Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(19)

“I was afraid they wouldn’t let me near Kaitryn, so I made them sleep more deeply.”

“You poisoned these good people with your foul concoctions? For all I know they’re dead!”

I shook my head. “They’re fine! They should wake within the hour. Check them yourself. They’re both breathing.”

He moved toward them, bending down to put his ear to their chests. As he half crouched, I saw the moment his muscles coiled just before he launched himself at me.





SEVEN



HE LEAPED WITH STARTLING SPEED. I grabbed the potion-soaked corner of my cloak and brought it to his nose. His arms wrapped me in a tight grip, but he took a breath, and that was his downfall. His eyes fluttered and I shoved him away hard with both hands.

I spun away and ran toward the trees as he shouted for help. In my panic, I went too far left and had to retrace my steps to find Butter. For a moment, I thought I’d lost her. Then her coat made a yellow smear in the dim light, and I wanted to cry out with relief. Thank Sud I’d left her saddled.

“Just me,” I said, low and reassuring, running a hand along her neck before hopping onto her back. “No time for sleep, girl. We need to move.”

The trees, though not chokingly thick, were too close for a gallop. We could only walk, putting slow and steady distance between us and the torches spreading into the trees as they searched for the intruder.

If I was lucky, Kaitryn didn’t have time to tell anyone about the temperature of my skin. And there had been layers of clothing and thick cloaks between me and the man who had grabbed me. They might give up the chase quickly, glad to have driven me away.

As long as they didn’t know I was a Fireblood.

Butter kept a good pace, especially when we came across a thin, frozen stream and were able to follow its banks unobstructed by trees. Eventually, the torches fell so far behind they were no longer in sight. I forced my tight muscles to relax. We had escaped.

As we stopped for the night under a bit of hollowed-out cliff, I chewed on that word like a dog gnaws on a piece of dried leather.

Escape.

That was all I seemed to do anymore. Run away. I had escaped the prison, the abbey, and now a camp of refugees. Was that what my life was now? An endless series of close shaves until my luck ran out?

I would never be safe in Tempesia. There was nowhere I could hide that someone wouldn’t turn me in to the nearest garrison for that reward. I had hoped to get to the coast and stow away on a ship, but if that was what the soldiers expected me to do, they would be watching every road, checking every berth.

The real problem was my conscience. It wouldn’t stay quiet anymore. As long as the king lived, there would always be another captain, another raid, until my people were extinguished, and maybe not even then. When Arcus and Brother Thistle had come to the prison, they had offered me a chance to strike at the king. I hadn’t known whether to believe them, but had agreed because it was better than dying a slow death.

But what if Arcus and Brother Thistle had a real plan to overthrow or kill the king… and I was part of it? I had been too scared and weak to feel that I could be of any help. But after seeing the suffering that followed in the wake of my escape—the burned villages, the misplaced people, the little girl gasping for every breath, her medicine burned along with her home—wasn’t I obligated to try?

I wasn’t being noble. There was nothing noble about a thirst for revenge. It was about getting what I wanted, a chance to kill the king. And no one else would have to suffer because of me.

I looked at the stars for guidance, then turned Butter back toward the abbey.





After some wrong turns and backtracking over the next few days, we entered the massive stretch of forest only a day’s ride from the abbey, weaving through trees with weathered gray bark that matched the sky. At midday, clouds began dropping fat flakes that wheeled in the breeze like tiny doilies crocheted from silk thread. In the afternoon, the wind changed, beating sideways from the north. The snow became heavy, wet, and laced with sleet. It hissed when it first touched my face. Soon, my skin cooled and I could no longer feel my cheeks.

Everything was violent white. The wind hit my eyes like invisible needles, making them water. I could barely see a few feet in front of Butter’s ears. We could walk right off the edge of the mountain and I wouldn’t know it until we were halfway down.

There had been a depression in the cliff face forming a sort of cave somewhere behind us, back when the breeze was light and playful. I should have stopped. I should have known better than to underestimate a winter storm in the mountains.

Cursing myself, I pulled back on the reins. I was fairly sure I could survive the night. My heat should keep my insides from freezing. But not Butter. She had no defense against the cold. The temperature had dropped sharply. For her sake more than mine, we needed to go back and find that bit of shelter.

Then again, we could be hours from the abbey. I didn’t know how long we’d been in the woods or how far we’d come.

“We’ll keep going,” I told her. “The snow is too thick to go back. You’ll find your home, won’t you, girl?”

I urged her forward and she trudged on. Whether she knew her way or not, the mare’s pace slowed steadily over the next hour or two until she finally stopped.

“Just a little farther,” I told her, rubbing her ice-crusted neck. But the truth was, there was no way to get my bearings in this endless wash of white. I slid off Butter’s back into a thick drift and put my hands on her side.