"What the hell is so funny?" I growl, tearing a piece of my undershirt in attempts to stop the bleeding.
"Frost Elves live and rule for hundreds of years hoping their names will be remembered. I suppose I will be memorialized as having the shortest reign of any Basilius."
"Just stay still, Thrane," my mother's soothing voice does little to still the panic in my heart. "We're going to help you."
"There is nothing you can do for me now, Sylvane," he coughs up blood. "I suppose Armas will have some choice words for me when we meet again in the After. I cannot wait to listen to himbitch for the rest of eternity. Tell Hael I'm sorry I didn't come home like I promised."
A sorrow overtakes his face when he mentions his younger brother and it's then I realize, despite his joke, he's accepted his fate. But I don't have to.
"Fuck that." A fresh set determination fuels me to press my hand against his wound.
"What are you doing?" His eyes widen, sucking in a breath when I make contact.
"I don't know," I admit. "But I'm not going to let you die."
The memory of Atlas' Nox form fills my head. I remember healing the poison streaks. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it was just my light magic reacting to Atlas' shadow magic. But I have to try something. I won't lose my cousin. I won't lose my friend.
Light erupts beneath my hand, and I channel every hopeful thought into my touch.
Thrane tenses and swallows a scream. He fists the snow, gritting his teeth through whatever pain I'm causing. Part of me wants to stop. What if I'm burning him like I burned Vesper? What if all I am doing is torturing a dying man? Just as I'm about to release him from my hold, my mother grabs my shoulder.
"Don't stop. Look!"
Thrane's wound is smaller, but he's still bleeding so I continue. My hands brighten until the night sky appears to be dawn.
Thrane groans beneath me but I press onward until his wound is completely closed. The effort drains me of my strength, and once I know he's all right, I topple over and lay in the snow to catch my breath. I'm lightheaded. I've never used so much of my magic in such a concentrated way before.
Nyx rushes over and slides over me. "Kitarni, talk to me. Are you ok?"
"I'm fine," I puff out, wiping sweat from my brow. "Is Thrane…?" I turn my head and see Thrane sitting upright. His hand skirts across the wound. There appears to be a scar forming, but all traces of blood are gone. His eyes flash up to meet mine, but there's no confusion marring his face like I'm sure is marring mine.
Nyx helps me sit up and drapes a blanket over my shoulders to keep me warm when I begin to shiver.
"You healed me." Thrane says matter-of-fact.
I nod. There's no other explanation. "I didn't realize my light magic could heal."
My mother kneels before me and takes my hand in hers. She shakes her head. "Your light magic didn't do this."
"But if my light didn't then what – "
"You're a Frost Healer," she says with a proud smile.
"That's not possible," I tug the blanket tighter around my shoulders. "I don't have Frost Magic."
"Have you been injured before and felt little pain, even healed quicker than you should?" she asks, undeterred by my denial.
I recall all the injuries I've experienced throughout my time with the Harland brothers. Injuries in the Bavan Necropolis and training sessions. I always attributed my speedy recover to Finn's ointments and balms. But what if my mother is right? What if I healed myself without realizing it?
"There's never been a Basilius born that doesn't have Frost Magic," Thrane says, as if sensing my thoughts.
"I have Frost Magic?" I whisper, not sure I really believe it.
My mother smiles. "I had hoped you had Basilius magic and you do. A child born of Light and Frost."
I glance at my hands and so many questions flood my head. Despite any doubt or fear I might have, two things are absolutely certain. One, I never want to see a Frost Spider again. And two, I'm more powerful than I thought.
Thirteen
