The Hunter and the Mage (The Raven and the Dove #2) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,97

digging into my arm."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She wrenched them in deeper. "Am I hurting you?"

He peeled her fingers away. "I'm not even dressed."

Brighty refocused her eyes, as though noticing his bare chest for the first time, then shrugged. "Clothes won't stop a dragon anyway."

"A dragon?"

"Magic alive, Rafe, haven’t you been paying attention? The king is calling one out for us. Don't you feel his magic?"

"His…" He shook his head. "What?"

"Can't you feel the aethi'kine power in the air? It's the king—it has to be. He's poking the rift and hoping the dragons will poke back."

"You still haven’t deigned to tell me what this blasted rift even is."

She stared at him with a frown across her round face and shook her head. "Just throw on a shirt and meet me on deck. Captain's waiting."

Not glancing back, Brighty scurried up the steps and rushed out the door.

As he watched her go, he couldn't help but note she was wrong—it wasn't the king's magic. It was Lyana's. Rafe would have bet his life on it. For some reason, that difference gave him an impossible hope. Maybe somehow she'd learned of his deal with the king. Maybe she knew he was out here waiting. Maybe she was trying to help him get back his wings.

The chance was small, but the fact that it was even there was all the motivation he needed. Rafe ran back to his room and yanked a shirt over his head, not bothering to tuck it in before he jammed his feet into boots and tossed his scabbards over his shoulders. Still securing the buckles, he stumbled out into the hall and hustled up the stairs.

By the time he spilled onto the deck, the crew was in full swing. Pyro stood at the bow, a flame burning above her fingers as she studied the misty air. Brighty stood by her side, her palms glowing so ivory that a mere peek her way left spots in his vision. The wind was eerily still, as though waiting for some invisible current to stir it back to life. Squirrel sat in the crow's nest, gaze sharper than his young age should allow. Archer, Jolt, Spout, Leech, and Shadow all stood by the rails, power simmering at the ready. Cook was the only one below deck, though Rafe hardly saw the man outside of the kitchen or the storerooms. And he knew Captain was at the wheel with Patch by her side even before her voice carried to his ear.

"Brighty, I want you to light this whole ocean up. Not an ounce of fog in the air until we spot the dragon. We don't want to miss it. Pyro, as soon as you sense something, alert the crew. Patch, you're on the sails while I'm on the wheel. Oh, Rafe, so nice of you to finally join us."

He spun at the sound of his name. Captain's icy eyes held that wild spark of oncoming battle, though he couldn't for the life of him see the dragon they all assumed they were fighting. She gripped the wheel in both hands, magic glimmering at her fingertips and leaking into the air. It was only then he noticed how unnaturally silent the world was. No groans of wood. No snaps of canvas. No splashes of water. The boat beneath him hardly moved. The sea was flat. The sails were raised, yet drooped against the mast like old, saggy skin. The stillness was eerie.

"You so much as reach for those swords, Rafe, and I'll have Archer chain you to the mast. Understood? All I want you to do is stand there and look pretty."

Rafe sighed. So much for his earlier sense of purpose and conviction. His magic was as useless as ever. "Yes, Captain."

A few more commands were doled out, but he stopped listening and instead eyed the men and women parked by the ship rails. Whom would he have the best chance pressing for information? Shadow slept most of the day, so he knew her the least, but she always seemed kind when they interacted. Leech, he was sure, would tell him what he wanted, plus far more that he didn’t. When it came to science or learning of any kind, the man was insatiable. Rafe would get answers, but probably not until the battle was already long over. Archer had just been given an order to lock him up for insolence, and Spout would probably just sneeze on him before she could speak. In the end,