Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms, #1)(101)

“Leave,” the king snarled, nicking the medic’s throat with his sword. Blood immediately gushed from the wound. “Attend your own injuries.”

Holding his hand to his neck, the medic scrambled away from the king’s sword and fled from the tent.

Lucia sank to her knees next to where her brother now lay. The floor of the tent was soaked with his blood. His breath came slower, but his gaze didn’t leave hers. Even through the pain, he looked at her with anger. And wariness.

“I’ve heard what you’ve done to the boys from your swordsmanship classes,” she said softly. “I don’t like who you’re trying to become. My brother is better than that.”

His eyes narrowed, his brows drawing together.

“You wish to go out into the thick of the battle so you can draw another’s blood. Is it so you can sink steel into flesh believing it will make you feel like more of a man? How many did you kill today?” She didn’t expect an answer. Even if he was currently capable of speech, they hadn’t spoken since the night he’d arrived home from Paelsia.

“If you were anyone but my brother, I would let you die. But no matter how many men you kill, no matter how much of an ass you insist on being, no matter how much you despise me—I still love you. You hear me?”

Pain slid through his gaze, and Magnus turned his attention to the wall of the tent as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her face anymore.

Her heart ached, but it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered except her magic.

Luckily, she was feeling extremely angry at the moment. It would help.

She didn’t know how her magic worked, only that it did. She’d been practicing, alone and with the tutor her father had provided—the old woman who claimed to also be a witch, despite not being able to demonstrate any real magic of her own.

Air, water, fire, earth.

She shot her father a look as she pressed her hands against Magnus’s arm. Bone was easily visible beneath the blood and muscle. Her stomach lurched.

“I asked to help with other injuries, Father. I could have practiced before this. I might fail.” The king had denied her the chance to help others who were hurt, leaving the medics to the insurmountable task of dealing with the injured.

“You won’t fail,” her father said firmly, sheathing his sword. “Do it, Lucia. Heal him.”

She already knew she could heal a few scratches from practicing on herself. But a deeper wound from a knife or a sword like this...she wasn’t sure.

The only thing she knew for certain was that she couldn’t lose him.

Lucia concentrated all her energy on healing his wound. As the warmth of her earth magic left her hands and entered his arm with a pale glow of white light, he arched his back up off the ground as if in agony.

It almost made her stop, but she didn’t dare. She wasn’t sure if she could channel this level of magic again. Using any of her magic to its extreme—such as what she’d done with Sabina—weakened her. Her tutor believed it was because such magic was still new, and it needed time and practice to grow stronger.

Instead of pulling back for fear of hurting him more, she forced more magic through her hands and into his wound. He writhed in pain beneath her touch as her hands glowed bright white. The wound began to knit together—flesh joining, smoothing, becoming whole again.

She didn’t stop. She shifted her hands to his mangled stomach and poured her magic into the wound.

This time a harsh cry of pain escaped his throat.

She steeled herself against the sound until he was healed. After his arm, she moved her hands over his bloody face, healing the bruises and cuts there until finally he batted her hands away.

“Enough,” he snarled.

That didn’t sound like eternal gratitude for saving his life. “Did it hurt?”

He let out a snort, which could have been a pained laugh. “It burned into my bones like lava.”

“Good. Perhaps through pain you can learn a lesson not to be so reckless.”

Her sharp tone earned the full weight of his gaze. “I’ll try my best, sister. Though I’ll offer you no guarantees.”

Her eyes stung. It took her a moment to realize she was crying, which only made her angrier. “I will stab you myself if you are ever so foolish as to nearly get yourself killed again.”

His fierce expression finally eased. Her tears—infrequent as they were—tended to affect him, even when they were quarreling. “Don’t cry, Lucia. Not over me.”

“I’m not crying over you. I’m crying over this stupid war. I want it over.”

The king inspected Magnus’s bare arm and stomach, using a cloth to wipe the blood away. The wounds were completely gone. Pride unlike anything she’d ever seen before shone in his eyes. “Incredible. Just incredible. Your brother owes you his life.”

She gave Magnus a look. “My payment need only be his gratitude.”

Magnus swallowed hard, and something vulnerable slid behind his brown eyes before he looked away. “Thank you for saving my life, sister.”

The king helped Lucia to her feet. “You say you want this war over.”

“More than anything.”

“We’re at a standstill. We’ve breached the palace walls, but we can’t get any farther. King Corvin and everyone who stands in the way of this war ending quickly and easily are barricaded inside the castle and they refuse to surrender.”