Chapter 39 #2
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 rising power, 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.
I keep trying. Keep breathing. Finally, something starts to gather—slowly at first, then jerking toward me all at once, like a fist slamming in just underneath my ribcage. I barely resist the urge to buckle over.
“Wait,” I breathe, holding up a hand as calmly as I can.
He recoils, reining in the power he summoned with obvious effort.
After we've both collected ourselves, I lift my head and somehow keep my voice from shaking as I ask, “How do you feel?”
His answer sounds like a confession: “…Lighter.”
I readily believe him, because the opposite is true for me; it's as though I've taken in a tiny piece of the darkness, but I can't guide it out through my hands the way I normally do with elemental spells.
I can't forge it into anything. So now it's just sitting in me, clinging to my insides, heavy and cold and wrong.
I don't tell Reave all of this. I don't want to worry him. It doesn't matter, though; he reads me far too easily.
“That hurt you, didn't it?” he asks.
“It didn't.”
He fixes me with a stern look.
“Hurt is not really the right word. It's uncomfortable. But that doesn't necessarily mean bad. Discomfort can lead to good things, too. Growth is rarely comfortable.”
“I don't even like the idea of you being uncomfortable.”
“I used to sleep on a mattress that had been desecrated by rodents, surrounded by the burned-out remains of my childhood home and the graves of almost everyone I loved. I'm used to a bit of hardship. I'll survive.”
His expression shifts through several different shades of horror at this reminder of our very different backgrounds.
I sigh, placing a hand on his arm, determined to bring him back to the present. “Just trust me. Please? Let me try again.”
“If all it does is transfer the curse to you, that isn't any better. I don't want to lose you, either.”
“The curse isn't going to affect me the same way it does you and Arlo.”
“You don't have any fucking idea how it's going to affect you.”
“I know I have a divine dragon bond giving me strength that neither of you have. I'll figure everything else out, if you would just let me.”
“Infuriating, stubborn woman,” he growls—and I notice a flicker of darkness pass through his eyes with the words. His emotions getting the better of him.
I shouldn't take advantage of this. I know I shouldn't. But I'm tired and afraid and desperate to make some sort of progress, so I keep pushing him.
“You can't carry everything on your own,” I snap.
“I'm not trying to.”
“You have to let me do this.”
“I don't, actually.”
“I'm not asking for permission.” The glare I fix on him is the final provocation—it cuts through his careful armor, dismantling it, and though what happens next lasts for only a heartbeat or two, I’m certain I see it: the shadowy-blue rot branching just beneath the surface of his skin.
This is my chance.
I reach out my hand reflexively, like I could hook my fingers around that darkness and simply yank it out, as if uprooting a cluster of weeds.
My fingers don't actually grasp anything except bitingly cold, empty air.
I beckon with more authority than I actually feel, and to my surprise, something responds, flooding into me all at once.
The weight of it doesn't concentrate in one spot this time; it creeps like a crack spreading through glass, destabilizing me, making my entire body tremble.
Reave's eyes widen slightly at the sight. “Stop,” he orders. “Now.”
But I can't stop.
I'm close, I'm so close—
He grabs my outstretched hand and shoves it toward the ground, trying to break my focus.
I grit my teeth. “Wait, I can do this, I swear I —”
“NO!”
His hands grab my face so roughly—and his tone is so sharp, so furious—that I think it shocks us both.
I stop.
We stare at each other, both heaving for breath.
He takes a step back before speaking again, in a quieter but still seething tone. “We're done with this, Arowyn.”
I can't find my voice, so I simply stand there in silence, my body still trembling from the weight of his curse as he turns and walks away.