Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)(85)

Rasmus met my eyes, his own nearly black again. “Don’t let your resolve weaken. We’re so close.”

“Ruby,” said Arcus, sitting up, bloody and panting with exhaustion. “Help me.”

“No,” said Rasmus. “He must die so we can take his power, and together we’ll be unstoppable. Do it, Ruby. Show me your strength.”

A rush of anticipation filled me. Hesitating for only a second, I raised my hand and let my fire explode at Arcus. He met it with frost. As the two columns merged, they sparked into white-and-blue fire that flowed toward the ceiling like a geyser.

“Frostfire,” Rasmus breathed, laughing delightedly. “The fire that can burn through anything. It was said only a divine being could create it, but here you are, making the stuff of gods. I knew you were special.” He turned to gloat. “Even you’re no match for it, brother!”

He added his frost to the columns, all three jets joining and creating a blinding-white pinwheel with a blue center. He used the force of his frost to bend the sparking flame, the blue center moving inexorably toward Arcus.

“When it reaches him,” Rasmus said, grinning, “he’ll be nothing more than a stain on the floor.”

Suddenly, a frantic inner warning clawed at me, a bubble that formed in my heart and made my chest ache. This was Arcus. Arcus.

A hundred images danced through my mind. Arcus carrying me from the prison, Arcus saving me from my own fire by putting me in the stream, Arcus helping me train. I remembered the first time I’d looked into his eyes, the first time he’d smiled at me, how dazzled I’d been to realize there was far more to him than even he seemed to know. And he’d changed for me, or at least he’d tried. He’d reined in his impatience after the first dueling lesson. He’d shown me in the forge how steel needs flame. He’d unwittingly shared pieces of himself with me, his love of stories, his concern for people who were suffering. He had pushed me away so many times, but now I knew that he had only been trying to protect himself from feelings that were too big to deny or control. I had felt the same way, spun off my axis by my longing for his attention, his trust, and even his touch.

I remembered how he’d kissed me and the things he’d said about wanting to protect me, not wanting to let me go. He’d shown time and again how much he cared, whether he’d meant to or not, and I had grown to see the depths of him, so different from my initial judgments. He felt things deeply and so did I. He had become vital to my existence.

He had offered to die for me. And I would do the same for him. I knew deep in a place that was still purely me that I wouldn’t hurt him for anything in this world.

The rush of feelings helped me gain control, to find a little of myself again. I found a sense of hope, something warm and bright that I’d held on to when things looked bleak. I wrapped that feeling around me and I shifted position, inching toward Arcus so I could bend the frostfire toward Rasmus. The blue center moved in his direction.

“What are you doing?” Rasmus asked, his eyes wide.

“Melting your throne.” With every second, I felt my mind gaining control, shaking off the influence of the Minax. This was what I had come to do. Destroy the curse.

“No!” Rasmus used his frost to knock me back. I hurled a blast of heat at him that sent him careening across the room, his head hitting the wall before he slumped to the floor.

I turned back to the throne, letting my heat build. But the throne clawed at my heat, trying to pull it away from me, its very nature designed by Fors to weaken and destroy Firebloods.

“You can do this, Ruby,” Arcus said. “Don’t hold anything back. Let go!”

There was a moment of terrible doubt, when every past failure came back to me: my village, my mother, my early attempts at harnessing my fire, how I’d let the Minax control me, the fact that it had persuaded me to kill Arcus just moments ago.

But I was stronger than that. I hadn’t let it rule me. Even as I felt the shadow presence in my mind, I was in control. My gifts, whether fire or darkness, were no longer wild. They were mine to command.

“Arcus,” I breathed. “Cover yourself with ice.”

I heard the crackle of ice forming and saw out of the corner of my eye that Arcus had first sent a thick sheet of ice to cover his brother, who lay slumped on the floor, then surrounded himself with ice.

And finally I let go.

My heart beat once, twice, and I was filled with a terrible pressure of countless sunsets. Orange seared my eyelids, white fire engulfing me in torturous waves. It was a hundred times hotter than the flames Arcus had rescued me from when I had burned my clothes by the abbey stream. It was like being dropped into bubbling lava.

I focused on the black outline of the throne. It still tried to siphon away my heat, a churning, insistent pull that felt as if it were tugging my heart right out of my chest. But I was no ordinary Fireblood. Whether I was born for this destiny or not, I alone had managed to control the Minax inside me. I could do this.

Pulling up every thought of heat and fire in my mind and heart, I let the excruciating pressure build inside me until it was unbearable. Then I let it all explode into the throne. The blast sent me flying backward to slam against an icy pillar. Dazed, I saw that the throne was only half melted, and I repeated the same process. Let the heat build, the way Grandmother had taught me. Harness it, the way Brother Thistle had taught me. Let go, the way Arcus had taught me. Again and again I poured heat, pushed against its resistance, let my power build, and released it with a heady confidence I’d never felt before.