Fireblood (Frostblood Saga #2)(7)
I didn’t relish the further attention a ball would bring, but I was willing to do what I could, even as a sort of informal ambassador. I was elated that he actually wanted to mend ties with Sudesia, the Fireblood homeland, a place I had wondered about for as long as I could remember. He gave my hand a squeeze and let go before we made the table truly uncomfortable. I dropped it in my lap, smiling my approval. Something like hope fluttered in my chest.
Lord Pell began to laugh. “I always said you were a raging optimist, Arcus. If the Fire Queen attends your ball, I’ll wear my smallclothes on my head.”
“Well!” Lady Blanding nearly howled. “What a revolting image!”
Arcus stifled a smile and turned back to Marella. “Are you up to the task of throwing a ball, my lady?”
My chest tightened again, but I forced a small smile when Arcus glanced at me. I would not allow myself to be petty. Marella was the best person for the task.
“I’d be delighted,” said Marella. “It’s been ages since we had a proper ball here. I look forward to experimenting with Cook on new dishes. And my dancing skills have been growing quite rusty. I’m sure to break toes.”
“Well, you’ll have time to practice beforehand. I’ve set the date for the autumnal equinox.”
“How festive! Isn’t that when the peasants dance around the fire to thank the gods for the harvest?” She looked at me expectantly, presumably because I was the only person of low birth at the table.
It seemed like a lifetime had passed since I’d attended the festival in my village, though it was less than a year ago. My throat tightened when I remembered that I’d had my first kiss that night from a village boy named Clay. He’d died in front of me in the Frost King’s arena only a few weeks ago. I nodded while taking a sip of wine to cover the fact that I couldn’t speak.
“It might be fun to incorporate some of the peasants’ traditions,” Marella added, oblivious to my discomfort. “But perhaps we don’t want any bonfires in the great hall. The chandeliers are made of ice.”
If I hadn’t been upset, I might have remarked that she’d better not invite me, then.
After a few minutes, the conversation returned to the state of the kingdom.
“If Cirrus would just give us some rain,” Lady Regier complained with an aristocratic sniff, “and if those laborers would just work a little harder, we would have all the grain we need.”
“The problem isn’t lack of hard work,” Lord Manus corrected, “but lack of men and women to plant and till and harvest. My wife spoke correctly when she said the Aris Plains have been torn apart by our former kings.”
Most of Tempesia’s crops came from the swathe of land called the Aris Plains in the southern provinces. King Akur had taken land from independent farmers, awarding it to Frostblood nobles in exchange for funding and troops. The southerners hadn’t given up the land willingly. Battles over the contested fields had prevented planting two years in a row and significantly taxed the kingdom’s grain reserves, which still hadn’t recovered. After Rasmus took the throne, the Fireblood citizens in southern Tempesia were hunted and murdered during his raids. It was no wonder the remaining people who lived in the southern provinces hated the Frostblood aristocracy, even if a new king had taken the throne.
“If the southerners had just accepted their fate as serfs under Frostblood rule,” said Lord Blanding, “there would have been no fighting and no shortage of crops.” He took a swig of wine from his goblet and set it down decisively, as if the matter had been settled once and for all.
My stomach roiled with hatred for the former king and anyone who had followed him, Lord Blanding included. I suddenly found I couldn’t sit at the table a moment longer.
I stood. Arcus immediately rose, and the other men followed suit as before.
“I’m afraid I’m a little tired. Good night.” With a quick curtsy in Arcus’s direction, I turned away.
“Well, how abrupt,” said Lady Blanding as the guards opened the dining hall door for me. “But what can you expect from a peasant of the wrong blood?”
As the doors shut, it wasn’t her words that struck my heart with a painful blow but the silence that followed. Arcus hadn’t said a word to defend me.
“You’ll ruin your eyes reading in the dark,” I said testily, still fuming as I entered the castle library. Brother Thistle sat hunched over a yellowed tome lying open on a round marble table, his beard tucked into the neck of his monk’s robe to keep it out of his way.
The library was in the newer east wing, with walls of paneled wood. Bookshelves running four stories high stood sentry on either side of a wide central aisle. Spiral staircases grew like twisted trees crowned by raised walkways with intricately carved railings. No ice covered the walls. The room was kept dry and well aired, protecting the thousands of books. I could happily lose myself among the seductively infinite stacks, if only I had time to read for pleasure.
Instead, I’d been helping Brother Thistle search for information on the Minax and taking short breaks to receive his instruction on how to speak Sudesian, the language of the Fireblood islands to the south. My grandmother had spoken Sudesian to me when I was young until my mother had made her stop, not wanting me to inadvertently reveal our heritage and my powers to anyone in the village. I’d had no idea that Arcus was considering making peace with the Sudesians when I’d first asked to learn the language, but now it seemed oddly prescient.