Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(78)

“Come, darkness,” I whispered. “Use me to kill this murderer.”

The Frostblood warrior halted a few feet away and spoke.

“So it’s true. You’re lost to me.”

But his words had no meaning, lost in a glorious hum of power. And whether I had the power to control the Minax afterward didn’t matter. All that mattered was losing myself in vengeance.

My vision changed, the world turning to the now familiar black and white. Sound faded to the beat of my heart and the breathing of my opponent. Onyx tendrils arced out from my mind seeking the convulsing black lump in his chest.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” the warrior said, the words distant, like raindrops against glass.

I sent out a steady stream of fire and he met it with a column of frost. Meanwhile, the sinuous threads of shadow circled, spiraling tighter and tighter toward his heart.

“Please, Ruby,” he said, his frost building, pushing me back, forcing me to end things now.

But some part of me had registered that I knew the voice of this warrior.

I knew that voice.

But it was impossible. He was dead. Had I lost my mind?

“Arcus?” I breathed, trembling with the effort of holding back.

“So pleased you remember me,” he answered, the attempt at humor ruined by the way his voice cracked with emotion.

Shock trembled through me. I pulled back my hand, stopping the stream of flame, while he did the same, both of us reeling backward with the effort. The fire was easy to control, but the darkness wasn’t. It still twined around his heart. He grunted in pain and clapped a hand to his chest. I groaned with the effort of controlling the killing frenzy inside me. I will find the light. With a massive effort, focusing all my energy on those sinuous tendrils, I drew them back and pushed them away. The world exploded back into color with a loud pop.

“Is it really you?” I whispered, trying desperately to see beneath his helm. My eyes roved over him. Broad shoulders, broader than I remembered, but that could be the armor. And the helm, damn the helm that hid his face! Hope and fear that I was mistaken warred with each other.

His hand dropped to his side. “I told you that you’d be a threat once you gained some control. Though I hear they still don’t like you much in these parts.”

Heady joy surged through my body, then burned into fury as I thought of what had almost happened.

“I could have killed you!” I shouted, but it came out high and thready as I stumbled toward him and threw myself into his arms. He grasped me so tightly I couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t care.

A voice resonated from a balcony. It was the announcer, his magenta robes a bright slash of color against the colorless ice.

“Champions! The arena is not a matchmaker’s ball.” The crowd erupted in laughter and shouts of agreement. “These people came to see blood! Do we need to send some challengers in there to pry you apart?”

“Arcus,” I whispered, my eyes finding his. “The doors don’t open until one of us is dead. I won’t kill you. You have to kill me.”

His eyes widened and then hooded. “Have you gone quite mad, Ruby?”

“No, listen,” I pleaded. “Brother Thistle was right about the throne, but he was wrong about me. I’m not the child of light. I’m—”

“Just another foul-tempered Fireblood.” He grinned to take the edge off the words and offered his hand again. “Calm yourself, Ruby. I know you didn’t manage to destroy the throne. But I have forces all around us. I needed to buy time for them to get into place without drawing suspicion. And, to be honest, I wasn’t sure where your loyalty lies. I’d heard rumors about you and the king.…” His eyes searched mine before he continued. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry it took me so long to—”

“I don’t care about that!” I couldn’t believe he was speaking so calmly, as if everything were fine. “Listen. The curse in the throne—”

As I spoke, doors rumbled open and fighters poured out. They came from all sides with spears, swords, maces, and gales of frost and ice.

Arcus pushed me back and stepped in front of me, as if to shield me from the approaching chaos. He took a deep breath, put both hands to his helm, lifted it from his head, and threw it on the ground, the movements deliberate, unhurried, but filled with purpose. He raised his hands, palms out. Power emanated from him, a regal manner that brooked no opposition. The fighters slowed and came to a halt around us.

Bits of dust and cold mist swirled in the air. The crowd grew quiet.

“Good people, hear me!” he shouted above the din. “I come to you not as a peasant fighter, or a warrior, or a champion, as you have been told.”

No, not a mere champion, I thought. Despite his stature, which could pass for one of the king’s champions, he had a proud bearing that hinted at his noble birth, now more than ever before.

“I come to you as the man who would sit rightfully on the throne of Fors!”

I heard the words, but my torpid mind couldn’t take in the meaning. He was pretending to be someone else, saying things that weren’t true. And he didn’t stop.

“I come to you as Arelius Arkanus, son of Akur, elder brother to Rasmus. I was burned by an assassin and left for dead. But I did not die.”

I fell back, my heart racing, but my mind still stuffed with feathers.