Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(70)

“You couldn’t have seen.”

“Two of my people saw you in the woods putting your hands in the fire, but you weren’t burned.”

He lunged toward me and I leaped backward, scrambling to regain my balance.

“The villagers didn’t even know I was a Fireblood, you bastard.”

“The boy did. He was paid handsomely for his confession. Not that it does him much good now.”

If what he said was true, it was worse than I’d ever thought. It wasn’t the simple fact that I was a Fireblood that had drawn the soldiers, nor the fact that I’d tried to save Clay’s brother. It was my carelessness, my insistence on practicing despite the danger to everyone around me, including my mother, the person I’d loved most. She had paid for my selfishness with her life.

Movement brought the moment back into focus. While the captain had distracted me, the fire that blocked the tiger had died down. The captain leaped out of the way as a blur of blue and white stripes sprang from the side. I released a stream of fire, but the target was too fast and my aim was wide. Heavy paws hit my shoulders, knocking me to the ground. The air left my lungs, the tiger’s spittle flying into my face. Its head angled toward my neck, the long teeth bright and deadly. My nerves screamed for action.

Before I could summon my heat, a sword tip appeared through the animal’s neck. The creature made a horrible gagging noise and blood spurted from its mouth. It fell on me and was still.

I grunted and heaved, struggling to shift the body off me. Another pair of hands appeared, pushing the carcass to the side. The captain stood over me, blotting out the sun.

“I wanted the satisfaction of killing you myself,” he said, raising his sword.

Time slowed. Darkness swirled in my chest, and the world changed, becoming a painting in black and white.

I saw my mother, the captain’s sword above her head, the look on his face as he brought the weapon down. My own screams in my ears as she crumpled to the snowy ground. That look was on his face now. That killing look. I was going to die. I would become a tale to jest about over a tankard of ale, surrounded by warmth and family, which I would never have because he’d taken mine away.

Once again, all doubt, all sense of right and wrong, faded. There was only the target, his darkly beating heart, and my fire. There was no fear, no anger, no shame, no regret. Just power, surging through me, filling me. It felt as if my breath sucked the very air from the heavens, and my rage burned the sun to ash. I was everything and nothing, and no one could stop me. I was darkness wreathed in flesh.

I raised my hand. Fire licked out with barely a second’s thought.

The captain shuddered and jolted, each spastic movement lasting eons. Finally, his sword fell to the ground, the dust flying up around it in white grains that caught the sun.

As he fell slowly to the earth, I was filled with ecstasy. There had never been such bliss.

I stood and looked at the crowd, the people’s forms and faces moving slowly, black and white and gray, chanting something. Each one of their hearts was a black stain in their chests.

I turned and found the king on his balcony. He was gray, his heart black. But as I watched, he darkened, his shoulders growing pointed, his head growing horns. A shadow beast stood in his place, and it called to me. I wanted to be part of it. It was me and I was it. I took a step closer.

Something was thrown from the stands and hit the back of my head, splattering seeds. I fell to my knees, and the world snapped into focus. The color came back in a painful rush. My body ached and stung. I cried out at the terrible loss. The power was gone.

I keened my agony, the separation unbearable.

The announcer’s voice came from the edge of the arena. “The Fireblood wins again. Three cheers for the Fireling!”

There were no cheers for me, but the crowd’s shouts receded, like a wave pulling back into the sea. Dimly, I sensed their confusion and shock that a Fireblood had won again.

The captain lay next to me, his eyes still wide with shock, a trickle of blood coming from his mouth. I had done this. Where he had breathed and fought only moments ago, he was now empty and still.

I scanned the crowd. The captain’s wife was bent over, shaking with grief. His daughter, on the other hand, was dry-eyed. There was too much hate brimming there to leave room for tears. I had turned her into me.

“He killed my mother,” I whispered, as if that would make any difference. Her father was gone, along with the money he earned for bread. Obsession would grow and consume her as it had me.

“Fireling,” said the king’s voice from his balcony behind me.

I turned just in time to see his hand draw back and whip forward, sending arrows of ice toward me. I threw myself out of the way, but a large chunk of sharpened ice, big as a sword, came sailing through the air and embedded itself into the ground just inches from my head.

The crowd cheered.

His face broke into a wide grin. “Such a fearsome champion. And yet, as everyone can see, her powers are no match for mine. The most accomplished and powerful Fireblood cowers before me. Behold, the power of the throne of Fors!”

He spread both arms wide, and ribbons of frost spooled from his hands, coating the walls of the arena in a fresh layer of ice as it hardened. The crowd gasped and applauded. The king swept his arms forward, and the entire floor of the arena was turned to ice. Then a deadly rain fell from his hands, sharp pieces of ice that winged toward me, forcing me to crouch and cover my face and head. A few pieces pierced the fabric of my tunic, scraping my flesh.