Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(43)

“I’m not giving up! But you should have told me everything from the start so I knew what I was facing!”

“You want a guarantee,” he said. “Assurances that nothing will go wrong. Ruby, there is no such thing.”

I shrugged. He was right. I buried my nose between my knees and wished I were invisible.

“Please go,” I mumbled against the fabric of my robe. “I want to be alone.”

Arcus heaved a sigh, but I heard no sounds of him rising to leave. Finally, I lifted my head.

He looked south toward the road to the abbey, a silent silhouette. His profile, I couldn’t help noticing, was nobly carved. How handsome he must have been before he was burned. Heat flared over my skin. How handsome he was now.

I turned away. I didn’t want to think those kinds of thoughts about him, now or ever again. I was a fool to entertain them in the first place. It wasn’t his fault that the fire in my blood made me feel things he couldn’t. For once, I wished my blood were a little cooler, more like his.

“You asked me how I was burned,” he said, his voice barely louder than the hissing of the wind. “A Fireblood master tried to kill me.”

I didn’t want to care, but I couldn’t help it. In an instant, I understood Arcus’s initial fear and animosity toward me. I had threatened to burn him so badly his mistress would run from him in terror. I curled my nails into my palms to ward off the guilt that welled up at the memory.

“He caught me unawares. I was lured to a place where I was alone. I was a fool for not taking better care. After all my training with weapons and combat, I didn’t even get in one hit before I was on the ground, my throat so raw I couldn’t even scream my agony.”

It took a minute to find my voice. “Where did you live?”

“In the king’s court.”

My head jerked up, my eyes widening. In the fading light, he was little more than a silhouette.

“After my father died and I took his title, I made some powerful enemies. Men who wanted me gone.”

My heart pounded in my ears at the realization that Arcus was a titled lord. “Why?”

One broad shoulder gave a slight shrug. “I wasn’t what they’d expected. They wanted me to be like my father and I wasn’t.”

“And… you think these men sent someone to kill you?”

He nodded. “I believe my death was meant to get rid of me and to stir up hatred toward Firebloods, to look like an attack.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“You said I never tell you anything. I’m trying to change that.”

Warmth fluttered in my chest. He was finally trusting me with answers.

“Why would anyone want to stir up hatred when there was so much already?”

“The king at the time had plans to make peace with the Firebloods in the southern plains. There are barons who had laid claim to that land, whether it was theirs by right or not. Killing off or driving away the Firebloods benefitted them.”

Nausea twisted in my stomach. “That’s monstrous.”

“Yes. The king thought so, too.”

“So he didn’t hate us.”

“He had every reason to. His mother, you remember, was killed by a band of Fireblood rebels. But when he was a child, his tutor told him other truths. Fire and frost used to be allies. Long ago, one of our kings married a Fireblood queen. King Ilaien and Queen Rosamund. Have you heard of them?”

“I thought it was just another one of Grandmother’s stories.” As a child, I hadn’t believed that a Fireblood would want anything to do with a Frostblood.

“It was a very long time ago,” he said. “Hundreds of years. No one wants to remember times of peace now. But the king did. He’d seen his father do things that were wrong. He wanted to change the kingdom. But he was killed, and Rasmus took the throne.”

I shook my head. “You knew them both?”

“I grew up in the castle. Rasmus wasn’t always the way he is today. Though his personality was always… changeable, I’m convinced the throne corrupted him.”

“So you believe that nonsense about a curse?”

“I didn’t used to. But I’ve read the books and heard Brother Thistle’s evidence, and now I do. The throne has to be destroyed, and the king might be cured.”

My spine stiffened at the implication: Don’t kill the king. Heal him. “And why does Brother Thistle care so much? What made a monk of the Order of Fors turn against his own king?”

Arcus cleared his throat. “He was once part of the Frost Court, a decorated warrior after the Battle of Aris Plains. When he took his vows, King Akur chose him as the official representative of the order. But eventually he wouldn’t tolerate Brother Thistle challenging him over his treatment of Firebloods anymore. The king sent him away to this abbey, where Brother Thistle dedicated himself to researching the prophecies and educating the brothers and sisters. He truly believes that a Fireblood will determine the outcome of an ancient rivalry between the gods. And he was affirmed in his belief in divine influence when I came here.”

“How so?”

“After the attack, I was left for dead. I felt the life ebbing out of me. And then…” He waved a hand in the air, sending a cool breeze over my face. “It sounds fanciful. A woman with golden hair and golden eyes stood next to me.”