Page 118 of The Starlight Savior

With surprise, Saige’s hand grew hot. The white flames of Ignesa danced in her palm, forming a hot ball of energy. She tried not to flinch. Her hand would have a nasty burn by the end of this. But her heart soared with the feeling of being in control, being in tune instead of forcing magic to bend to her will.

Before she could hesitate, she took a shaky hand, held her breath, and lifted the basin of mist. It slowly flowed out, drifting in the air and down the silver stand. Some of the court gasped. One man fell back into his chair, face struck by fear. Saige urged the ball of fire to remain in her palm as she drifted it over the mist and gave it permission to spread.

White light blinded the room. An explosion of starlight and flames burst in front of her, heat warming her cheeks.

“Conor!” the king barked.

Saige spun to where he once stood, but a wall of flames was beginning to grow where the basin of mist once was. There was nothing for it to even burn, yet it burst across the stone floor and silver basins, moving quickly towards the king’s court.

Through the flames, she spotted Conor’s figure. His hands were outstretched, wind whipping through his hair. Suddenly, the breath in her lungs left her body. Her hands flew to her chest, fingers wrapping around her throat. Eyes widening, she looked across the king’s court, beyond the flames and mist. Mouths agape, their eyes bulged as they fought to draw in breath.

Pressure pushed against Saige’s body. The flames lowered, but so did the mist, as if Ignesa’s fire was eating away at the treacherous thing. Her vision blurred, black stars bursting.

Her next breath came quickly as the fire went out, the silver basin melted, and her vision returned.

Conor stood in the middle of the room before the court. Across from Saige, his eyes met hers, panicked and pained. Had he taken the air from the room? Shock overtook her body. When he was angry or stressed, Saige felt the air rise and fall around them. But now…he’d simply taken all the air from the room, smothering the flames until there was nothing left.

“Retreat,” the king barked. Conor’s back went rigid. He returned to the spot in the corner, as if it was where he belonged.

“Are you mad, witchling!” said a woman. “What if the mist reached us!” Her finger pointed right at Saige, spit flying from her lip.

“It didn’t.” Saige shuffled on her feet, hand absently drifting to her throat.

“Did I say you can speak?” the king barked. “And if you have questions or concerns, Carlena, you can address them to me.”

Carlena shrunk in her seat, eyes narrowed. A man next to her spoke up, the very warlock who questioned her ability. “If Ignesa’s flame can drive back the mist, why don’t we use it across Opela?”

“Nasala remains neutral in this mess. There would be no way to obtain enough flame to use across half of Opela,” Queen Vospella said.

“It would be unwise to burn down half of the land,” the king said. “Ignesa’s flame has a mind of its own.”

“Then what was the point of this spectacle?” Carlena grumbled.

“To prove that she can be a weapon,” the general said, his voice gruff.

A weapon. Saige’s heart clenched at the confirmation of his intentions. She wanted to deny such a thing. To shake her head and remind them that she wanted to be an asset, a part of her father’s kingdom, to finish the work he devoted himself to.

“What of the last basin?” said Lady Zathos. Her eyes flew from the basin to Saige. She hadn’t realized what the Zathos’s may think of their beloved handmaid’s head sitting before them. Did they mourn Sybil the way Conor had?

“Spirit,” the king said, clucking his tongue. “Your final test.”

Saige knew very little of her capabilities with spirit. In her readings, she learned there were many ways to be connected to the soul. Conor could sense emotions. Tobin could sense magic. The king and her father could engage in compulsions. She had even read of some of the strongest spirit-wielders, descendants from Caelum, raising beings from the dead.

But what about her? What was she supposed to do?

Saige stepped forward, choking back tears. In death, Sybil looked more mortal than she had in the cellar. Her mouth was agape, revealing the sharp teeth growing from bloody, swollen gums. Strands of hair hung from her scalp. The messy cut of her neck left Saige’s stomach roiling. But she wouldn’t falter in front of the king or his court. They wanted her to be strong? So be it.

Placing her hands on Sybil’s head, she did the only thing she could think of. She let her starlight burn as bright as possible, lighting up the pale, thin skin the mist transformed her into. Closing her eyes, she murmured the prayer her father had taught her all those years ago. She wondered if it came from this very kingdom.

She felt it before she saw it. The feeling of skin turned to ash, scraps of dust fluttering from her palms. Glimmers of starlight traveled from where her hands had held Sybil’s head. Instead of the disgust and regret Saige felt, a sense of peace washed over her.

Finally, a voice seemed to say, I may return home.

The room was quiet. No one chattered or murmured this time. The king’s mask cracked, his brows dipping. He didn’t understand what she had done, and neither did she.

“Leave us.” The king raised a hand, pointing to the door.

“But—” Saige said, but Conor already stood before her. With a hand on her arm, he beckoned her out the door. Despite the urge to smack his hand away, she had no choice but to obey.