Fireblood (Frostblood Saga #2)(39)

“Wait, Kai,” I said, wrestling with my temper.

“What?” He didn’t stop walking.

“Where is the throne?”

That brought him to a halt. He turned and regarded me with quizzical annoyance. “We just came from the throne room.”

“I mean the throne of Sud. Black lava rock, running with molten lava. Massive and intimidating. Sound familiar?”

“That throne was destroyed in a volcanic eruption, along with the old castle and everything in it.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. I had counted on finding the fire Minax in the throne of Sud.

“When?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know, before I was old enough to remember. Most of the island was evacuated for a time. Everything was rebuilt here. This is the only castle I remember.”

I put a hand to my stomach, my shoulders hunched as if I’d just received a body blow. What a fool I’d been. Rushing to Sudesia with little more than a handful of stories and loads of assumptions.

“Ruby, are you all right?” Kai put a hand to my shoulder.

I straightened up, and his hand fell away. “I’m fine. Show me to my room.”

It was time to start making new plans.





TEN



I SPENT THE NIGHT IN A GUEST ROOM decorated in blue and gold, with beaded throw pillows, painted vases filled with hibiscus, and lamps made of colored glass. The bed frame was heavy and intricate, with four polished wooden posts at the head and four posts at the foot, all rising to meet elaborate woodwork that ended in a sort of square border, draped in cream silk, at the top.

I lay on the bed but didn’t sleep. My thoughts raced.

Despite the shocks and disappointments of the past day, not much had changed. The absence of the throne didn’t alter my primary mission. I needed to find the book. It would reveal how to destroy the Minax, and I had to believe there was more than one way to do so. Finding the book meant gaining access to the Fireblood school, which meant taking the trials.

I might actually become a Fireblood master. Whether I was strong enough and powerful enough remained to be seen. But I couldn’t fool myself any longer: On some level, I wanted this. I wanted to test my abilities and master them. To prove myself. To be more than I was.

The excitement lasted for a few seconds until I remembered what passing meant: pledging my life to the queen. Giving up my freedom. Following her orders.

I might never see Arcus again.





The Fireblood school was a squat, pillared building made of sun-burnished yellow stone. Vivid pink and red flowers in clay pots softened the linear facade with delicate leaves and round blooms. A gracefully arched doorway led into a courtyard where pairs of students moved in and out of view, their grunts and exclamations mixing with the dissonant music of wooden wind chimes trembling in a light breeze.

A tall man stepped through the doorway and bowed. He had a crooked nose that looked as if it had been broken and healed more than once, rounded cheekbones, and deep grooves carved between his brows. A streak of reddish orange ran through his dark hair, while a sprinkling of gray touched his temples. His hair had been scraped back and secured at the nape of his thick neck.

His eyes moved over me with a kind of focused assessment I’d seen on the faces of hostlers evaluating horseflesh. It was impossible to tell from his closed expression whether I passed muster. At least I’d braided my hair neatly, and a maid had washed my tunic and leggings before laying them out on my bed that morning.

“This is Master Dallr,” said Kai, the first words he’d spoken since coming to fetch me for a tense and silent carriage ride. “He is the senior master and in charge of this school.”

Master Dallr merely nodded and turned, leading us in. He and Kai exchanged pleasantries while I glanced around. Students from about ten years old to young adulthood were sparring in the large open courtyard, using only their hands and feet as weapons: kicking, punching, blocking, and flipping their opponents. They didn’t use fire. After a few minutes, one of the masters—you could tell by her bright orange tunic, while the students wore sunny yellow—gave a loud whistle. Everyone moved back, forming a circle that left the center of the courtyard empty. Another master called out names and two students stepped forward. They bowed, took their positions, knees bent, fists at the ready, and at a command, began to move.

The opponents clearly weren’t novices, but they weren’t perfect. Some movements were quick and well executed, while others were ill timed or poorly aimed. The master in charge barked corrections and the students made the appropriate adjustments. Then the master said a word I didn’t recognize and bolts of flame issued from the students’ hands, meeting in the center and flowing toward the sky.

“What did he say?” I asked Kai, who sat to my right, cross-legged on the packed earth. In my curiosity, I’d forgotten I wasn’t speaking to him.

“The commands are given in ancient Sudesian,” he whispered, only a slight curve of his lips betraying that he noticed I’d broken my silence. “The first word meant ‘release.’ That next word meant ‘spiral,’ and this move now is called ‘flick.’”

“It looks similar to Tail of the Dragon.”

Kai looked intently at me. “That is the combination of spiral and flick. You know it?”