The Hunter and the Mage (The Raven and the Dove #2) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,18

a deep green glittered like emeralds reflecting the sun. Within the water, swirls of blue churned. And within the empty bowl, a bit of yellow painted the air, as in the rest of the room, covering everything in a sunlight hue.

With a furrowed brow, Lyana tried to see deeper, into the spirit within, but she couldn't. All she saw was fire and water and dirt and nothing.

"Use your magic," Malek commanded.

Lyana pushed out with her power, letting the smallest streak of golden light emanate from her palm. Deep inside, the magic surged, as though aching to be used. It wanted to rush out. It wanted to consume her. With all her concentration on controlling the onslaught, she hardly paid attention to the bit of power she allowed through.

"Don't be afraid. It won’t hurt you."

She wasn't worried about herself. She was worried about everyone else—about the walls shaking, and the ground trembling, and the ravens squawking, and the sense of impending doom.

"Don't hold back. Let it go."

The simmering light of her power stretched across the table to encase the burning flames, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t hold them, couldn't move them, couldn’t see any bit of her own magic within the crackling red.

"Don’t think of the fire. Think of the spirit within the fire."

Her head spun. Her vision shifted, the colors growing brighter until the real world fell away. She tried to find the flames, the red, the spirit, but her power unleashed, swallowing the table in a glow as bright as the sun. The magic blinded her to everything else, so charged, so mighty, so overwhelming. More and more escaped her hold, brilliant and beautiful and beastly. There was no control. There was no thought. She was swimming in starlight, a sea of glittering gold. No up. No down. No beginning and no end. Just raw energy.

"Lyana!"

The sound of her name drew her back.

"Lyana."

His voice was forceful and demanding, yet gentle and sure.

"Listen to me. Return to me."

Warm palms cupped her cheeks. She focused on the feel of his skin on hers, on the subtle dig of his fingers in her hair and the soothing brush of his thumbs. Gradually, the world came back. She smothered the power as her vision cleared. Blue eyes stared down at her, made softer by the sunspots on his nose, still left from his days in the world above. He was kneeling over her, which meant she was on the floor.

"What happened?"

"You lost control."

She wrinkled her nose and sat up, brushing his hands from her face. "How in the world am I supposed to control that?"

"By listening to me."

Her nostrils flared. She was ready to wring his neck. "I am listening. All I've done for days is sit in this room and listen to you and stare incessantly at these bowls waiting for something to happen. I'm losing my mind!"

"You're tired."

"I'm restless!" She ignored the hand he offered and rolled to her feet. If he would stop for just a moment to really look at her, she wondered if he'd realize she was drowning in his expectations and his demands. His vision was too far into the future to see what was happening right before him. Or maybe worse still, he saw and just didn't care. "Please, is there nothing else we can do? Is there no other lesson you can teach me?"

For once, the know-it-all king didn’t seem to have an answer. A groove dug into his brow as he pursed his lips, no quick retort on his tongue.

"Please," she said again.

He sighed. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order."

Her heart lifted despite her annoyance. Finally, something to see, something to do. When they reached the deck, he led her to the very front of the ship. The wind struck her cheeks and flowed through her feathers, the sensation so similar to flying it brought a smile to her lips.

"Viktor," he called. "Nyomi."

Two crew members came immediately and stopped silently by his side to await orders. Lyana recognized the man, tall and thin with somewhat scruffy chestnut hair—he was the wind mage who'd come with Malek to the world above. No recognition lit his hazel eyes, no spark of anything. The woman was unfamiliar, short and curvy, her brunette locks secured in a tight knot atop her head. The only thing the two mages had in common was their stances. Both held their hands clasped behind their backs with their feet braced, gazes sharp and lips drawn in a line. Everyone