Fireblood (Frostblood Saga #2)(95)
“Don’t you want the power to control your own life, your own destiny? Having authority over others only makes that easier. I was groomed to marry a king. But when it became clear that would never happen, I was forced to come up with an alternate plan. I will rule. Just not at anyone’s side. I have a much more powerful ally than any king.”
“Who?” I asked.
“It’s time for you to find out. Come here, Ruby.”
“No,” I said. “I know how hard it is to resist the Minax, but don’t let it control you. Don’t let it win!”
“I’m the one who has won.” She opened her hand to show the black shard resting on her milk-white palm. It seemed to absorb the light, making everything around it dim and colorless. “Let me see how well you resist now, Ruby.”
“Give me the shard, Marella,” said Arcus in a low, persuasive voice. “Whatever you think—”
With decisive speed, she dashed the shard against the floor and crushed it under her heel.
The sharp crack was followed by wisps of obsidian mist rising from the shard’s remains. The tendrils coalesced into a roughly humanlike shape. Rising from its brow were several curved points that moved sinuously, like flames. A crown of fire. The fire Minax.
The inky creature gathered itself and twitched toward me.
Arcus moved to block its path. The creature changed direction and slipped around him and behind me, flowing into the nape of my neck like a splash of hot water. I clapped my palm over the vulnerable skin, but the Minax had already seeped in, taking hold, curving into the dark, hidden spaces of my mind and clinging like a bat to a cave’s ceiling.
We are one, the Minax said—or was it I who spoke? It didn’t matter. In seconds, I’d forgotten who I’d been and what I’d wanted. I was whole in a way I’d never been before. I experienced the relief of no longer fighting something inevitable. Fear left my body in an exhalation and loosening of limbs.
I met Marella’s eyes and she smiled. I felt peaceful suddenly. She and I were in tune with each other. Her plans were no longer a mystery to me. If I hadn’t been fighting so hard against my connection with the Minax, I would have known her intentions sooner. Now all that was left was a final joining, to touch my twin for the first time in a thousand years. It could have been a million. Or yesterday. When the separation was over, it would no longer matter.
I moved toward her, arm extended, hand seeking.
The Frost King—Arcus—caught me around the waist and I cried out, hating his very nature, his touch. His essence repelled me, made me writhe and want to leave the safe and perfect shell of the Fireblood girl Ruby—the Daughter of Darkness who had come to free me.
“Ruby!” he said sharply, and I pushed at him, lashed out with hands and feet, drew in breath to wield my fire. His arms tightened like cold steel bands pinning my arms to my sides. I focused on expelling him with a flash of heat over my skin. If I had to burn in order to escape him, I would.
But while he held me, she—Marella, host to my twin—came forward. Her hand sought and found mine. As our flesh touched, cold to warm, my twin and I reached our shadow fingers through our hosts’ skin and touched as well.
A wavelike pulse rippled out into the air, shuddering through the walls, drawing cracks on the stone floor, shearing through sections of the ceiling and pulling down rocks into shivering piles of rubble. The Frostblood was thrown off his feet.
From our linked hands came a bubble of light that swirled and grew larger until a lozenge of blinding white spun between us. All that was left was the recitation of words of power that would complete the ritual. We said them in unison, old words no longer remembered, an ancient tongue only spoken by gods. Saying the words was a joy because it meant we were no longer alone, we had found each other and would soon be reunited with our creator. We would never be alone again.
The Frostblood—Arcus—surged to his feet. A gash on his head leaked blue liquid, the lifeblood of his frail mortal body, and I noted that weakness in case I needed to attack.
“What is that?” he demanded, staring, the white of the portal reflected in his wide-open eyes.
We didn’t respond. We didn’t need to. We didn’t answer to him.
The portal steadied, its borders stabilizing. My twin and I stepped back, our arms falling to our sides.
Moments later, a figure strode through the shining portal, his skin too bright, glowing like moonlight and sunlight and crushed pearls, smelling of spring buds and the wind of eastern storms.
“Who brought me here?” The voice of the east wind was resonant, immense, and implacable.
“We did,” we said.
“And where is my vessel? The mortal body that will host my essence so that I might remain in this world?” he asked.
We lifted our arms to point at the Frostblood man.
“An imperfect vessel,” said our master. “He is bleeding.”
“There is a Fireblood prince in the tunnels,” I offered humbly, hoping that Prince Eiko was still there. I was shivering now in all my human limbs, and in my shadow self as well. To risk his displeasure was to risk great suffering. We had no power over him. We had learned that unmistakably when he put us in the thrones and we’d begged for freedom, for mercy, and found none.
The god of the east wind turned to the tunnels and a bolt of purple light shot from his hands, making us cower and cover our heads with our arms and whine in fear. His light scorched. To let it touch us would be anguish.