva spoke of a young, curious girl who followed her mother and father along wherever they went. The girl would sit on her father’s lap as he forged swords and daggers or beside her mother as she sewed. She loved to walk around the village and help any of her neighbors, and her favorite season was summer because she loved to swim in the creek once the sun warmed it enough.”

Saige’s vision blurred as she looked up. A tear spilled over her eyes, dripping onto her lap. To her these were mundane memories, the urge to learn forged into everything she did.

That wasn’t quite her anymore.

When her parents died, the curious, courageous girl died with them, leaving someone hollow and scared. In a world where experience was knowledge, she knew little. And it weighed on her.

“What am I feeling now?” Saige whispered, wondering what her grief would sound like on Conor’s lips.

He closed his eyes, hand tightening on her leg. She did the same, thinking of the memories Conor spoke of. The ones her father had written in ink, memorializing them.