Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(71)

The darkness swirled up in me, turning the world to black and white again. I turned to see the king, but there was no beating heart as a target, only a black figure in his place.

In a few seconds, the rain ended, but the crowd kept cheering.

I stumbled toward the alcove where Braka waited. When our eyes met, she startled and drew back. “Your eyes…”

“What?” I prompted.

She tilted her head and blinked. “I thought… nothing.”

Numb and shaking, I limped back into the alcove.

“You did it again, Fireling,” said Braka. “Though how you did, I cannot figure.”

I couldn’t, either. And I was more frightened than I’d ever been.





TWENTY-FOUR



THE GUARDS ESCORTED ME BACK TO my room. I leaned against the closed door.

A bitter taste coated my tongue. I held my breath for as long as I could, knowing that when I breathed, time would start again and I would feel the sharp talons of grief scratching my heart into ribbons.

I slid to the floor, legs drawn up against the uneven rise and fall of my chest.

Losing Clay had been like losing my home all over again, like watching my village burn. But far worse was hearing the captain’s revelations about the abbey. Ransacked. Violated. The monks dead.

Why hadn’t they protected themselves? Brother Thistle with his foolish, lofty ideals and his hopeful prophecies. Did he think he would be immune to the king’s wrath? He had rescued me from the prison and died for it. And where was Arcus? He had claimed he wanted to keep me safe. Had he forgotten about me?

I was losing myself, bit by bit. The bliss I’d felt after killing the captain. The change Braka had seen in my eyes. Revenge suddenly seemed so hollow, firewood that had once burned bright but now lay in ashes. The darkness had been stronger this time, sharper. If I kept fighting in the arena—if I kept killing—would I be lost forever?

If everyone I cared about was gone, would I care?

Stumbling upright, I ripped off my mask, hurled it away, and threw myself down on the bed, still wearing my armor.

I heard the door open and shut.

“Not now, Doreena,” I said.

“It’s me.”

I turned my head with effort. “I don’t want to see you, either.”

Marella swanned into the room, a long-limbed vision in a turquoise gown that rustled as she came forward. I could smell the combination of rosewater and soap on her skin, a sharp contrast to my reek of sweat and blood. I realized that my arm stung, my ankle throbbed, and I had a hand over the gash at my side, though I hadn’t been conscious of the wounds until now.

She lifted her skirts and stepped carefully around the trail of blood I’d left on the floor. I curled up with my back turned to her.

“You keep winning,” she said finally, a hint of pride in her voice. “I told him you weren’t weak.”

“Winning is what’s killing me. Every time I win, I lose part of myself. I can’t do this anymore.”

“I understand you are grieving and feeling lost. But you will heal, both in body and mind.”

“You couldn’t begin to understand.”

“I’m sure you’re right. But you’re too important to give up,” she said, squeezing my shoulder before letting her hand fall away. “What’s in your heart, Ruby? Is it only fire? Or is there something else?”

My mouth opened and shut several times before I managed to speak. “What do you mean?”

“I think you know. In the arena. Something helped you defeat your opponents. And that is the key to what we both want. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“No.”

“You know more than you’re admitting. But perhaps this is a bad time.” She bent and straightened with the discarded mask dangling from her fingertips. “You don’t need to wear your mask with me, Ruby.” The words were teasing, but her eyes were serious. “I see right through it.”

She laid the mask on the bed and left with a graceful swish of her perfumed skirts.





Sometime later, a hissing sound woke me. My whole body felt stiff. I realized I had fallen asleep still wearing my armor. I rubbed my eyes and turned my head on the pillow. Shadows were easing under the door of my room in wispy, smokelike tendrils, dancing in a kaleidoscope pattern before joining and pouring together, as if black water filled a transparent vessel. It formed from the legs up, finally standing before me, a dark, solid-looking creature, and yet I felt that if I tried to touch it, I would fall into an endless void. It was larger than a man, with pointed shoulders and an ever-changing pattern of horns on its head, sometimes mimicking the look of a crown.

I lay on the bed, frozen in fear. It moved forward, each step swishing with a strange resonance, like the lowest note played on a flute. When it reached the bed, it stopped and bent over me.

“True vessel,” it said in the voice of a thousand chimes. “You and I will join when your heart is bled of color, when perfect darkness inhabits your soul. You will feel freedom as you’ve never felt it.”

It reached for me, and I tried to scream, only to jerk upright at the sound of a knock on my door. I clutched the bedding, eyes wide. The room was empty.

The door opened and Doreena entered with small steps, her soft brown shoes making no sound. “Can I help my lady remove her armor?” She sucked in a breath when she saw the dried blood, muttering about the lax habits of the court healer who should have arrived by now. She quickly but carefully unfastened the breastplate. I sat stiffly, unable to shake the image of the creature reaching out to touch me. Had it been real or just a dream?