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“That’s odd. You’re throwing hard enough, but it seems like an accuracy issue.”
“Yes, I’m bad at throwing,” I said acidly. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”
Ambrose still looked contemplative. “You’re not, actually—bad at throwing, that is.”
“No, I am. I’m so bad in fact that I’ve managed to nearly hit almost everyone who’s ever come out here to watch me. It’s pathetic.”
Ambrose’s eyes lit up. “Yet you had no trouble throwing the fire directly at me when I startled you. If I hadn’t moved it would have hit me straight in the chest, and I was further away than your targets.”
I frowned, looking from the targets to the smoking bush behind me that had taken the brunt of my attack. To my surprise, he was right.
“Perhaps I need to be under direct threat?” I theorized. Gods, I hoped that wasn’t the answer because the last thing I wanted was to wait until the middle of a real fight to know for sure if I could hit anything.
“Perhaps,” Ambrose said in a tone that told me he didn’t believe that was the case. He stepped around me and sauntered purposefully toward the target, before standing directly in front of it. “Now try again.”
“No!” I said automatically. “What if I hit you?”
He smirked at me. “You won’t. Trust me.”
Inexplicably, I felt the heat crawling up the back of my neck once again, and I looked down. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you if you end up with both halves of your head bald.”
He merely nodded for me to begin, and I quickly conjured another fireball and threw it at him. It wasn’t my best throw, not my strongest, but still the flames hurtled toward Ambrose’s too handsome face and I felt my stomach dip with fear. “Look out!”
At the last possible second, he stepped back, disappearing into the shadows just as the fire sailed through where he would have been standing and smashed into the straw circular target. I gaped, my shock turning to excitement as the flames engulfed the straw, sending great plumes of smoke up into the air. I shrieked, nearly jumping off my feet in excitement.
Ambrose reappeared beside me, just in time for me to spin directly into his chest. He put out his arms to steady me, trapping me in a loose hold.
“Congratulations.” He grinned down at me, practically blinding me with his dazzling smile.
I tipped my head nearly all the way back to meet his jet-black gaze. “How did you know that would work?”
“Just a theory,” he said, brushing off my admiration as if it was nothing. “I think your abilities are like the Source itself. The fire is merely a conduit, but you could probably learn to conjure other things with time and practice.”
“I have no idea what that means,” I said, still grinning widely, basking in my success after so many months of having no idea how to control any aspect of my mysterious power.
“The Source is both a magnet and a power Source to all creatures with magic,” he explained. “We’re all drawn to its power, while at the same time the magic wants to spread out and sustain all of us. No matter how accurately you throw, the magic will seek the best magical vessel in its immediate path. The targets are innate, but the grass and trees are still alive, making them better vessels for power.”
“Except if you’re standing in the way,” I finished, for him.
“Exactly. It’s only a theory, though. I could be wrong. Maybe you just harbor a secret desire to light me on fire.”
“I don’t know about that. If I did, I’m not sure I’d bother to keep it a secret.”
“I’ll watch my back, then,” he replied, still grinning.
It was only at that moment that it dawned on me how very close we were still standing. Ambrose’s arms were loose around my waist, somewhere between a hug and an attempt to hold me upright. If I titled my head up just a tiny bit further, I was close enough to run my tongue over the underside of his sharp jaw.
“So, is that the only reason why you came down here?” I asked, my voice suddenly sounding a bit raspy as my throat had gone dry. “To see if I was alright? Or was it to share your theory?”
I held my breath. I wasn’t sure what I wanted or expected him to say. That he’d sought me out again because he too couldn’t stop thinking about our week on the ship together, or what might have happened if we hadn’t stopped that night in Underneath? No, that would be ridiculous and entirely out of character.
And yet…
Ambrose cleared his own throat and stepped back, dropping his arms back to his sides. “No,” he said, almost begrudgingly. “I actually wanted to run an idea by you. I thought of it earlier, when Idris was going on about how to rule.”
I scowled. “Don’t remind me. Did you notice how he seemed to know what was going on in the court of Underneath? I can say from experience that if you’re stuck in a dungeon you have no sense of what’s happening above you.”
Ambrose frowned. “Perhaps he was just guessing?”
