“Exactly. Something like that would have to be around here somewhere, wouldn’t it?”
It would, and that was exactly the sort of thing that might provide clues to the dagger’s origins. But when I scanned the room, the internal spark flickered and died. These shelves housed thousands of books, half of which were brown, and while Kyven’s find might have narrowed our search, we’d still need weeks to sort through them all.
I glanced up to find him contemplating me, his head tilted.
“What?” I said.
“I’m just wondering if there’s any particular reason you’re crouched there on the floor.”
A flush warmed my neck. If I stood, he would see the peonies, and that was the last thing I needed. If he thought he’d caught me mooning over some meaningless trinket he’d given me,this cocksure prince would grow even cockier. Or...cocksurer? Cock?—
Never mind. Probably best to move on from that word entirely.
“Nope,” I said. “No reason. I’m just...admiring this chair. It’s very nice, don’t you think?”
He snapped the tome shut. “I didn’t know you were such a connoisseur of furniture.”
“Oh, but I am.” Panic set in, heating my insides to a glow. “Furniture is so...functional. You can do all sorts of things with it. Sit on it. Or...not sit on it? So many options.”
Kyven slitted his eyes, a silent proclamation that I’d lost my mind.
Which wasn’t off the mark. Someone had clearly stolen my body and was now using my mouth to spout gibberish. Briefly, I considered hurling myself through the nearest window, if only to escape this disaster of a conversation.
“Well,” he said, after approximately a decade of silence. “Carry on, I suppose. Though I’m a bit disappointed to hear you don’t have more stimulating uses for the furniture. I can think of atleasta half dozen, myself.”
When he strolled away, a slow breath leaked out of me. I tucked the peonies behind my back and stood, only to find Amryssa and Lunk watching me with undisguised glee.
This time, Ididgive them the finger. And afterward, I wasn’t even sorry about it.
We didn’t find the diary the next day. Or the next.
The rain continued for a week, dampening the world, cloaking the manor in gray. Amryssa and Lunk played gameswhile Kyven and I combed the library. Vick continued his relentless search. The whole time, water trickled down the panes, and I swore the rain filtered through the gaps in my ribs, drip-drip-dripping into some hollow chamber nestled beneath my heart. Into the same secret place that housed the fluttering wings I’d first felt while looking at Kyven after the last nightmare.
In light of Althea’s disappearance, I knew I should have suspected him. Hated him. But that same sparkly feeling kept rearing its head, determined to outstay its welcome. It assailed me in the unlikeliest of moments—like at the dinner table, when Kyven buttered Amryssa’s bread and set it on her plate with a big-brother smile. Or in bed, when he propped a hand behind his head and tugged idly at his breech-laces, a suggestive smile playing over his lips. And the time Olivian barreled into the library, intent on upbraiding me for some infraction or another, only for Kyven to divert him into a discussion about the merits of alligator leather while simultaneously throwing me a wink.
Then, those wings would stir, and I would look away. Do my best to escape him.
But at night, I didn’t have that luxury. Each evening, Kyven would croon his flirtations and do everything in his considerable power to fluster me. Which worked. Ninety-eight percent of the time, it worked, though I did my utmost to hide the betrayal of my staccato breathing. Eventually, he would roll over and sleep, which always left me feeling like he’d laid out a banquet for my benefit, then smiled knowingly when I’d refused a single bite.
Out of desperation, I stopped using the dagger’s enchantment. Maybe if Kyven didn’t look so damncontentedat night, I could exorcise this increasingly urgent...awareness. But he slept nearly as soundly without the dagger’s influence. Meanwhile, I tossed and turned. And sometimes, in nighttime’s youngest hours, I just...breathed. Held him in my nose.
I couldn’t seem to help it.
Tonight, I lay on my back, watching the swamp-glow shimmer on the ceiling. The rain-streaked pane made it look like purple firelight, dancing to a tune no one could hear.
“Lioness,” Kyven murmured.
My heart nearly burst out through my mouth. I rolled toward him, breathless, but whatever I’d anticipated went unfulfilled, because he wasn’t even awake.
His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids. Was he...dreaming? Aboutme? The way he’d said my name was unfamiliar—hungry and windswept—and I ached to hear it again.
But he only sighed and rolled over, stealing himself from sight, though the view from behind wasn’t anything to complain about, what with all those ripples and lines laid out like a feast for my eyes.
Still, I barely slept that night. A hollow throb chased me into slumber—an uneasy sense of incompletion, as if I’d gone into town half-remembering I’d left a pot on the hob to burn. That something critical had gone undone.
And, to my dismay, the same thing happened the next night.
And the next.
