Fireblood (Frostblood Saga #2)(44)
“You’re working with fire,” he explained, “something that feeds on air and thrives on sharp bursts.”
He made the castle-crown flare toward the sky, then smoothed his fingers against my palms, pressing until the fire died. Then he stroked my fingers until they stretched straight out. A tremor raced through my limbs.
“Fire is hungry, but it’s also elegant.” He turned my hands over again, lifting the right one and brushing his lips to the back as if he were a gentleman meeting me for the first time. A shiver rippled across my shoulders. “Wild and precise. Dangerous but beautiful.”
He stared at me, his eyes bright and intense. The heat from his body, so close, pressed against me. It was like standing next to a bonfire. Even though I half suspected this was another excuse to flirt—for a second, I wanted to move closer. I was drawn by his heat, the sense of familiarity I’d felt from the moment he’d first touched me in the ice garden. Our similarity. How easy it was to understand him.
The impulses were distracting. But at the back of my mind, I saw another face—Arcus’s cold blue eyes warming with approval as he trained me in Forwind Abbey, the tilt of his admiring smile when I surprised him with a move while we were sparring in the castle garden. The echo of him reverberated through the moment, breaking the spell.
I shook my hands free and stepped back. “I’m not sure I agree. Brother Thistle is plenty elegant in his use of frost.”
“Perhaps.” He sounded skeptical. “But you had nothing to compare him to. You have never seen Fireblood masters perform.” He turned to two of the masters, a man and woman, and bowed respectfully before speaking to them in quick Sudesian that I couldn’t catch. They nodded and came forward.
Kai pulled me to sit beside him on the packed dirt. “Watch.”
The masters bowed to each other. Their loose breeches tapered tightly at the ankle. Their feet were bare.
I expected them to fight, but as soon as they started to move, I could see this wasn’t a contest so much as a performance. As quick as hummingbirds, they punched, dodged, kicked, rolled, landed on their backs and pushed up, springing to their feet with impossible agility. Sometimes they used each other as props, linking arms or running up the back of their opponent before flinging themselves into a backflip, landing with effortless precision, then twirling and kicking, each movement blending into the next. If there had been music to accompany it, it would have been frenetic and lovely. It was a ruthless symphony of movement and sounds, the slap of bare feet on bare earth, the swish of a punch, the thud of a kick that just barely connected. They were so controlled, and yet they seemed to pour out everything, holding nothing back.
A shiver crept across my skin. It was the most spectacular display I’d ever seen. It was a fight, but it was also a dance.
Kai leaned close to whisper. “It is a thing of incredible grace, is it not? I have seen them many times and I never fail to be… overawed by the wonder of it. I don’t believe you have ever seen Frostbloods move like this.”
“This is what I’m supposed to learn?” I shook my head. If I had to achieve this level of skill to pass the trials, I was doomed. I would never learn this. Not in a lifetime. And certainly not in a week.
The dance of aggression went on. I could see that the masters weren’t really hurting each other. The punches stopped a hair’s breadth from an opponent’s nose, the kicks mostly for show. If one combatant had made a tiny error, he or she could have done serious damage. But there were no errors. No hesitations. No slips. Just a smooth, effortless homage to movement and possibility.
And then, the fire. They let loose streams of bright heat, feathery plumes that half blinded me. The plumes curved like wings, enveloping the masters with roselike petals of flame. Then all four hands sent fiery beams straight up to the sky, seeming to touch the sun.
The movements came faster, the twists sharper, the feats more daring, until the blur of motion only registered on some unconscious level. This must be the result of incredible raw talent mixed with years of grueling training. When they finally stopped, sweating, and bowed once more, I leaped to my feet to applaud.
Kai’s hand touched my forearm and I saw that he was standing, too. He bowed and I followed suit. The masters returned the gesture, smiling brightly before returning to their seats.
Exhilaration sang in my blood, but I reminded myself I wasn’t here to relax and watch a show, I was here to learn. “So that was a lesson in…” I trailed off.
“In beauty.” Kai raised his face to the sun, showing me the classical lines of his profile. “In pride, artistry. You may not think it matters, and maybe it doesn’t to your Tempesian sensibilities, but it does to us.” He turned his gaze back to me, shining an even brighter gold, as if the sun had poured in and become trapped in his eyes. “The mastery of fire is not only about force. Beauty is inherent in every movement, if done correctly. The two are intertwined. At its best, fighting with fire is as lovely as a dance.”
“Can you do that?” I motioned to where the masters had performed, a few scorch marks in the dirt the only evidence of their display.
“Of course,” he answered haughtily, then chuckled at my expression. “I’m not that proficient, yet. We all have strengths and weaknesses.”
He beckoned me to stand and join him in the circle again. He spread his feet and raised his fists, ready to spar.