Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(10)

I scooted backward and felt warm rock against my back. “Burning my clothes,” I said between coughs.

“You set fire to your own robes while wearing them?” he said doubtfully.

“No,” I sputtered angrily. “My old dress. The one I wore in the prison.”

“There is a refuse heap just past the stables,” Arcus said drily, nodding to the right. “You needn’t have started an inferno. Not that I’m against the destruction of those foul rags.”

I touched my arms and face, still coughing up bits of river water. My skin was hot, but smooth and unharmed. Relief mixed with embarrassment. I had panicked for no reason, frightened by my own fire.

Arcus waved a hand to the tree behind the rock, which was black along its trunk. “I was out walking when I saw a conflagration rise above the treetops. The fire was clearly out of your control.”

I plucked at my robe, cringing away from the cold fabric on my skin. The robes hadn’t fared much better than the dress I had come to destroy. It was in blackened tatters, the white linens showing through. Once I might have worried about showing off my underclothes, but Arcus was so stony I doubted he even noticed. I tried not to let my fear of him show.

I took a section of what was left of the robe and began wringing it out. “I suppose you think I should thank you.”

“No,” he said, his tone stiff. “I don’t care for gratitude.”

“How very humble.”

“Not humble. Gratitude creates a bond that begs further protection or care. I have enough obligations.”

“You can rest easy, then. I don’t need your protection. I have my gift.”

“A gift that led soldiers to your village.”

He’d spoken in neutral tones, but his words pierced the vulnerable places in my mind, where guilt was still naked and fresh.

“It was cruelty that led to the destruction of my home. The cruelty of your people with their border wars and raids on villages.”

“Perhaps if the Firebloods had negotiated instead of resorting to assassinations—”

“Frostblood history,” I said with disdain. “Forgive me for distrusting your version.”

“What is your version, then?”

My version came from my grandmother, who’d told me that fire and frost had fought for dominance for as long as anyone could remember. Frostbloods eventually took Tempesia in the North, and Firebloods settled in the Fire Islands of Sudesia. But when the islands had no more land to offer, Firebloods sailed to southern Tempesia and worked for generations to till and improve the soil of the Aris Plains. As their skills grew, they were accepted as valued farmers—until Frostbloods decided they wanted the land for themselves.

But history could be twisted and warped to suit the person telling it. I wouldn’t convince Arcus of anything, and he likely had no trouble painting his own people as rightful rulers and victims of rebel attacks.

“My gift can heal,” I finally said, taking a different approach. “Heat has the power to save lives.”

“It can also ruin them,” he replied. “It can maim and kill. You burned those soldiers savagely.”

I sat forward. “Frost can be just as dangerous! Who are you, so perfect and beyond reproach? You haven’t even told me what you expect me to do.”

He paused. “Brother Thistle thought it best to wait before telling you.”

“Why? He thinks I’m weak like you do?”

He shook his head. “I knew it the moment I saw that”—he gestured to the tree—“cloud of fire. Your power is wild. Dangerous. Before we can trust you to know more, you need proper training.”

“And who, pray tell, is going to do that? I’m sure the king has killed all the Fireblood masters by now.”

I had never met a Fireblood master, of course, but when I was little, Grandmother had told me there was a small handful left in Tempesia. Masters train for years until they have complete control over their gift, and only a Fireblood or Frostblood council of masters can decide if that person has truly done so.

Arcus stood and brushed off his robes. “You’re right. There are no Fireblood masters left. But there are Frostblood masters. One of them lives in this very abbey and is willing to teach you.”

“Not you.”

“No. Brother Thistle. Surely you’ve noticed the magnitude of his gift?”

I had. In the prison, frost had grown wherever he stepped. Even the carriage had crackled with it. And he’d wielded his power with great precision when he’d unlocked my cell.

I wanted to learn that kind of control.

“Supposing I agree,” I said, “how would he teach me?”

“You’ve already agreed or you wouldn’t be here. And I’m no teacher. You’ll have to ask Brother Thistle about his methods.”

“I will.”

Fatigue pulled at my bones. I pushed myself up and started back to the abbey.

Arcus caught up with two long strides. “Perhaps with some control, you’ll be an asset to our plans instead of a danger to yourself.”

“I’m no danger to anyone but the people who hurt me.”

“And not much danger to them right now.”

“I suppose you’re an expert in rigid self-control,” I said. “It must be easy when you’re frozen inside.”