Fireblood (Frostblood Saga #2)(51)

But that would be far too obvious. I reminded myself I needed more than just the right book in my hands. I needed to conquer my powers as well. I wanted to become a master, not just for the sake of finding out how to destroy the Minax, but to prove I could do it when the time came.

He straightened and tucked the key back into his robe.

We left the temple and descended the hill where lava fields spread out below, barren and black with rough ridges like petrified waves. Plants grew from cracks and crevices, leafy ferns and saplings, bright green against the black. In the distance, a volcano spewed white smoke from its gray mouth, a dragon belching into the sky, vegetation clinging to its shoulders like bright green scales.

We reached the ruins of a stone wall. Black rock was pooled against and around it as if frozen in the act of trying to storm the walls. I followed Master Dallr through a broken archway—a remnant of the destroyed building—and continued for another minute or two. He stopped and gestured to the ground, then bowed low and turned away.

“I’m supposed to go in here?” I peered into an inky black hole, then looked up. Master Dallr was already several yards away. He didn’t look back.

I slid in feetfirst, lowering myself slowly, palms grating against the sides of a narrow shaft. I lost control, sliding for a few seconds before I landed hard on my hands and knees. Kai’s warning had put me on guard. I looked around quickly, sighing with relief that there was no lava in sight. Just torches lining the black stone walls of a tunnel, which tilted down into darkness.

The torchlight illuminated markings carved into the walls and ceiling: a swirl here, a diamond shape there, three curving lines underscored by a horizontal slash. I didn’t know whether they were writing or art, but they did look familiar. I’d seen similar designs carved into the ice columns of Arcus’s castle, most notably in the throne room. Come to think of it, I’d seen a few at Forwind Abbey, too. I’d figured they were common Frostblood motifs, something to do with Fors. How they made their way into a tunnel under the lava fields of the Sudesian capital, I had no idea.

Not far along, a wooden slab with the markings of a door blocked the tunnel, its bulk completely filling the space. A ladder hung a few feet before the door, leading up to a shaft above. That must be one of the ways out that Kai had mentioned. I ignored the ladder and pushed at the wood, then, when it didn’t budge, put my ear close and knocked. It gave a hollow echo. I stood for a moment, calculating. I didn’t think the test was supposed to be a great mystery. The door was made of wood. My gift was fire. It seemed logical I was meant to use it. Kai had said not to hesitate.

I burned through the door in less than a minute, careful to create a space only big enough to get through. I didn’t want to exhaust myself unnecessarily.

I walked quickly down the passage past another ladder until a second slab of wood loomed before me in the darkness. A little thicker than the last. It took over a minute to burn through.

By the fourth door, I started to lose track of time. My breaths came faster. My limbs felt heavier.

I’d just burned through the sixth—much thicker—door when a loud grinding sound came from behind. The tunnel filled with heat. I turned to see a glowing ooze that changed shape as it slid down the incline behind me. So that’s what Kai had meant when he told me lava would burn the flesh off a Fireblood’s bones. My pulse jerked frantically. I hurried to the next door, this time burning the upper portion only before climbing through the gap, leaving the lower portion as a barrier against the lava. I might need some extra seconds later.

I arrived at the seventh door. It was maybe twice as thick as the previous one. The passage widened here, and a shaft of sunlight lit the space. Another ladder. It was far more tempting to climb now. But that wasn’t an option.

I bent my attention to the door, pulling the heat from my chest and sending it through my arms, fire exploding from my palms into the wood. It splintered and crackled. When the hole was large enough, I hauled myself through, trembling and winded, and looked back as I held myself suspended in the opening.

A pinpoint of glowing orange, still far, moved closer. I calculated that it must have crossed the barrier of the first, and perhaps the second door.

With a final glance at the ladder, I dropped to the floor and rushed on.

After a grueling battle with the eighth door, the lava felt close, the heat rising with each harsh, uneven breath. Fatigue weighted my arms. I shook it off, and pushed forward.

No ladder hung next to the ninth door, although a narrow opening punctured the stone ceiling, admitting buttery rays of light. A shadow passed over it. A master watching, perhaps. Or just a cloud passing over the sun.

The thick door yielded the dullest of thuds when I knocked on it. I took two short breaths and made a concentrated flame.

I groaned as I held the flame steady, eyes closed. All my will aimed into the wood.

Scorch marks blackened the door, but it was otherwise unharmed. I took a breath and tried again, recalling my training.

Focus, don’t hold back, build the heat, let it burn. Hotter. Hotter. More.

My whole body trembled. I called up hot fear, burning hatred, the searing thirst for revenge. I allowed myself memories usually kept at bay: the night when the soldiers came to my village, their faces like nightmarish spirits in the glow of the burning buildings.

But when I pictured the face of the captain who killed my mother, another image came with it. Mother’s body crumpling to the snow.