Page 92 of The Starlight Savior

Once her head stopped spinning and she was able to rise, Conor outstretched his hand. “Come on”—he beckoned—“we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Where are we?” Saige looked around the dank room and the wooden floorboards above them. It was a cellar.

“I told you,” he said, squeezing her palm. “Home.”

Home it turns out was a manor in the countryside. Conor and Sebastien had been raised and trained here, with a portal linked mirror dwelling in their cellar. They passed molded bags of grain, jarred food, and pungent ale as he led her up the dirt stairs. His home was larger than Moore Manor, two stories with a dozen rooms. Dust covered every surface, leaving their footsteps as evidence on the wooden floor. Black bugs skittered across their feet, burrowing into shadows. As he walked her through the manor, he paused in the massive quarters he and his brother once shared.

“All these rooms and you had to stay with your younger brother?” she pointed out.

“Says the only child.”

“Just making observations.”

“Kept us accountable, I suppose. Sharp and ready for anything that could happen. If I tried to sneak out, Sebastien would go right to Sybil or my mother. If Sebastien claimed he was practicing when he wasn’t, I’d go right to my father.”

“So you spied on each other?”

“Precisely.”

“Doesn’t sound like a healthy sibling relationship.”

“Did I ever say it was?” Conor chuckled.

Warmth blossomed in her chest at the sound of his life, the single dimple appearing in his cheek. As much as she wanted to be angry, being by his side often extinguished the flames flickering in her body.

Continuing the tour of the great Zathos manor, Saige noticed that each room was more abandoned than the last. Most furniture was covered by white sheets, leaving the space dank and vacant. The last place Conor led them into resembled a greenhouse. The walls were made of glass. Pots and wooden boxes of dirt were scattered throughout. Beyond the transparent barriers, there was no sun or sky. No stars glittered through. The world was heavy and gray, glimmers of stone pathways and gnarled trees peaking through.

Saige took a step back. Her body hit Conor’s chest, his arms steadying her. “Y-You told me your home was taken by the mist,” she murmured with heavy realization.

“It was.”

Whirling around, she stared up into Conor’s sad, silver eyes. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

“My father upkeeps these wards every full moon,” Conor said, “for now. Each year the mist gets stronger, the more intricate the wards need to be. But as long as we’re inside, the mist can’t touch us tonight.”

Looking over her shoulder, she assessed the room around her.

The mist was thick, impenetrable and suffocating. It felt wrong being able to stare at it, unaffected by its proximity. She could almost feel its frustration in her chest. As if it were a living, breathing thing, created to kill and morph everything it touched.

“Soon you’ll be expected to demonstrate an amount of power that could help reverse all this. I needed to take you somewhere. Not just where no spies could be lingering, but where you could truly practice.”

“You are taking me out there?” Saige pointed outside. She walked away from him, beginning to pace along the rows of dead plants. “You have absolutely lost your mind.”

“Of course not,” Conor said, “although there are some questionable breathing masks to temporarily use for evacuations.” He followed her through the greenhouse. “Many, many wielders attempted to bring these plants back. But if your magic can target these, it will give us a better idea on how we proceed. Then King Vospella can come to terms with how much potential and power you truly have.”

She stopped beside him, trailing her fingers over the dying plants. “Where do we start?” She ignored the fear pooling in her belly. She was grateful there was no audience before her, only Conor to witness her possible failure.

“They’ve all been killed by the mist.” Conor pointed towards a corner of the greenhouse where ripening black fruits grew from stems. “Some were transformed into something poisonous to kill what could not die. I’d rather not test those out.”

Taking a step forward, she watched a wilted stem rise from dry dirt, the plant’s leaves and flowers withering with destruction. They looked similar to the ones she had just healed in the training hall. “The mist almost seems alive.”

“Wouldn’t you say most magic is?”

Saige cocked her head. “But this feels different. Like that out there”—she pointed past the greenhouse walls—“wants something from us. Needs something.”

“They say it was made to kill everything in sight. To punish what Tiranos had broken.”

“How though? How could something like that be created by a simple mistake?”