Gods, I hadn’t even thought of that. If it came down to it, if I had to choose—
No. I won’t allow myself to go there. “I promise, Seth.” The truth is, Taran means almost as much to me as Ronan. He’s Ronan’s dearest friend, and he’s become one of mine.
I’m just going to have to save them both. There’s no other way.
Taran moans as his deep cuts reopen. I heal them once more, and then I take care of the gash in Ronan’s side. Anything small or shallow is going to have to wait.
“Go, Seth. Take Kira.”
“Fuck,” he says, pushing up from the ground.
“Seth,” whispers Taran. His voice is rough and raw. “Seth, I—”
“Don’t. You’re not going to die.” Seth grabs Taran roughly by the collar of his tunic. “Do you hear me? You’re not going to die.”
He lowers him back to the ground and takes off in the direction of the meadow, kicking the body of an assassin as he lights up another in flames.
“Sylvie,” says Ronan, pulling himself to his knees. “You have to heal Taran only. This gash isn’t that bad. I can sew it shut. I’m just going to get the needle.”
Ronan collapses to the ground.
“Ronan!” I lay him down, feeling his injuries with my magic.
Oh, gods. There’s a wound near his groin I didn’t see. The bloodstain blended with his black pants.
I strip his pants off him. We’re outside in broad daylight, but this is no time for modesty. “Gods, Sylvie. You couldn’t wait until we had a little privacy?”
Ronan’s eyes flutter, winking once. Then they close.
“Fuck! Ronan, stay with me!”
“Ronan?” groans Taran, trying to get to him.
I still have my magic, which means he’s still conscious. I heal the wound I missed before where Ronan’s leg meets his groin and then the gash on his side before turning back to Taran, healing him all over again as well.
There’s no way I can keep this up. I don’t know if I’m going to make it until Seth gets back.
I stand up, looking at them both, trying to think of a way to stretch the magic, when out of the corner of my eye, I see the torch where I dropped it.
Its flame is still weak, but it’s growing. It reaches out for me, not with Ronan’s magic or his feelings but with its own desire.
Take me. Use me.
It’s Vayla’s torch. The goddess of light and life.
It’s magic, but is it the same kind? Could it work when our own magic cannot?
I have to try it. I pick it up from the ground, and I bring it to Ronan. “Can I try this? It may hurt.”
Ronan looks at it, and the torch glows brighter, sensing him. He nods. “This one first,” he says, pointing at the gash in his side.
I lower the torch to the cut. Ronan cries out, and I grip his hand, hating the sound of his pain more than anything I’ve ever heard. I pull the torch away, but Ronan brings it back. “It’s working. I can feel it.”
I wait a few more seconds, using my grasp of Ronan’s magic to sense when the wound closes. Then I pull back the torch.
“Holy fuck.” The wound is gone. Not partially healed as it has been each time I’ve done it. Fully healed with no scar, no sign it was there at all.
Then I do the same with the wound near his groin, carefully avoiding the sensitive areas.
