Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(32)

“I know you’re not keen to try again,” he said seriously. “But it’s important to know the basic maneuvers with a weapon. I ask that you trust me. This time I promise I won’t laugh if you make a mistake.”

I ask… I promise… Such phrases as I never expected to hear from the self-proclaimed block of ice.

I tilted my head. “Did Brother Thistle train you in the most effective methods of communicating with me?”

His head lifted and his lips curved. “He may have given me some advice.”

“And you took it?” My brows rose.

“I’m experimenting with it. If it doesn’t work, I’ll go back to my tried and true method.”

“By which you mean threats and orders.”

His smile widened.

I pretended to look thoughtful. “Then by all means, I must make sure you find this new method rewarding. When do we resume lessons?”

“Tomorrow morning, after you’re finished with Brother Thistle. Same place as before. If it pleases you.”

“I’ll wear ribbons in my hair if it’ll keep your tongue so civil.”

He grinned up at me for a moment before turning away. As he strode off, he hummed the song I’d been singing.

I blinked after him, feeling a strange fluttering in my stomach. Butter and I shook ourselves and continued our ride.





A sort of truce formed between Arcus and me.

Every day or two, he would give me another lesson in swordplay. I would do my best not to back into a bog or puddle, while he did his best not to yell at me or laugh when I tripped or lost my sword. I had little affinity for the lessons, though. The cold steel just felt so unnatural in my hand.

I said as much while Arcus and I walked back toward the abbey after a lesson.

“Don’t think of it as a cold piece of steel,” he said, touching my elbow and turning to face me. “Remember, it started out as liquid fire.”

“Liquid fire?” I asked, meeting his eyes.

“Have you ever been in a forge?”

I nodded. “I visited the blacksmith’s shop in my village sometimes to watch him make horseshoes or nails.”

“I’ve been working on a new sword. Come by the smithy tomorrow morning after you finish with Brother Thistle and you can see what I mean. Perhaps if you can envision the steel in its nascent state, it won’t feel so repugnant.”

“Does that apply to Frostbloods?” I asked with feigned innocence. “If I’d seen you in your nascent state, would you be less repugnant to me?”

A wicked gleam lit his eyes. “What nascent state do you mean, exactly?”

Realizing the other possible meaning of my words, I spun away. “Not that, you conceited icicle. I meant, if I’d known you as a child. Which, though impossible, is more likely than the scenario you’re suggesting.”

“Thank Fors. I’d hate to bare my… soul to you and be judged harshly.”

Unwilling to let him get the better of me, I turned on my heel to face him and stepped in his path. He put his hands out reflexively, catching my upper arms. I let my eyes flick over him. “It might be worth the experience if I could take a chip or two out of that towering pride.” I smiled the way I’d seen shopkeepers’ daughters do with village boys.

He was silent, an unusual state for him. It was exhilarating, putting him off-balance, to the point where I felt a pang of danger. This was a game to which I could become quite addicted if I wasn’t careful.

I turned away before he could see the flush that crept up my neck. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Just don’t wear your cloak in the forge,” he called after me. “With all the stray sparks, you’re liable to catch fire.”

But it wasn’t the forge’s effect on me that was worrisome.





The smithy, a long building to the southwest of the abbey, was dominated by a stone hearth filled with glowing coals and a large bellows in front. A variety of metal instruments hung from hooks on the walls. To the left of the hearth, a broad male back, uncovered but for a sheen of sweat, was bent slightly. He lowered a hammer with ringing force onto a piece of heated metal held with tongs on an anvil.

Luckily, the flush that swept over my skin was easily dismissed as a result of the heat of the room.

“I didn’t think you were serious yesterday,” I said between hammer blows, “about baring yourself to me.”

Arcus stopped and turned, and I saw that a leather apron covered his chest. “It has nothing to do with you. It’s hotter than the inside of Sud’s volcanoes in here.”

It was clear from his tone that his mood was a lot less playful than the day before, possibly because he was in a room that must feel excessively hot to him.

I moved closer, touching implements on a worktable along the way. “I thought you hated heat and flame.”

“Necessary evils. I don’t spend more time here than I must. Put on those gloves.” He nodded to leather gloves that sat on a table along the wall. I noticed he also wore a pair.

“I don’t need them.”

“Put them on.”

I did and joined him in front of the anvil.

“Take the tongs and put the blade in the fire,” he instructed.

I took the tongs and held the long, crudely sword-shaped bit of metal above the coals. He put down the hammer and worked the bellows, making the flames leap higher.