I mirror his smile before turning back to the railing, bracing a hand against it; we've kissed several times now, and I swear I'm still unbalanced by it every time. “Nothing makes me happier,” I tell him.
“Nothing? Are you sure? Because you seemedexceptionallyhappy the other night, when my hand was between your legs.”
My entire body burns at the memory. He moves to stand behind me, one of his hands curving around my hip, fingers brushing suggestively over the same places he claimed the other night. Even with clothing separating me from his touch, the heat continues to build until I'm lightheaded.
“Fine,” I amend in a breathy little voice. “Some things might make me happier than simply kissing you.”
He presses his lips to the curve of my neck—right next to the fading mark he left with his teeth—gently tasting and sucking for a few pounding heartbeats before he says, “I think it's important that we discover what those things are.”
“Let's add it to the list of things we need to figure out, then.”
“That list is getting very long, isn't it?”
“I trust we'll start crossing things off very soon.”
“I'd rather not be just another item on your to-do list. That makes it considerably less romantic, doesn't it?”
“It's called being organized and efficient, Reave.”
His mouth drops back to my neck, muffling the laugh that spills out of him and sending pleasant vibrations coursing through me, all the way down to the tips of my toes.
Stepping away, he asks, “What happened earlier that you wanted to tell me about?”
I have to wait until the last of the pleasant shivers subside before I can remember how words work. Once my focus returns, I quickly summarize my magic practice for the day—the theories and discussions I shared with Briar and Kestrel and Sesca, and everything that did and didn't work.
“I couldn't draw anything out of your sister,” I tell him, a fresh wave of frustration washing over me. “Though I did get better at drawing in other elements as the afternoon went on.”
“It should be easier to find pieces of the curse in me,” he points out.
“Maybe.” I frown, even though I thought the same thing.
“What's wrong?”
“I'm not sure how well I can control drawing it out, is all. It might go…poorly.”
“I'd rather it go poorly against me than anyone else.”
My frown only deepens, but I know it's pointless to argue; he isn't going to budge on anything when it comes to protecting his siblings. I expected this. He's probably secretly furious that Kestrel and I even tried anything before coming to him—though I doubt the princess cares.
Reave is watching me closely, concern clouding his eyes. “We don't have to deal with any more of this tonight, if you're too tired.”
I immediately shake my head. “I told you I wanted to help with this, and we don't have time to waste. I at least want to try something before bed.”
After a brief hesitation, he agrees. We move away from the edge of the roof, stepping into a wider space bathed in moonlight, allowing me to see his face more clearly.
I don't have Sesca's eyes as I did earlier. She's not even particularly close by; she tends to venture out and explore the nearby mountains on clear nights like tonight. But I remind myself it doesn't matter; she can't see the particular kind of dark, twisted magic I’m looking for, anyway. Humans caused this curse, not dragons.
And I'm going to fix it, whatever it takes.
A fierce concentration overcomes me at this last thought. I stare at Reave's face more closely. I imagine his eyes taking on that terrible, hollow blackness, and his teeth shifting to something sharper, and I pretend I can see the darkness writhing underneath his skin even though I can't.
“Call one of your dragons,” I say, keeping my voice just above a whisper as I fight to stay focused, steady.
He watches me carefully, concern still simmering in his gaze.
I worry he isn't going to trust me enough to try this—but then I feel the air shifting. The telltale cold pressure of risingpower, like the drop in temperature that often comes before a storm. A distant dragon cry answers from somewhere far in the distance. As soon as I sense these things, I try to imagine myself grabbing hold of the darkness I can't yet see, breathing it into a place where I could maybe forge it into something purer, or else burn it up altogether.
Nothing happens at first.
