Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(61)

King Rasmus stood and moved to the railing, his gaze roving over the shocked crowd. “You’ve witnessed a great spectacle today, as promised by our dear Lord Albus, peerless officiator of the games.” Weak applause from the crowd. “But perhaps you are surprised that a Fireblood has won in our city. In the heart of our land. In my arena. Do not be afraid. I assure you, this means nothing. Her power is but a candle in a blizzard. Easily snuffed.”

A gout of frost burst from his hand, arcing to where I stood. It wrapped around me like cotton batting, layer after layer, until I was surrounded, with barely enough room to breathe. As I wriggled uncomfortably, some of the spectators laughed.

“Rest assured, good people of Fors,” said the king, “that frost will always reign supreme. Those who defy us will learn their error and pay with blood and tears.”

Numb as I felt, anger heated my skin at his words. His frost was incredibly strong, but with a few streaks of fire, I finally crashed free and turned away, the crowd too wrapped up in their king to care.

When I reached the shade of the alcove, a hand on my shoulder made me jump.

“You killed a great champion today, Fireblood,” said Braka. “As a warrior, I salute you.”

I cringed away from the praise, shaking off her hand and limping into the shadows of the tunnel.





TWENTY-ONE



“ARE YOU SURE THOSE ARE YOUR orders?” My heart was racing before I consciously understood his words.

The guard’s face was stony, his eyes cased so that he wasn’t quite looking at me. “Quite sure. The king has commanded that you dine with him.”

I was numb, sore, and heartsick after my fight. I hardly remembered who I was, let alone what I was doing in a room in the Frost King’s castle, in the same tunic and leggings I had worn in the arena. Something had taken hold of me and I had taken a life. It was as if I had become someone else entirely, and now I flailed around in my mind, searching for the person I used to be.

But at the guard’s mention of the king, my purpose came rushing back to me, erasing the numbness and making my hands tremble.

Destroy the throne. Kill the king. Take your revenge.

Finally seizing control of my battered mind, I nodded and followed the guard into the corridor. He didn’t touch me, but stayed close, leading me through a labyrinth of hallways to a large bathing room. Vivid porcelain tiles covered the floors and walls. A fountain burbled in the center. It smelled of rose and lavender and citrus.

It would have seemed like a paradise if it weren’t for the five soldiers lined up along the wall with their swords pointed at me.

“Consider this a reward for winning your match,” said the guard. “The heat will strengthen you, so we’re to kill you if you do anything suspicious. You’ll see there is nothing in this room that will burn.”

“Aside from you,” I corrected.

His head reared back and he blinked.

“Our swords will be ready should you try to escape,” he said, recovering his steely glare.

If only escape were an option. But the throne was still cursed and the king still lived, and, most important, my mother was still dead and unavenged. I could no sooner try to escape than I could sprout wings and fly.

When they’d gone, a court healer in a white gown entered and sewed up my finger with grim efficiency, then rubbed salve on the cuts on my face. The finger had been cut deeply but wasn’t as bad as I had first feared. I waited to make sure the door stayed shut behind her, then discarded my clothes and sank into the steaming water, careful to keep my bandaged hand dry.

I tried not to let myself think, but there was too much horror locked inside. I put a hand to my mouth to stifle the sobs and splashed my face with water, over and over until my breathing returned to normal. I used my uninjured hand to scrub my hair and skin, then stepped from the tub and wrapped the towel around myself.

Down a short tiled hallway was a room not much bigger than a closet, with a large mirror that took up one wall. I dropped my towel and stood in front of the wavy glass. My skin was covered in purple-and-yellow bruises, but I was no longer the skeleton that had been rescued from the prison. I had developed the gentle swell of muscles in my arms and legs and the curves of a woman in between. I hadn’t looked in a mirror in longer than I could remember. I had the sense that I was a stranger looking at myself from the wrong side of the glass.

There was a trunk in the corner that yielded some delicate linens and a corset with bone shaping. I put them on as best I could and found they fit. I was still puzzling over the strangeness of this when a door that was all but invisible in the wall opened.

I turned quickly, my fists coming up automatically. Marella stepped into the room, setting a bundle of clothing on a chair and closing the door behind her.

“Always ready to fight, aren’t you? You won in the arena, as I knew you would.”

I lowered my hands, speechless for several seconds. I could have told her what had happened to me, that something else had taken control of me, but I didn’t trust her that far. Not until I knew why she was encouraging me.

“I almost lost,” I said. “I was… too confident.”

“Gravnach specialized in playing with his victims like that. Which is what made him a favorite.”

“With the crowd or the king?”

“Both.”

“And you?”