Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(72)
“Is something wrong, my lady?” Doreena asked.
Realizing I must have a look of horror on my face, I smoothed my expression and assured her I was just tired. Already, her gentle presence was chasing some of the shadows from my mind.
The grim-faced court healer eventually came, examining the wound at my side with consternation. “This cut is fairly deep,” she said in a tone that implied I’d injured myself on purpose. “You need stitches.”
The drink she gave me to ease the pain tasted vile and wasn’t nearly as effective as Brother Gamut’s tea, but it did take the edge off. When she was done stitching and wrapping the wounds, she glared at my ankle. “At least a week of rest. And ice for your ankle.”
“No shortage of that around here,” I muttered.
I didn’t expect to be allowed to rest as the healer has prescribed. But the days passed full of boredom and mounting frustration. I wanted to explore the castle, learn more about the throne, and strategize what to do next. Instead, I was on my back in bed, trying not to split my stitches.
The healer came every day to change my bandages, and Doreena brought my meals, lingering to keep me company if she had time. Sometimes she brought clothes that needed mending and worked on them while she related the news of the day. Gossip traveled fast in the castle, spreading like disease among courtiers and servants alike.
Apparently, the king had been visited by dignitaries from Safra who had all but begged him to consider a peace treaty. Within hours, the ambassadors were seen riding from the castle, their shoulders stooped in defeat. Some witnesses said that only one dignitary made it to the foot of the mountain, that the king had disposed of the others as punishment for their temerity, leaving one alive to take the Frost King’s message to King Remus in the east.
Brother Thistle had told me during one of our lessons that the Safran army was sizable and well-trained, or had been before the war started. But by all accounts, the king seemed unconcerned that they were a threat. His army, led by Frostblood generals, had taken control of the kingdom’s most valuable assets—mines and mineral deposits in the northwest—and only had to hold that ground.
What did seem to bother the king were reports of rebellion. Word around the castle was that he’d sent out more spies, and had started spending more time in the war room with his advisors. But Doreena said the rumors were based in hope, not fact. Because, she pointed out, who would dare rebel against the Frost King?
Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell me any more about the throne than what I already knew. When I found out she could read, I tried to persuade her to search the royal library for books about the throne, but she shivered at the very suggestion. I contented myself with reading the heavy volumes brought by a servant, with compliments from the king: histories of the military glory of Frost Kings for the past thousand years. If nothing else, they helped me to fall asleep.
Marella didn’t visit. I wondered if she still had plans for me, or whether she’d lost interest, perhaps deciding my injuries meant that I wasn’t as strong as she’d hoped.
Finally, after the prescribed week, the healer was satisfied with my progress and declared me fit for regular activity. Within minutes of her departure, a guard clumped into the room.
“Do you never knock?” I asked stiffly, putting down one of the thick history books.
He gave me a sour look. “You are to join the king for dinner.”
I was taken again to bathe and dress, with help from Doreena. This time, my dress was robin’s egg blue with white ribbons that crisscrossed under my breasts and at my waist. Elaborate filigree earrings with blue stones hung from my ears. My hair curled in ringlets at the ends, left loose down my back. Doreena spread something waxy on my lips to make them shine.
“You look lovely,” Doreena said. “The king is in danger tonight.”
“What do you mean?” I asked sharply.
“Of falling in love with you when you look like that.”
I shuddered. “Bite your tongue.”
Her head tilted slightly. “It wouldn’t be the first time a Frostblood king fell in love with a Fireblood, you know.”
Her words reminded me of a conversation with Arcus the night we’d sat side by side under a crescent moon, his profile barely visible in the fading light, his cloak billowing in the wind, his eye glinting in the starlight whenever he looked at me. It had been the first time he’d trusted me enough to tell me about his past. He’d also told me about the Frost King who had loved a Fireblood lady. The memory brought a little flutter in my stomach.
“I’ve heard the story of the Fireblood who became queen. Did the people accept her?”
“Well…” Her eyes flicked to mine, then away. “Actually, it ended tragically. The queen was murdered. It’s said that a noblewoman who loved the king was jealous and plotted the queen’s death. She died on their first anniversary.”
A shiver traced my spine. “What a terrible story.”
She nodded thoughtfully, a crease between her brows. “Affairs between fire and frost rarely end well.”
I stood still while she finished with my hair, but couldn’t help dwelling on the fate of the poor Fireblood queen.
A few minutes later, the guards deposited me in the dining room. Candlelight bounced off the icy chandelier and fluttered against the frost-tricked walls. The smell of roasted meat and spices filled the air.