Fireblood (Frostblood Saga #2)(18)

My eyes roved frantically, searching for Arcus. I couldn’t find him. I threw myself against the window, but it held firm. I searched the ground and, in a few seconds, found a large enough rock to hurl at the glass, which exploded as it shattered. I used another rock to clear the jagged bits at the base, then slid through, only half aware of a stray piece slicing my palm.

I scanned the scene. Some of the guests were at the doors, pulling desperately on the handles and calling for help. Others were slumped on the floor, unconscious or dead. For a second, I wondered if Kai had been complicit in what was clearly a coordinated attack, then dismissed the idea instantly. He’d fought the attackers off with me.

I finally spotted Arcus, standing on the edge of the dais where the musicians had played a waltz only a half hour before. Lord Pell fought alongside him, but they were outnumbered by four other Frostbloods: two men and two women, all of them dressed as servants or guards. I rushed forward and blasted an attacker in the back, who screamed and went down, his black doublet in flames.

As the others turned and threw out their hands, my second blast of flame meeting their frost, my eyes cut to Arcus. Even outnumbered, it was strange that he hadn’t won this fight. His gift was spectacular. But then I realized one of his hands was pressed to his chest near his shoulder. His face was paler than usual, his expression pinched with pain. Blue blood seeped between his fingers. He’d been stabbed.

I saw red.

Rage boiled my blood, lending me strength to bring down another of his attackers. Then Arcus shouted a warning, his gaze fixed behind me. I whirled. Three Frostbloods dressed as servants converged on me, two throwing frost and one wielding a sword. I heard Arcus call my name, but I was too busy dodging the sword and throwing flame at the attacker’s feet, forcing him back. As I twisted to avoid a stream of frost from the side, ice caught me from behind, sending me to the ground.

“Kill the king and his Fireblood harlot, and rise, Blue Legion, rise!” the swordsman snarled.

Shock at his words held me immobile for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough to lose the opportunity to use my fire. I rolled out of the way as his sword tip crashed against the floor.

I found my feet, only to be grabbed from behind, but an elbow and a fist soon dislodged the hold. A few seconds were spent in intense concentration as I threw out fire to keep the attackers, at least six now, from getting close. But there were too many, and I was grabbed on either side, no matter that my sleeves were on fire from my own flame. A sword rose over my head.

And clattered to the ballroom floor. The servant’s blue eyes blinked in shock, blue blood sliding from both nostrils as he crumpled. Lord Pell, standing behind the man, yanked his blade from the body. My other attackers were completely immobile, as if someone had stopped time. I glanced at the two Frostbloods holding me, a man and a woman, both encased in ice, their hands frozen around my arms. The fire on my sleeves was out, my dress in blackened tatters at the edges.

My head jerked up to check on Arcus. He stood on the dais, his hands thrust out. He had frozen my attackers in a single burst of frost. There was murder in his eyes, and for a fraction of a second, I saw his brother in him. The rage and hatred, the thirst for death. As if the Minax preyed on him now, twisting his fears and hurts and dusting away his pain to make him into someone who was incapable of mercy. I honed in on Arcus’s eyes, half expecting them to be pure shining onyx. But they were still blue.

He blinked, his eyes focusing on me. He mouthed my name. And then he swayed, his eyelashes fluttering.

I pushed out heat into my arms, broke free of the ice, and ran to him, stepping over bodies along the way. I reached my arms up and caught him as he fell, giving a surprised oof as I was crushed under his muscular bulk.

“Arcus,” I groaned. How ironic to survive the fight only to be flattened under the unforgiving weight of the person who had saved my life. A hysterical giggle bubbled up but came out as a strangled gasp. The laughter fled as I realized he wasn’t moving. “No,” I whispered, struggling to free myself.

Hands slid around Arcus’s arms and for a second I panicked, expecting more enemies, but it was Lord Pell and Lord Manus, both of them bloody and stern-faced, gently pulling Arcus to his feet and holding him between them.

I sucked in a relieved breath and stood, moving my hands to Arcus’s cheeks. “Wake up, please. Arcus, please.” My words were whispered prayers, frantic and raw in my burning throat.

His eyelashes fluttered open. “Thank Fors you’re all right,” he mumbled, his mouth twitching up at the corner.

I turned to Lord Pell, drawing myself up. “He needs a healer now!”

Arcus laughed weakly. “You give orders like a queen.” His eyes slid over me as Lord Pell and Lord Manus moved toward the ballroom doors, which now stood open.

“You’re unhurt?” Arcus slurred as I followed him toward the exit.

I scanned for Marella and Brother Thistle, relieved that neither were among the prone forms on the floor. “I’m fine.”

“I got blood all over your gown,” Arcus said rather irrelevantly.

“It doesn’t matter.” I noticed a bearded man in robes who must be the Safran ambassador—alive and unharmed, talking with a few other delegates. Thank Sud. His murder would have meant war.

“If my blood were red like yours it would match your dress,” Arcus rambled. “You should have worn blue. Oh, stop spinning, I don’t want to dance.”