The Hunter and the Mage (The Raven and the Dove #2) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,62

was done, skin still buzzing, her power charged and aching to be used. So they went to another room, and another, and another, until Lyana lost count of the innocent souls she looked upon, the bodies she healed, the lives she saved. The sky darkened and her energy waned, but she didn't want to stop when she had so much to give and they were in so much need. How could she claim to be tired when they were dying around her? How could she rest her mind and close her eyes when theirs might never reopen?

Finally, Malek grabbed her by the elbow. "Lyana, it’s time to stop."

"I'm fine."

"Lyana."

The command in his tone pulled her back to the world. She cleared the magic from her vision, turning to face him and nearly falling over as her knees gave out. Malek caught her in his arms. The child she'd just healed was asleep in his bed. The mages waited on the other side of the door. They were, for the moment, alone. Maybe that was why she let him keep his arms around her as he peered down at her, so much sorrow and understanding in his eyes.

"You can't save them all."

"I can try."

"And what would it accomplish?" He brushed a wayward braid from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. "The infirmary will be full again in a month's time. You can exhaust yourself here, working tirelessly night and day to save a handful of these people. Or you can save more, maybe not from every illness or injury, but from the plague that matters most. You did as much as you could today. You must save some of yourself for tomorrow."

"Will we be coming back here?"

"Eventually."

She straightened and pushed away from him. "I want to come back tomorrow."

"No." The word came too quickly to his lips. "There are more important things to do, more things I need to teach you."

"What? Bowls and invisible doors and legends? These people are dying now. And I can save them. What is more important than that, Malek? Tell me."

"What if you did?" he countered, just as used to getting his way as she was. "What if you came back every day, exhausting yourself and learning nothing of the true extent of your power? What would happen when the spell holding the gateway shut finally unravels? I'm not powerful enough to close it on my own. I've tried. If you don’t know how to use your magic by then, the isles will fall, the door will open, and there will be nothing to stop the dragons from invading our world, from taking it over. How many would die then? How many of these people you spent your days healing would survive? How many, Lyana?" He echoed her words, her tone, the final two landing like punches to the gut. "Tell me."

She didn't have an answer.

She didn’t know.

All she knew was a small child in the next room felt a pain so violent it cut into her like a knife, and she wanted to heal him. In this moment, nothing else mattered. Not a prophecy. Not a gate. Not philosophical questions that might never matter.

"Our magic is a curse as much as a gift," Malek said, stepping closer and taking her hand, drawing her back to the room and his words. "It’s no easy thing to hold a life in your hands, let alone thousands. In matters such as this, who are we to say who lives and who dies? Sometimes it's better to let nature decide."

He rubbed his thumb over her knuckle, a brief flash of magic simmering at the spot before disappearing into her skin, soothing her aches. She'd never felt the warm trickle of healing magic before, like honey in her veins, delivering sweet relief.

"My father told me a story once," he continued, voice softer than she'd ever imagined it could be, no unspoken orders or rough edges. "Of a king who'd been overthrown. The rulers of this world are always selected by magic, the crown given to any living aethi'kine, and if none exist, then to the strongest mage by way of competition. But powerful doesn't mean invincible, and even magic such as ours doesn't guarantee safety. Some have been replaced throughout our history, bested by other mages or betrayed by their heirs, but only one was taken down by revolt. By all accounts, he was a kind soul. He spent his days much the way you'd like to, healing whom