Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(42)

The sun had set, but streaks of burnt orange still clung to the sky above the forest. I raced toward the trees, hoping the strong scents of pine and wet soil would calm my mind.

A sound like thunder rent the air. A wall of ice grew up in front of me, a glacier appearing suddenly as if it had risen from the ground, the reverberation knocking me off my feet and twisting my ankle. I cried out in shock, scanning the landscape.

A hooded figure stood near the abbey. Arcus had followed me.

Turning, I limped toward him, stopping a few feet away. The remnants of sunset transformed the lower portion of his face into a mask of beaten copper, dented strangely over his cheeks and lip. When I remembered the last time I’d spoken to him, my blood boiled in my gut like a fire fed with oil. I’d touched his lips, laid my affection at his feet, and he had shown me how repelled he was by my very touch.

“You promised not to leave,” he said, his muscles bunched for a fight.

Of course he would assume I was leaving again. I pulled my arm back and cracked an invisible whip. Fire corkscrewed through the air, flying inches from Arcus’s legs and spreading over the ground in a shower of sparks. He didn’t even flinch. I lifted my arm again, this time aiming at his chest.

He was ready. A breath of frost met my spiral of molten heat, dispersing it in a cone-shaped hiss of steam.

My hands spun out a funnel cloud of blistering heat. I had never been able to do the move successfully during training. Now the wind howled as it bore down on its target. He lifted his palms but wasn’t fast enough. The air hit him like a battering ram, slamming him to the earth. He lay on his back, unmoving.

I ran to him, torn by conflicting urges. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make sure he was unhurt. I wanted to leave him in the dirt and run away. I wanted him to stop me from leaving.

Shaking, I fell to my knees and put my hand to his chest. It rose and fell with each breath. A pulse beat at his neck. I had an urge to cup his cheek, to trace the scars on his face, to slide my fingers into his hair. He groaned and opened his eyes.

Relief coursed through me. I looked into the myriad of blues and then, unable to bear the cold, looked away.

“You lied to me,” I said.

“When did I lie?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe not outright. But you let me believe my task was to kill the king. That’s the whole reason I did all this. You think it was easy? Learning to trust two Frostbloods to teach me how to master my fire. Taking orders, holding my temper, learning to quiet my mind. You think any of this was easy?”

“No. I don’t think it was easy at all.”

I kept my face turned away so he wouldn’t see the pain I couldn’t hide. “Fool that I am, I thought it would get me what I wanted. Revenge. And now I know that all you ever wanted me to do was destroy the throne. Do you know what Brother Thistle thinks?” I gave a snort of disgust. “Of course you do. Stupid, fanciful notions. I… I should have run away in the dead of night and never come back. I should have gone to the castle myself.”

“So you could die in his arena like all the other Firebloods?”

“And the death you have planned for me is better? The one where the king kills me for destroying his throne? That’s assuming I’m even strong enough. That’s also assuming we even get past the castle guards. You’ll be dead, too, by the way, if we don’t. I hope the payout, whatever it is, is worth it.”

Slowly, he raised himself onto his elbows. “If I could afford to be completely selfish, I wouldn’t let you go after the king. I would take you far away from this land and keep you safe.”

My lashes fluttered, pleased shock sending ripples over my skin. The red haze over my eyes began to fade.

I sat back and wrapped my arms around my knees. I would take you far away from this land and keep you safe. It had been so long since anyone had tried to protect me. A part of me longed to curl into his arms and warm him with my heat as his words warmed me. But the last time I had touched him, he had told me to stop.

He took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was steady. “But I cannot only think of myself. You know what’s happening to my people. You know what’s already happened to yours. It cannot continue.”

I pressed my palms against the earth and focused on a spot in the distance. “Why me? You don’t believe in prophecies. You said yourself I’m just another foul-tempered Fireblood.”

He pushed up and sat forward, resting his elbows on his bent knees. His skin, where it wasn’t scarred, was smooth and young, though I knew his eyes held the weight of experience many years older.

“Who else is there?” he asked. “What Fireblood will do this but you?”

“What if I do destroy the throne? When it’s all over, are you just going to”—I waved a hand—“disappear into the air like mist?”

“From the time we leave the abbey until you’re safely back again, I’ll protect you with my life.”

I looked at Arcus and remembered Brother Thistle’s claim: that the Frostblood felt more than he showed. The pounding of my heart eased and the fog began to lift.

“And if I die there?” I asked. “Will someone take my body? Or will he put my head on a post at the castle gates?”

His fist hit the earth, making the ground reverberate. “You have to believe you can win. What happened to your rage? Your fire? Are you giving up already?”