Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(57)
She nodded. “I will find you something.”
In a short while, she returned with a mask that covered my eyes. It was overly ornate, decorated with red feathers and seed pearls. When I asked her where she’d found it, she blushed a deep shade of pink.
“It’s from a mistress of one of the noblemen,” she said. “She had a secret to keep and I have kept it. She owes me.”
“What kind of secret?” I asked, curious what could cause such a blush.
“It’s not uncommon for nobles to desire a night with the champions. I’m valued for my discretion.”
I smiled, looking at her with new interest. “I do believe I like you, Doreena. You’re a survivor.”
“And so, I hope, are you, my lady.”
As I fell into step with the guards, our booted feet made the rhythm of a battle march that echoed the susurration of blood in my ears. We passed from the castle and into the courtyard and from there, through a tunnel that led into the great arena. The guards left me in the shade of an alcove reserved for those about to fight.
My heart pounded so hard my vision blurred. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths and then forced myself to assess my surroundings.
There were fighters of all kinds: mostly men in ragged clothes and others in steel breastplates, some with gleaming sword hilts above decorated scabbards, some with no weapons at all. There were a few women, though it took me a moment to realize that, as they were broad-shouldered and armored and looked as imposing as the men. I wondered how they’d fought their way here and what their lives had been like to bring them to a place like this.
I’d never seen so many people in one place. The arena was built of ice, the smooth circular walls giving the impression of a huge bowl. Tier after tier of seats grew out of the inner wall, curving around the arena on all sides. The excited noise of a thousand people produced the hum of an immense hive, disconcertingly loud and incoherent.
Balconies jutted out at intervals, holding spectators who were finely dressed, with puffs of frosty air coming from their mouths. Few clouds of frost rose from the folks packed into the regular seats. Apparently the nobility were more likely to have the gift than the common rabble.
As the guards left, they pointed out a woman called Braka, a tall, broad-shouldered warrior with steely gray eyes who was moving from fighter to fighter, sharing pointers and encouragement. Icicles hung from her metal shoulder-guards and clustered over her thick salt-and-pepper hair, which was arranged in a plethora of braids. I gathered she was responsible for training the Frostblood champions, though no such training had been offered to me. Not that I expected it. I clasped my hands behind my back to hide their shaking.
Before I could decide what to do next, or where I should be, a rotund man with short white hair and deep indigo robes stepped into the center of the arena.
“Good people of Fors,” he boomed over the buzz of the crowd. He raised his hands and the noise quieted. “Today, for your edification and enjoyment, we present a variety of fighters, from lowly thieves and traitors to beloved champions. We bring you marvelous beasts, exotic animals from near and far. And as always, we bring you spectacle, entertainment, and feats of strength and daring that will leave you breathless with delight. You honor your king by cheering for his champions and cursing his enemies. May the deaths be honorable and the fights be bloody!”
My legs twitched with the urge to run. I gripped the icy wall, hoping the cold biting into my hand would help focus my mind. Instead, I found myself doubled over, a hand to my stomach, breathing shallowly as I fought to stay upright.
The pounding of hooves reverberated through the ground. Riders on white horses poured out of a wide opening at the other end of the arena, the morning sun glinting off polished armor. They wore bright helms and carried long spears topped with points of ice, sharp as steel. The riders were followed by champions on foot, their appearance drawing adoring cries from the crowd. Next, a procession of animals pulled against leather leashes held by muscular handlers. Snarling frost wolves, hulking white bears, a wide-faced tiger with white-and-blue stripes, even a massive white bull with gray horns and a yoke around its neck held by two men on each side.
The next animal was very strange. It was a large bird with crimson feathers, long legs, and small wings. Its beak looked deadly sharp. It writhed and pulled against its handlers, at one point pulling its face loose from the harness and breathing a cloud of fire. I gasped with the crowd.
A creature of fire, here in the city of Fors.
The bird was lovely, elegant, wild. It was dangerous and impossible and unlike anything I had ever seen. It hurt my heart to see such strange beauty leashed and so out of place. The animal thrashed so hard against its handler that I feared it would snap its delicate neck.
A strong urge to run out and free the animal flashed through me. But a moment later, the animals were led back through the door. Only the frost wolves were left in the arena, their mouths emitting puffs of cold mist that danced in the sunlight.
A man was brought out by two guards, his hands bound. The purple-robed announcer introduced him as a traitor to the realm. The crowd answered with shouts of fury. The wolf handlers gave a command, and the wolves all sat, their bodies trembling with anticipation as the handlers took off the leashes and left the arena. The prisoner backed slowly toward the edge of the ring.
From the doorway, one of the handlers shouted a command, and the wolves shot forward like arrows from a longbow, their haunches rippling as they closed in. The prisoner screamed and I cried out with him. In a blink, he was out of sight as the wolves fell over one another to get at him. The man’s cries were almost drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Almost, but not quite. I stumbled into a dark corner, my stomach heaving over and over until it was empty.