Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(56)

We have never heard of a Fireblood coming out alive.





TWENTY



THE NEXT MORNING, A SERVING woman entered carrying a bundle of clothes. She wore a simple brown dress and a matching kerchief over her brown hair, which was plaited and hung down her back. She was several years older than I, with a slim build and delicate features: a heart-shaped face and large, frightened eyes.

“I’m to help you dress,” she said, her voice quavering slightly.

“What’s your name?” I asked, clasping my hands together to hide their shaking. I had slept badly.

“Dor-Doreena,” she replied, her eyes flicking up to meet mine before returning to the worn wooden floorboards. “I serve the champions.”

I sighed. “Are you afraid of all Firebloods or just me?”

Her round eyes grew even bigger. “I’m sorry, my lady. I don’t mean to offend.”

“You don’t offend me,” I replied. “And I have never been called ‘my lady’ in my life. Call me Ruby.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t, my lady.”

Her hands trembled as she laid a tunic and leather armor on the bed. It was strange to realize that while I was terrified of what would happen in the arena, a servant was afraid of me. No doubt she’d heard stories about Firebloods being merciless killers or some such thing.

I kept up a constant chatter, partly to put her at ease and partly because her nervousness made my own worse. I talked about my village and how strange it was to be in such a grand place when I’d grown up in a thatch-roofed hut, and how I’d never worn armor and would have no idea how to put it on without her help. Anything to make me seem more innocuous.

She was silent, but her hands no longer shook as she held out the bloodred tunic. She was very careful not to touch me.

As I adjusted the tunic, I decided I was tired of my own voice and asked her a question. “You said you serve the champions, Doreena?”

She nodded.

“Is there anything you can tell me that might help in the arena? Anything at all?”

She picked up a leather breastplate and held it in her hands for a few moments before speaking.

“You have a better chance if you win the crowd,” she said in her quiet voice.

She lifted the breastplate and I put my arms through. I felt a little dizzy at the hard feel of it against my chest. Wearing armor made the impending fight seem much more real, the thought that it was to protect me from blows or blades.

“Has the crowd ever been won over by a Fireblood?” I winced as she closed the straps at my back. “Ow, a bit too tight.”

She loosened the straps and then stood in front of me, her rosebud lips pursed as she examined me. “I’ve never heard of any Fireblood who was loved by the crowd. Perhaps you will be the first.”

It didn’t seem likely. The Frostbloods had come to watch me die, in payment for all the parents and children they had lost in conflicts with my people before we were wiped clean from the kingdom. My fear and anger must have shown on my face because Doreena stepped back.

“How do you know so much?” I asked with a forced smile.

“I have served the champions for two years. I hear them talk.”

“And what else have you heard that might be of use to me? Do you have any tips?”

She blinked in surprise and gnawed her lip before answering. “It’s difficult when I don’t know who you’ll be facing. I suppose all I can offer is that everyone has a weakness. Try to pay attention. Many of the champions have injuries—some part of their body they protect, something they favor. If you spot their weakness, focus all your attacks on that spot. And… well, you’re small. Keep your distance. If they get hold of you, you don’t stand a chance.”

If I hadn’t been so nervous, I would have laughed. “At least you’re honest.”

“Honest to a fault, I’m told. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, I’m grateful for your advice.”

She held up a piece of soft calf leather, dyed black. “Here is your mask.”

It had openings for eyes, nose, and mouth. It reminded me of the mask Arcus wore during training.

Thinking of him at all was painful, but remembering the way I had burned his hood and mask and the way he’d cried out in shock was terrible. My throat closed up and I blinked hard.

Instead, I concentrated on what he had said to me, that I was the most dangerous person he had ever known. My only chance at survival depended on my ability to be deadly.

When Doreena put on my mask, it covered everything but my eyes, a small triangle under my nose, and my mouth. I hated it instantly. It choked me, the idea that I was some faceless body sent to die for the king’s entertainment. I whipped it off and threw it to the floor.

“Sorry,” I said to Doreena, her wide-eyed look making me embarrassed by my sudden rage. “I can’t breathe in that.”

“It’s either wear a mask or a helm,” she said, twisting her hands together. “You must have your face covered. It’s tradition that opponents meet on even ground, noblemen and peasants alike. They’re only unmasked once they’re dead.”

A cheerful thought.

“Well then, find me a mask that allows me to breathe, because I’m not wearing that. And a helm would be too heavy.”