Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(31)

Recovering himself, but still smiling, he offered his hand. I grabbed it and yanked him toward the pond. He shot out his free hand and froze a section of the water around me, just in time to slide nimbly across its surface. He used my arm as a pivot point and swung back to the grassy bank. It was a controlled move and he’d been careful not to hurt my arm. A part of me admired the way he used his gift to alter his environment. The rest of me just seethed.

He offered his hand again, but I slapped it away.

“Always remain aware of your surroundings,” he said, his voice low and serious, his grin fading. “Especially in battle. If you’re quick-witted, you can use them to your own advantage. It may save your life.”

“Let’s see how quick-witted you are,” I muttered.

I grabbed a handful of pond plants and mud and hurled it at him. It caught him square in the chest, a long, slimy root wrapping itself around his neck.

“Maybe you should take your own advice,” I countered. “That could have been my sword.”

He brushed off the slimy green tendrils, the grin returning. If I hadn’t been so angry, I might have enjoyed the way his eyes sparkled at me.

“Point taken, Lady Firebrand. Now, as you don’t want my help, I’ll let you get yourself out. We’ll have our next lesson soon. Don’t forget your sword.”





ELEVEN



AS SISTER CLOVE’S TRUST IN ME grew, she sometimes let me ride Butter all over the abbey grounds. Together, the mare and I explored the gardens, orchards, fields, paddocks, and the fragrant copses of trees used for firewood. On the northern edge of the land near the river, I found myself singing a song my mother had taught me, about enjoying the summer while it lasted, because winter would surely come and cover the world with snow once again.

Heading east, we rounded a cluster of apple trees and would have passed the orchard when I noticed a solitary figure leaning against a trunk. Although he was dressed in monk’s robes, I knew from his broad shoulders and height that it was Arcus. I stopped singing and turned Butter away. I still hadn’t forgiven him for my fall in the pond and had found excuses not to repeat our lesson, which was made easier by the fact that Arcus had left for a couple of days and only just returned. Apparently, he often left the abbey for a day or two at a time, though no one seemed to know where he went. If they did, they certainly weren’t telling me.

“Ruby,” he called. “Wait a moment.”

I pulled to an abrupt halt. He had never used my name before. I waited as he came close, his hand lifting to pat Butter. He smiled at her soft nicker.

“That was a pretty song you were singing,” he said. “Where did you learn it?”

I paused. “My mother taught it to me.”

He nodded. “I liked hearing it today. I was… rather melancholy.”

I felt my brows rise and struggled to smooth my expression. Brother Gamut had asserted that Frostbloods are fully capable of feeling deeply, but I wasn’t used to thinking of Arcus as having feelings at all. Still, his confession at feeling melancholy was strangely disarming.

“Want to talk about it?” I asked, surprising myself. “My mother always said that sharing a problem halves the burden. Not that it ever took much prodding for me to share what I felt.”

His mouth pulled up on one side. “That doesn’t surprise me. No one is left in any doubt about how you feel.”

I waited for him to continue. When he said nothing more, I shrugged and lifted the reins to ride away.

“Brother Thistle tells me you’re making progress in your lessons,” Arcus said quickly, almost as if he didn’t want me to leave.

I made a dismissive sound. “Brother Thistle is very kind. And patient.” Once the words were out, I regretted them. I shouldn’t admit that my progress was slow. I wasn’t sure what Arcus would do if he decided I wasn’t worth his time. “I’ve mastered the smaller flames, though. I can pass fire from one hand to another without losing control of it. And my aim is improving.”

He nodded, stroking his hand over Butter’s neck. His hand was large and well shaped, with a sprinkling of dark hair and long, blunt-edged fingers. My attention was arrested to see how gentle he was with the animal.

He looked up at me. “You haven’t had your second lesson in swordplay.”

“One was enough, thank you.”

His chin came up and I felt, rather than saw, the look he leveled at me from the shadows of his hood. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“So much for the freedom you promised.”

“That’s if you complete your task.”

“If I survive it, you mean. And if I don’t drown in a fishpond first.”

He took a breath, his nostrils flaring slightly, and exhaled. I derived a twisted satisfaction from testing his temper. It was good to know he had one. It meant he felt something, at least some of the time.

“As for that,” he said, clearing his throat, “I wasn’t the best teacher.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, some of my resentment fading. “No, you weren’t.” I let that hang in the air. “But perhaps I wasn’t the most willing of pupils, either.”

“I shouldn’t have laughed at you,” he said.

I remembered the way I kept slipping and bobbing back up. “I suppose I must have looked a sight.” I stared at him, wishing I could see more of his expression. I thought the corner of his mouth twitched up a little, but he managed to control it.