Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(51)
I heard Brother Thistle’s voice in my head. Good. Now let that anger build.…
I focused on my heart but was shocked to find only tepid warmth. It was as if my fire was being pulled from my body, sucked away by an invisible siphon that left me cold and weak. My eyes widened and my throat closed.
If I couldn’t access my heat, I was lost. The king. The throne—the destruction of both depended on my gift.
“Is there a problem, Fireling?” the king asked, his eyes narrowing to dark points, his lips twitching. “You look… a little cold.”
As he said the words, my limbs went stiff. My feet wouldn’t move. I realized they were mired in frost up to my ankles. My heart still beat hard in my chest; my breath came in panting bursts. But when I opened my mouth, whether to plead or threaten, my jaw was too stiff for speech. Sheer blind panic flooded my veins. I was completely and utterly at the king’s mercy.
“You’re accustomed to frost having little effect on you, aren’t you?” He smiled, looking satisfied, like a well-fed cat. “Well, I’m no peasant. My power comes from the throne of Fors. It absorbs your heat.”
The cold reached my stomach and was creeping toward my chest. My breathing slowed and my vision dimmed. So this was how the king killed Firebloods. As if through a fog, I saw his smile, felt his raw pleasure in the act of making me hurt.
I tried to force words from my frozen throat. Stars burst in front of my eyes.
The young woman in the plum gown stepped forward. She gave me an intense look from thickly lashed violet eyes before turning to the king.
“Pardon, Your Majesty,” she said in a soft, melodious voice, “but would it not be a fine idea to let her fight? We haven’t seen a Fireblood in the arena for several weeks. Perhaps it would raise the spirits of your soldiers to see your champions defeat a Fireblood, to remind them of our great victories. It could be an auspicious way to start the summer season of games.”
Annoyance flickered in the king’s eyes, but the woman’s expression was patient, inquisitive, and hopeful. Her wheat-gold hair, lit from the window behind, was braided and twined on her head in an elegant style that suited her delicate features. I had the sense that if anyone else had been so brazen, they would have been frozen on the spot. But the king seemed to consider her words.
“My arena is for warriors and champions, and she is neither,” he replied. “Fighting is a privilege that must be earned through a show of strength.”
He tapped his fingers on the icy throne, the sapphire ring glinting in the light. The shadows in the ice shifted.
“She must be tested,” said a voice that resonated in my head like a thousand chiming bells, excruciatingly loud. From what I could see, no one in the room showed signs that they had heard anything at all. The king’s head was cocked slightly.
“She must be tested,” the king repeated. He lifted his hand and made a careless gesture in my direction. The cold rushed away, leaving me boneless. “Take her to Gulzar. If she survives the beast, perhaps I’ll consider allowing her into my arena. If not, at least my pet will have a hot meal.”
The captain laughed and bowed low, then put a hand to the back of my neck and pushed me down.
“Your benevolent ruler just spared your life, Firefilth,” he hissed into my ear. “Show your gratitude.”
I stared at the floor, my mouth tight. There wasn’t a scrap of gratitude in me.
“Thank him!” he ordered. Although I wanted nothing more than to blast the captain with flames, there was still the sense that my heat seeped from my body, dripping to the floor like blood. My head grew light. If I stayed much longer, I would lose consciousness. The king would declare me weak and I would lose any chance to prove myself.
“Thank you,” I forced out through clenched teeth.
I was yanked up and spun around, then half marched, half dragged toward the arched doorway.
“There is something different about that one,” said the voice of a thousand chiming bells. I spun around to see who was speaking and saw only the king, his eyes blacker than tar. I turned away, but I felt his narrow-eyed stare press on me as I was led from the room.
EIGHTEEN
“THE BEAST HAS LONG ARMS,” SAID one of the guards in a glib tone, his face pressed to the steel bars above my head. “Best to stay out of reach.”
I had been thrust into a dark underground space, a roughly round room made of stone. Ice coated one wall. The only light came from an opening overhead. The smiling faces of a cluster of guards stared down.
“And should I stay away from its mouth, too?” I mocked, struggling to cover my fear. “Or curtsy and welcome it to pick its teeth with me?”
“You do look a bit like a toothpick,” he said with a wide grin.
The heat that had been suppressed in the throne room rose to the surface. I lifted a hand to roast him with a carefully aimed spiral of fire when the floor shook.
Then another sound, quieter but far more alarming. Great puffs of air, as if they had come from a large bellows.
Breathing. Sniffing. The shuffle of feet.
Terror sharpened my senses. I crouched in the ready position that Brother Thistle had taught me. In my mind, I heard him say that fighting is first about calming and focusing the mind. I took several long, shuddering breaths.
A hook high on the wall held four long chains. I ran to them and pulled myself up using footholds in the wall. I managed to get several feet off the ground. Relief pulsed through me. Much better than being on the floor.