“Is that it?” I ask. “That’s all you can do?” I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I can’t help it.
It isn’t enough. I know it.
“It’s all I have to offer, child. You’re the one with the magic,” the healer says after a time, not looking up from Sebastian.
“It’s true. My mother is half-shadowfae and half-firefae. My father was human. I do have some power, but I used it all. My well is empty.” My shoulders slump.
The corner of her mouth moves. It’s not quite a smile. “Wells refill. That is their nature. You need to rest and replenish. Hopefully, it will be in time to save him.”
Is she saying it’s all up to me? Surely not.
“I’m not a healer. I don’t know anything about healing magic.”
“You don’t need to be a healer.” She sits back, studying me the way she studied Sebastian. Reading something that more than likely isn’t there. “Magic is magic. It’s life. It’s energy. He’s been emptied of his and more. If you have power, even a thread of it, you can push it into him. Think of it like pouring water into a dried-out skin. The skin doesn’t care where the water came from.”
She makes it sound so simple.
I stare at her. “That’s not how it works.”
“How would you know?” She lifts her brows. “Have you ever tried?”
I haven’t. The thought never crossed my mind.
I stare at her, trying to envision all she has said.
“Try then, child.” She stands, wiping her hands on a strip of cloth. “I’ve done what I can with what I have. It might help. It might not. But you’re sitting there doing nothing, and doing nothing won’t save him. I have work to do. I will be back.”
She leaves the space, ducking through the archway.
I look down at Sebastian. At his closed eyes, at the black smudges under his eyes. His cheeks are hollow. His chest rises and falls in the shallowest of movements, so faint I have to stare to make sure it’s real.
The shifterfae healer is right. I need to do something.
I reach for my magic and get nothing.
I reach deeper, down into the hollow space beneath my ribs where the fire and shadow usually live. It’s empty. I go even deeper, scratching at the bottom.
Come on, come on!
I try again. I push down hard, gritting my teeth, searching for any scrap of power left in me. Sweat starts to bead on my brow from trying. That healer made it clear: I am what stands between Sebastian and death. I have to save him.
Even with this knowledge, I get nothing.
I let out a cry of anguish and slump back. My eyes sting. My body aches. I’m so tired that the world has started to blur. I want to cry, but that would expend too much energy.
My well will fill. I need to give it time.
Only, it might be too late for Sebastian.
One of the shifterfae females appears in the archway. She carries a wooden bowl and a waterskin. She sets them on the ground near me without a word and turns to leave.
“Thank you,” I call after her.
She walks away.
I pick up the bowl. It’s a thick stew of some kind. My stomach growls so loudly it echoes off the walls. I can’t remember the last time I ate anything.
I eat. Not slowly or with any kind of grace. I’m famished and too exhausted for manners. The stew is good. The meat is tough but flavorful, and the broth is hot. I drink from the waterskin between mouthfuls. The water is clean and cold, and the best thing I’ve tasted in days.
