Fireblood (Frostblood Saga #2)(23)

“You’re so infuriating! Think, Arcus. Why do these nobles want to kill you?”

“Because I’m making changes. Because they’ll lose the land my brother gave them. And because they want to hold on to old prejudices and hatred.”

“Yes. Precisely. Rasmus spent two years twisting everyone and everything to suit him, no doubt with the Minax influencing every thought and decision. And now you’re trying to untwist it all in a matter of weeks. It’s one thing to get treaties signed, but it’s another to… to parade a Fireblood in front of them all.”

Arcus’s eyes flared, then narrowed. “Be very, very careful, Ruby. If you’re suggesting that I’m using you as some sort of… taunt…” His eyes burned with cold fire. “To imply that it’s wrong for you to be here because of your heritage…” He shook his head. “You’re a hypocrite.”

“And you’re a fool if you don’t see what you’re doing! My presence here is hurting you. And I can’t stand it.”

His eyes were made of cracked ice, his cheekbones and jaw carved from stone, the scars standing out as if a sculptor hadn’t sanded the edges down yet. “I’ll die before I send you away to satisfy their hateful expectations.”

The vow sent a quiver of something painfully sweet through my nerves. “But, Arcus, if you die, what do you think will happen to me?”

His eyes closed slowly and stayed closed. He looked almost defeated, so unlike his usual self, and I remembered that his body was fighting a battle to heal.

“I’m sorry,” I said, slumping onto the edge of the bed. “You’re so tired. You’re injured and you should be resting. We can talk about this later.”

He shook his head, eyes still closed. “I can’t trust you not to leave.”

I hopped up again. “You’re being so obstinate! This could be the only way to save us. I came here alone and fought in the arena and killed and almost died several times over. Now I’m supposed to live wrapped in lamb’s wool so I don’t get a scratch?” I realized I was trembling and my hands were balled into fists. If there was one thing I couldn’t bear, it was confinement. I wouldn’t let anyone stop me—not even Arcus. “No. I’m going. I’m going.”

His eyes snapped open. “No, Ruby. You’re not.”

“What are you going to do?” My voice rose to a shout. “Lock me in your keep?”

“If I have to!”

“Well, you will have to! Just like your brother did! And I swear, I’ll never speak to you again. I vow it on my mother’s life.”

The words echoed and hung in the air like knives about to fall. My stomach lurched with a fear I hadn’t felt for weeks. Regret sank heavy, sharp talons into my chest. Had I just said that? How had we gotten here?

“Go, then,” said Arcus, his voice a bitter thread of sound. If the silence weren’t so absolute, I wouldn’t have heard him at all. The air reverberated with hurt. “Go to your people. Risk your life, if it seems that important to you. I won’t be accused of keeping you somewhere you don’t want to be. You’d only come to resent me. I refuse to be the source of your unhappiness.”

“It’s important to you, too,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’m doing this for you.”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak for several moments. “Tell yourself that, if you must. Chase things you’ll never find. Trust the lies of a stranger.”

“I don’t think he’s lying, Arcus. I don’t.”

“I can’t talk about this anymore. Just go.”

Suddenly, tears were behind my eyes and I couldn’t breathe. “I can’t leave you like this, when you’re so weak. Let me stay until you fall asleep again, at least.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll send for Brother Thistle.”

He scoffed. “I don’t want to see him, either.”

I could feel the change in him, the determination to shut us out. I told myself his anger was rooted in hurt, his cold rejection based in fear. Arcus had learned that caring led to pain. His mother had been killed when he was young. He’d loved his younger brother, Rasmus, but was forced to lead a rebellion against him to save the kingdom from the cursed king. When we’d lived at the abbey, he’d pushed me away—so fearful of his own feelings for me that he’d denied them for as long as he could. He was trying to protect himself by building walls, layer after layer of solid ice to keep out anyone who could disappoint or hurt him. If he kept it up, he would only succeed in isolating himself from the people who cared about him.

“Don’t say that,” I said softly. “You’re like a son to him. He just wants to help. Don’t punish him for agreeing with me.”

“He can accompany you on your way to the port and then go to the abbey from there. I have enough enemies here.”





Brother Thistle was hurt but resigned at being expelled from the castle like an unwelcome guest. He spent the days packing, lost in his private worries.

Marella, on the other hand, once I admitted my plans, pestered me for details until I told her how I intended to find Kai in Tevros and sail from there. She insisted on helping me pack, ignoring my protests that I didn’t plan to bring more than a satchel I could carry easily. As she looked critically through my wardrobe, she offered advice about the route to Tevros and told cautionary tales about the dangers of trusting strangers, mostly involving loss of coin and life. I finally asked bluntly if she thought I was foolish to go.