Fireblood (Frostblood Saga #2)(107)

I gripped the railing and stared down at the deepening gloom.

I was darkness. There was nothing to be gained by denying it. My best chance lay in treating this new ability the way I’d always treated my fire—as part of me. Fear of my fire had ruled me when I’d had no control over it. Darkness, like fire, was a gift I could master.

A gust brushed my hair to the side and I turned toward it. It smelled of harvest, of wheat being bound into sheaths, of fallen leaves and crisp pine. The stray breeze had come from the west. I smiled. Cirrus was sending a message of support. I held my hand out, catching the scented air in my palm.

Just as suddenly, a vicious gust cut across the deck, snapping the sails. An east wind, threatening rain. Air swirled around me, pulling the breath from my lungs and wrapping my hair around my upper arms like binding ropes.

The wind twisted away. The sails fell slack.

I shoved my hair back and rubbed the chill from my arms. The air smelled of smoke and blood, of army camps and battlefields.

A wordless message from Eurus, as clear as if it were written in the stars: Prepare for war.