The Age of Undeath

11. It's who you know - Stariel

On the one hand, being led to a real underground cell made Stariel feel like a true hero and martyr. On the other, she was fucking terrified. Magicless. Weaponless. Separated from allies. Ridiculed instead of revered. Now at the complete mercy of her enemies. This was everything they did not want to happen. How would Therin get her out? What if everyone who fled the courtyard decided she was an imposter, and Therin didn't know where to look for her, because no one felt it worth mentioning.

The armed Guards accompanying Stariel pushed her into an iron cage and locked the door. It should have been a compliment that they thought iron manacles weren't enough, but she was too busy screaming inside to care. Fighting to keep her face serene, Stariel perched on the provided stool and crossed her legs. Tight. Because she genuinely needed to relieve herself and the oceans would turn to jelly before she degraded herself to using the nearby bucket

The Guards left, taking the torchlight with them, but it didn't matter. As they were well aware, an elf could see in the dark, if only in murky shades of slate grey. Despite everything, there was still one thing they could not take away. She tugged free the necklace hidden under her chainmail and clutched the golden acorn pendant. Coiled inside was a strand of unicorn hair. Her brother, Castien, had given her the pendant and hair one hundred and seven years ago when it was apparent that Stariel found solace in worshipping Melora. Plenty had feared that she would try to devote her life to worship, but Castien had not smothered her.

He had smiled as she told him about the shrines she had made, the beauty she believed she was helping to create, and the crops she was inspiring to flourish, just through prayer. For all her childhood, it was the only thing she felt she had power over. It made her feel like she could reach into the land and make a widespread difference. If the gods were dead, then she just had to pray harder to be heard. She had to give it everything, reach deep into the 'wellspring' everyone always mentioned if they were lucky enough to have magic.

As it turned out, she had been right. Partially, anyway. Melora, at least, was not dead, and Stariel's devotion had made her stronger until the skystream itself must have brought them together.

The acorn grew unnaturally warm in her hand. When Melora's feline form appeared in the iron cell, glowing softly green, her light blotting out the rest of the dungeon, Stariel felt the same reverence she had twenty years ago when Melora had first appeared above one of Stariel's woodland alters.

"Swear your undying devotion to me, Princess," she had cried, "and it will reawaken everything. We will grow stronger together. We will destroy the Empire."

"Well, this is a nice bunkhouse," Melora said, eyeballing the iron bars.

"What do I do?" Stariel gasped. "Can you get me out?"

"Darlin', in all our years, you know I can't do fa'shara. All my magic manifests in you now, and you've gone and clapped it in irons."

Devoted or not, Stariel hated her berating manner. She stomped her boot on the floor, furious with herself and that pacifist Trill, furious with the Captain for betraying her own people, so furious that she'd failed Castien and the court, and proved to all her brother's advisors that she was, in fact, an absolute idiot!

Pressure swelled under her skin as she focused on her magic, demanding it to erupt and set her free. It was like clawing for meat off an empty carcass, and she slumped, fighting the urge to vomit.

"Alright, enough of that." Melora's light brightened as she drew nearer, and Stariel buried her head deeper into her arms. "First, we're not gonna panic. There's enough drama happening in the streets above to keep all but the dead occupied. No one will be marching down here to claim your head."