The Hunter and the Mage (The Raven and the Dove #2) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,70

return to the dream or push it away. She was supposed to forget him. When she’d left him that morning, she'd promised herself she would. For Xander. For the ravens. For her own good. But how could she, when her heart, her soul, and her mind all rebelled against her?

Air, she thought. I need air.

Pushing off the blankets, Lyana stood, then strode across the room to the balcony. It was small, with hardly enough room to stand. If she opened her wings here, they'd be cramped against the walls of the castle, without enough space to beat. Like so many aspects of this world beneath the mist, the balcony gave the impression of freedom without the weight of it.

Across the slumbering city, lights bobbed in the water. The never-ending fog swallowed the brilliant globes, leaving most of the buildings in darkness. Gentle strains of music caught her ear, though she couldn’t tell from whence they came, each note overwhelmed by the eerie groans of straining wood. It was funny to think how afraid everyone in her world was of what waited beneath the mist—Vesevios, dragons, an ocean of molten fire. Now she knew the truth. It was a world full of people struggling to survive. Somehow, to Lyana, that seemed scarier than the nightmare.

A golden sheen settled upon her palms as she brought her magic to the surface, practicing the way Malek had shown her, building a wall to separate herself from the onslaught of pain careening toward her. Cutting them out seemed counterintuitive, though, especially in light of her afternoon at the infirmary. Helping those people had left her feeling better than she had in days, and all she wanted to do now was jump from this balcony, soar over the castle wall, and dive into the pain reaching toward her.

Even without her wings, she supposed she could try to sneak outside, steal a boat, and somehow break through the gates separating her from the city. It wouldn't be easy, but that had never stopped her before. If Rafe were here, no doubt he would have been by her side as he had been those nights in Pylaeon, to protect her if nothing else. It would be dangerous and adventurous and reckless—all the things toward which she usually gravitated.

Yet it was Malek's voice in the back of her head that stopped her.

You can't save them all.

She wanted to—oh, how she wanted to—but in a strange, soul-crushing, horrible way, he'd been right. Logic had always been her greatest enemy, it seemed, and his was sound. In the world above, the risk she'd carried when using her magic had been entirely her own. If she died, people would mourn, at least she hoped they would, but life would go on. Down here, so many futures, so many dreams, so many innocent souls all depended on her. What if she did sneak out but got hurt or injured or worse? Was Malek right? Would the isles fall without her? Would this gateway open? Would the world as she knew it be over? Was one night, one risky, selfish night, worth all that?

"Are you leaving?" a voice asked, shocking Lyana from her thoughts. She spun to find a girl standing in the room behind her, short and petite, with straight black hair and eyes the milky white of an opal. "I only ask because I've seen a lot of things in my life, but I've never seen a person fly, and magic alive, I want to."

"What? No, I—" Lyana broke off with a shake of her head. "Who are you?"

The girl ignored her and stepped closer. "If you're not flying, what are you doing?"

"Thinking," Lyana answered, turning back to the view. "What are you doing? Here in my room, I mean? Are you a servant?"

"Sure. Why not?" The girl shrugged and leaned her shoulder casually against the bedroom wall, stopping just inside the entrance to the balcony. Her face was half-shielded by the curtains. "Can I get you anything?"

"No."

"Good, because I doubt I'd be much good at serving."

"Why are you here then?"

"I wanted a closer look at our queen."

"Oh." Lyana's heart sank with the words. That was all she was to these people—a queen of prophecy, a figure of legend. They didn't see the woman underneath the title. It seemed like ages since she'd spoken to anyone who saw the real her—not what she could be, but who she was. "And?" she asked, putting on a brave face. "What do you think? Do