Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(73)

This time, there were no richly gowned women, no courtiers, only the king at the head of the table, his hair gilded by candlelight. My gaze went to the chair where the captain had sat the last time I’d been in this room. I’d sat just two seats over, wishing he were dead. Now he was, and he’d died by my hand.

The king was dressed in black, the color so stark against his pale skin and hair that I was reminded of the moments in the arena when the world had turned black and white. But the candles were still gold, the walls tinged with blue. I took a deep breath and blotted out the memory.

Once again, the king motioned to the chair next to him. I walked toward him slowly, heart pounding in my ears, and sat on the white fur.

He looked handsome and austere. My hands trembled in my lap. The last time I had sat here, he had lied to me about the monks. I had an impulse to leap forward and take him by the throat. Or to burn him where he sat. But even away from the throne he radiated power, and he’d demonstrated that in the arena. My fire had no chance against him.

He regarded me steadily, his lips showing slight amusement but his eyes narrowed. I was struck by the strangeness of his eyes, mostly black with just a rim of deep blue around the edges.

“You look even lovelier tonight, Ruby.”

I stiffened at his familiar use of my name.

He eased back in his chair. “I fulfilled my end of our bargain,” he said evenly. “I gave you the captain. Aren’t you grateful?”

“I didn’t want to kill him. Not like that.”

“‘Not like that,’” he imitated with a dismissive wave of his hand, his eyes sweeping my straight-backed figure. “You’re very finicky, Fireling. You wanted to kill him and now you have. That’s all that matters.”

“His wife was watching,” I said through numb lips. “His young daughter. And he told me the monks are dead. By your orders.”

His brows creased, his expression turning to intent speculation before it smoothed into his usual blank carelessness. “Ah. Well, perhaps I have forgotten.”

I wasn’t surprised that he had lost track of all the deaths—how could anyone remember so many?—but the casual way he had said the words stunned me.

Rasmus made a motion with his hand and a steward came forward, piling his plate with food. When the servant went to do the same for me, I put my hand over my plate and glared until he stepped away. The king regarded me for long moments with a heavy-lidded gaze, both of us silent and still.

He stood and grabbed my wrist in a biting grip. His cold skin burned into me more than fire ever could.

“You’re hurting me,” I said, trying to twist away.

“Your touch hurts me, too,” he replied, his voice as rough as his hand as he pulled me closer. “But it’s a pain I enjoy.”

Arcus had once told me that my touch unsettled him, made him uncomfortable because it penetrated his defenses and made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. But this was different. The king’s touch hurt me and mine hurt him. If it gave him pleasure, it was a twisted one.

He drew me along to the wall opposite the head of the table, then pressed a barely visible recess on the stone wall that must have been a kind of mechanism. A hidden door swung open. We entered a narrow tunnel lit with torches. The ceiling was so low he had to bend his head.

“This tunnel is for me alone,” he said, his hold on my wrist easing as we walked, his voice muffled in the tight space. “You enjoy an incredible privilege by seeing it. I do so only as an act of great trust.”

My senses quickened. I hadn’t done anything to earn his trust. And yet, if it was there, I had to use it to my advantage.

After a minute, we came to another door. The king pushed it open to reveal the throne room, draped in torchlight and shadows, the sky black against a moonless night. The throne was a large, menacing presence. Ice flowed down it and into the hallway and, I knew, all through the castle, even out into the arena. When I’d first seen it, I’d thought it looked like veins connected to a heart. Now, as shadows darted about in the walls, I realized the Minax lived in the throne but moved about in the ice connected to it.

I stifled a gasp as the familiar invisible force stole my fire.

“What are we doing here?” I asked, my voice subdued by the pressing shadows. “I thought we were to dine.”

“You refuse to eat. I’m tired of games. This is where you really want to be. I give this to you as a gift.”

He pulled me forward until we stood within arm’s reach of the throne. Its dark power beat against me in waves. I wanted to cringe away, to run, but at the same time, I felt an insistent pull, moth to flame.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, pressing my hand to the throne. “Pure power. The throne was created by Fors himself as a gift to his Frostblood people. Did you know that?”

“Yes,” I whispered, cold spreading up my arm. “But Fors is your god, not mine. It burns me.”

“A further gift was bestowed by his brother, Eurus. Some call it a curse from a jealous god who sought to destroy his brother’s creation. But it’s really a gift of power that only the chosen can feel. To unlock it completely, you must have the right person. Someone who was created to bear a power so great.”

“The child of darkness,” I murmured, pulling against his grasp.

“Yes. When I took the throne, it told me to find the child. Together, she and I will bring darkness to the land. And with her, I’ll be complete.”