Frostblood (Frostblood Saga #1)

by Elly Blake

I OFFERED MY HAND TO THE FIRE.

“I’ll kill you for what you’ve done this night,” I managed to whisper. The flames cast strange shadows on his leering grin.

to die.” His weathered hands rose and pulled the hood off to reveal a lined face with skin darker than my own, long and lean with noble bones. His eyes, so light blue they were almost white, burned into me. His lips held the hint of a smile. “Frost and fire were friends once.” “Not in my lifetime.”

“My skin burns you, doesn’t it?” I asked, noticing his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. “It is your stench that burns my nostrils, Fireblood, and nothing else. I hope Brother Thistle has enough soap in the abbey to make you bearable.” If he was averse to being near me, that was fine. The feeling was mutual. “Are you Brother Thistle?” I asked the old man, who was taking labored steps toward a carriage and driver waiting in the shadow of a building across the street. “That I am, girl. And what is your name?” “Ruby,” I replied. “Ruby Otrera.” “Ruby,” he repeated, smiling. “How fitting.”

My eyes were closing, my head lolling onto the pillow. “But Arcus the Angry has decreed I’m to be cleaned up. Do you not fear his wrath?” He smiled, his hand on the door. “There are things I fear much more.”

“Those who can’t control themselves will find themselves under the control of others. It’s a lesson you’d do well to learn.”

Although my mother had taught me basic letters, it was my grandmother who had taught me to read and love books, bringing several volumes whenever she visited. And my mother’s compendium of herbs had been invaluable. The thought of all those precious books in the library dissolving into ash was unbearable. “What are you doing?” Arcus shouted. “Saving the books!” I heard pounding footsteps before he grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him, a dim outline in the faint glow. “Leave them! The fire won’t spread that far.”

“We have offered her a home because hers was destroyed. Her blood is irrelevant.” I looked sharply at Arcus. He was defending me? Brother Lack whirled on him. “She is a danger to the abbey and everyone in it.” Each word was delivered with the force of a nail being driven into wood. “She is a Fireblood and furthermore a criminal. She had an ankle chain when you first brought her. I saw it myself!” “She is no more a criminal than any of the other hundreds of unfortunate Tempesians who have tried to defend themselves against attacks.” “And what of the king’s wrath when our transgression is discovered?” Brother Lack demanded. A weak voice laced with indignation came from behind him. “Have you forgotten the aim of our order? To heal the sick and offer refuge to the persecuted?”

We moved to gather around the lean form of Brother Thistle as he raised himself onto one elbow before succumbing to a fit of coughing. Arcus crouched down and took his shoulder gently. “Easy, my friend. You breathed in a good deal of smoke.” Brother Lack continued to stare at me as if I were a viper about to strike. “Perhaps she is persecuted for good reason. Perhaps the gods punish her for her sins. I remind you that I come from the South. I have had experiences with Firebloods. They are a dangerous, shifty, untrustworthy lot, with no adherence to any of the values we hold dear.” “You forget yourself,” warned Brother Thistle, breathing heavily, his deceptively soft tone making the hair on my arms stand up. “Her only sin is being a Fireblood, and that is no sin at all.” He coughed a few times more and continued. “If compassion is so abhorrent to you, perhaps I should question your dedication to the tenets of our order.”

“I’ll always listen to the stories,” said Kaitryn. “And then I’ll tell them to others on my adventures across the sea, to the Fire Islands of Sudesia and to the west, where there are monsters, and then I’m going to get a sword and—” “Mam says you’re too sick to travel,” said one of the boys. My eyes flicked to Kaitryn. She didn’t look ill, though her cheeks were a little flushed.

“I’m going to get better!” she said angrily. “I’m going to find somewhere with no soldiers and no bad people and a king who isn’t mad.” Her mother’s eyes widened. The circle of listeners went silent. “Hush, child,” said a man in a low voice. “I don’t care,” said Kaitryn, but more quietly. “His soldiers burned our homes.” “They burned my village, too,” I said in a whisper so soft even I could barely hear it.

She stared at me with a furrowed brow. “I don’t know you.” “I’m a friend, I promise. You can’t go on any journeys if you can’t breathe right. Isn’t that so, little sea captain?” After a few seconds, she nodded warily. “Good girl. I’m going to put a few drops on your chest.” She let me put the drops on the clammy skin over her sternum—one, two—and then I tucked the blanket back. “Breathe now,” I said, conscious that my time was running out. The sentry could be back any second. “Any better?” She took a few breaths and coughed. I scrunched up my brows, thinking hard. When Mother had treated the boy with the cough, she had me come put my hands on his chest to warm him. “I forgot, little sea captain. We need heat.” I put my hands on her blanket over her chest. “Is it growing warm yet?”

“A little,” she said. I needed to send out more heat. But how much was too much? The baby I had tried to warm, Clay’s brother, came into my head. Maybe it had been my fault that he died. Arcus had said I was wild, uncontrolled. Could I trust myself to do this? Kaitryn let out another cough. I didn’t let myself think. I sent out a pulse of heat, then concentrated on keeping it steady and unwavering. This was a much softer process than making fire, just raising my own temperature. I could do this. After a minute, Kaitryn’s cold little hand covered mine, then quickly pulled away. “Your hand is so hot.” I held my breath, waiting for her to yell for help. Instead, she blinked and smiled. “I don’t feel like coughing anymore.” “That’s good.” I fought the urge to laugh with relief. Carefully, I handed over the bottles and explained how her parents needed to administer the same medicine, always with heat.

“How did you find me?” He unclenched his jaw to answer. “When Wheatgerm returned to the stables, I followed her tracks until they disappeared. And then I heard someone bellowing nonsense, and I knew it must be you.” “Who the blazes is Wheatgerm?”

“The horse you stole from the abbey,” he said as if talking to a simpleton. “You mean Butter. And I didn’t steal her. I borrowed her. I take it she’s safe?” “Cold and tired, but safe in the stables eating like she’s half starved. Which she probably is, thanks to you. And her name isn’t Butter.” “It is now.” “She’s not yours to name.” “She’s mine in spirit now that we’ve had an adventure together. And her name suits her. She’s soft and yellow, like butter.” He made a disgusted sound. “If we all had names to suit us, you’d be called Thorn in My Backside. Or Plague of the Gods.” I prickled at his scathing tone. “And you’d be Miserable Blockhead.” “Is that the best you can do?” “Give me time. I’m half frozen.” Now that I was out of the snowdrifts, feeling returned to my legs, warmth flowing back into my chest.

The only part of me that wouldn’t warm was my back, pressed against Arcus. With each movement of the horse, I became more aware of the unfamiliar sensation of being so close to a male body for this long, his upright posture unyielding as I swayed, braced on either side by the rigid confines of his arms. “You’re freezing me,” I complained to cover my discomfiture. “Perhaps your name should be Icy Tyrant. No, wait. Frigid Despot.” He made no effort to mimic my teasing tone. “I don’t much care what you call m...

Stillness was a kind of violence in the hands of people who played at handing out pain. Disappointment sheared through me. For some reason, I hadn’t thought Arcus was one of those people. I didn’t doubt he would punish me. I just hadn’t thought he’d make a game of it. “Having fun?” I taunted, my lip curling. “I told you the rules,” he said in a low voice.

I shrugged. “Tell me everything you’re planning and then I’ll decide.” Ice crackled over the floor from Arcus’s chair. “Is that his version of a tantrum?” I asked Brother Thistle. “The patience of a god,” Arcus muttered.

“He is not the most powerful king in our history,” Arcus retorted. “Ruthlessness is not power. Tyranny is not strength.”

“Control, Miss Otrera,” said the monk. “You have power, but you need to learn control. If this had been a battlefield, you would have burned your own line of soldiers and left the enemy untouched.”

“What now?” Arcus asked tightly. I shuddered. “Something cold and slimy.” “You’re afraid of fish?” he asked in disbelief.

“I’m not afraid. I just … hate them. So cold.” I looked at him meaningfully. “It’s like touching a Frostblood.” “Indeed,” he murmured. “Now, stop being ridiculous and get your sword.”

“Want to talk about it?” I asked, surprising myself. “My mother always said that sharing a problem halves the burden. Not that it ever took much prodding for me to share what I felt.” His mouth pulled up on one side. “That doesn’t surprise me. No one is left in any doubt about how you feel.” I waited for him to continue. When he said nothing more, I shrugged and lifted the reins to ride away.

I ask … I promise … Such phrases as I never expected to hear from the self-proclaimed block of ice. I tilted my head. “Did Brother Thistle train you in the most effective methods of communicating with me?” His head lifted and his lips curved. “He may have given me some advice.” “And you took it?” My brows rose. “I’m experimenting with it. If it doesn’t work, I’ll go back to my tried and true method.” “By which you mean threats and orders.” His smile widened.

I rolled my eyes at his imperious tone and did as he said. “I thought you wanted to show me liquid steel.” “You’ll have to imagine that part. A few days ago, Sister Clove helped me heat the metal until it was pure liquid, then poured the liquid into a form and cooled it before starting to shape it. I’ve already refined the tip, but I need to add the bevel. Hold it steady.” He hammered the glowing orange metal, starting at the tip and working along the edge. “See how it glows? Think of it this way. Fire is at its heart, even when it has cooled and hardened. Without heat, there would be no transformation, just an unformed piece of metal.” I shifted position to give my arm relief. “So you admit fire is necessary.” Hammer, hammer, hammer. “I’ve already said as much.” “A necessary evil, I believe you called me. Hardly flattering.”

It almost sounded like he’d said, I fear you are becoming one of mine.

“I sense you have so much power, Ruby,” he said, his voice full of hope and frustration. “What is stopping you?” An image of my mother came to me. I thought of her often, remembering her calm and practical way of looking at the world, the way she was slow to anger and quick to forgive. I could picture her deft hands, which had been so clever at mixing new batches of tincture or salve. Sometimes an image of her face would flash into my mind, and I would find the spark in me dying. “I suppose … it’s the way I was raised. My mother hated violence of

any kind. She would detest me plotting to kill someone with my gift.” “Is that why you struggle? Because your mother would not approve?” “It’s not only that.” I had always had this feeling that something was churning underneath my skin. Deep inside was a pot of boiling water, a forge fanned by endless bellows, a volcano waiting to erupt. And I had spent my whole life fighting these sensations. Now Brother Thistle wanted me to let them free. “I was taught to hide my gift,” I explained. “Never to use it. When I lost my temper, it was harder to control. My mother called it a gift but …” I shrugged, looking at the ground. “I know she thought of it as a threat as well. And it was. Once I was so mad I almost burned down our hut.” I looked up at the monk a little sheepishly. “Firebloods like me are not meant to live in buildings made of wood and thatch.”

“Enough,” I growled, the heat rising too quickly. He flicked out a hand at my feet, and I was suddenly standing on the smoothest of ice. My soft-soled boots had no grip. I slipped and went down on one knee. “I said enough!” I yelled, sending a blast of hot air at the ice, melting it. “Next time that’ll be at you!” “You may not find me so easy to burn,” Arcus replied, his eyes grimly assessing. “I would like to try,” I said between clenched teeth, heat rolling off me in waves. He nodded. “Burn me, then, my raging inferno.”

“She can’t do it,” Arcus said to Brother Thistle, who hovered, tense as a bowstring, on the edge of the training ground. “She’ll fall at the king’s feet and beg for mercy.” “I won’t!” I shouted, blasting him with a wave of intense heat, which he deflected with a swirling cloud of frost. “So scared of your own powers,” he said, his voice heavy with contempt, pouring cold out in waves. “Too afraid to hurt anyone. Poor, weak thing.” Rage uncoiled itself inside my chest, a sleeping tiger that had been poked too many times. Since the attack on my village, I had pushed down so many feelings—hurt, fear, anger, grief. Now I was glowing with white heat. I whipped my hand forward and back, releasing a tail of the dragon. A thick column of fire with a wicked end shot toward his chest.

“That’s not fair,” I said, my voice pleading. “You deliberately goaded me. And I didn’t think I could hurt you. You have your cold, your ice, to protect you.” He stood slowly and turned. His face was uncovered. Oh, his face. I rose and took an involuntary step back. “Do I look as if I’m invulnerable?” he said, each word a well-aimed arrow, sharp and precise. “Do I look as if I cannot be hurt?” I shook my head. My skin was cold with shock. “What do you think the soldiers look like?” he asked. “The ones you burned?” My mouth opened, but no words came out. Surely that wasn’t what I had done. “For all your talk of healing,” he said, his words relentless, “you are the

most dangerous person I have ever met. If I didn’t need you so badly, I would have let you die in that prison.” His eyes bored cold hatred into mine. I stumbled backward. Without another word, he turned and strode to the abbey, leaving me sick and aching, aching, aching with remorse.

I TOSSED AND TURNED THAT NIGHT. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw the look on Arcus’s face when he’d pulled off his hood: a mixture of stark pain and seething hatred. Now I knew why he always wore a hood. His face had been burned cruelly. His ear and cheek on the right side were disfigured, the skin taking a new shape like wax that had melted and congealed. A scar ran right into his scalp, his hair growing white around it. The scar that cleft his lip curved over to the left. No part of his face had completely escaped damage. It suddenly made sense, his threats when we’d first met, his paralysis when he’d tried to enter the burning abbey. He was terrified of fire, and for good reason.

And I had burned him. Yes, his words had been harsh, but he’d just been trying to force me to give rein to my temper and unleash my powers. It was my own weakness that had made me furious, my inability to meet him or the Frostbloods who were exterminating my people on equal terms. And I’d lashed out. I’d burned him right where he’d already been hurt. It made me realize that my feelings for Arcus had changed during my time at the abbey. At first, he had been just another Frostblood. But he hadn’t used his gift to hurt me. He’d used it to help me master my own, to sculpt and mold me into someone stronger. Despite his cold demeanor, despite the fact that he’d baited me, I had grown to respect him, even to like him. And I felt more alive in his company than I’d ever felt with anyone. I didn’t understand how that had happened. He had threatened to thrash me, called me weak, and shamed me for my lack of skill. But

I kept seeing something beneath the surface, a part of him I wanted to connect with if only he would stop freezing me out. “Foolish girl,” I cursed myself. The worst part was the idea that he might think my mute shock at seeing his face had been disgust or horror. I was horrified, but not for the reasons he probably thought. I was appalled that he’d endured so much and his face was forever disfigur...

“Please, what can I do?” He regarded me steadily. “Do what we ask of you. Learn to control your gift. Complete your task.” “I will. I’ll learn everything you can teach me.” I might not gain Arcus’s forgiveness, but I could earn back Brother Thistle’s respect. I would bend all my focus to my training with Brother Thistle. I would control my temper, build my strength, and take every lesson to heart.

“I know shock and disgust when I see it.” The words were sharp-edged and unyielding. “Shock, yes.” I shook my head. “Disgust, no. I didn’t know that had happened to you and I felt—” “Pity,” he supplied. “Regret. Horror at myself. That I could do that to someone. Everything you said was right. I am dangerous. To myself. To others. My grandmother used to tell me my gift would

save people someday. But I couldn’t save anyone. Not myself. Not my mother.” “You can still save people.” “By killing the king,” I supplied, blinking hard. “And what do you think of my chances?” We sat in silence for a moment. I stared at my hands, which lay limp on my knees. “Listen, Ruby.” My eyes flicked up to find him leaning forward. “I do know you’re much stronger than you were when you came here. Brother Thistle thinks you’re more than just another Fireblood with a foul temper.” I smiled weakly at his attempt at teasing.

No one else made me feel so alive, but no one could make me so angry, either.

“The world would be no different,” I repeated, coating each word with scorn. “You say you don’t want pity, and now I know why. You have plenty for yourself already.” His hand dropped. He stepped back. I stepped forward, my hands in fists, suddenly furious that he was so easy to push away. “I would care if you died, you stupid goat’s behind. I would miss you. Like I missed you when you left for days and I didn’t know when, or if, you were coming back.”

“Ruling in an unbroken line doesn’t sound like a curse to me.” “Until you consider that every ruler died tragically and often after a short reign.” I shrugged. “Tragic deaths are common whether you’re a king or a peasant.”

The air in the room pulsed with a strange energy. “Well, shouldn’t you be looking for this child of light if you believe the prophecies?” He put his hands on his knees and sat back in his chair. “I have spent my life doing so. And I think I have found her.” It took me a moment to find my voice. “I’ve become quite fond of you, Brother Thistle. But if you’re implying I’m the child of light, I must tell you frankly that I think you’re touched in the head.” He smiled gently. “I know it will be very hard to accept—” “Impossible.” “Why?”

“My powers are unreliable. I have a foul temper and I’ve hurt people. I’m more likely to be the child of darkness.” He wrapped his robes more tightly about himself. “Do not say that. You are no such thing.” “I think it’s time for bed,” I said, standing. I’d had as much as I could handle. It was more than enough to believe I was the last Fireblood in the kingdom. The idea that I was somehow destined to save the world from the curse of a god was far too much to accept. All I was supposed to do was kill the king, and that seemed impossible.

You are a kind, feisty, headstrong, impulsive, generous young woman. I have grown quite fond of you.” “That’s quite a list of virtues and vices.”

months to kill the Frost King, and now you suggest I don’t?” He spread his hands. “I am only offering you another way.” “I don’t want another way! My mother was nothing but kind to everyone, and they killed her in front of me! Can you even begin to understand—” I bit off the words as my voice broke. When I spoke again, it was low and calm. “No. I’m going to kill the king. That’s what all this was for. That’s … all I live for.” “Is it? Is that really all you have to live for?” There was a long silence. Part of my mind chattered at me that I’d found friends, I’d found people to care about here. There was more to my life than hate. But another part said that I would never have peace. I clutched my hands together in my lap, my mind in turmoil. Brother Thistle leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Summer solstice is barely three weeks away, Ruby. You’ll leave us soon

to attempt a task that has no guarantee of success. You need to decide what you’re fighting for. Who you truly are.” Rage bloomed in my chest like a deadly flower. Pressure built behind my eyes and in my chest until it was too much to hold in. I wanted to scream and tear things apart. “And you’re saying I’m a healer?” I nearly spat the word. “After everything he’s done to me, you think … I should try to heal him? I’d kill myself first.” I strode to the door and found my way blocked by a hooded shadow. Arcus. The thought of him listening to the conversation, silently agreeing with Brother Thistle, made my hands tighten into fists. I came straight at him, plowing into his arm with my shoulder as I bolted from the room.

“You lied to me,” I said. “When did I lie?” he asked. I shrugged. “Maybe not outright. But you let me believe my task was to kill the king. That’s the whole reason I did all this. You think it was easy? Learning to trust two Frostbloods to teach me how to master my fire. Taking orders, holding my temper, learning to quiet my mind. You think any of this was easy?” “No. I don’t think it was easy at all.” I kept my face turned away so he wouldn’t see the pain I couldn’t hide. “Fool that I am, I thought it would get me what I wanted. Revenge. And now I know that all you ever wanted me to do was destroy the throne. Do you know what Brother Thistle thinks?” I gave a snort of disgust. “Of course you do. Stupid, fanciful notions. I … I should have run away in the dead of night and never come back. I should have gone to the castle myself.” “So you could die in his arena like all the other Firebloods?”

“And the death you have planned for me is better? The one where the king kills me for destroying his throne? That’s assuming I’m even strong enough. That’s also assuming we even get past the castle guards. You’ll be dead, too, by the way, if we don’t. I hope the payout, whatever it is, is worth it.” Slowly, he raised himself onto his elbows. “If I could afford to be completely selfish, I wouldn’t let you go after the king. I would take you far away from this land and keep you safe.” My lashes fluttered, pleased shock sending ripples over my skin. The red haze over my eyes began to fade. I sat back and wrapped my arms around my knees. I would take you far away from this land and keep you safe. It had been so long since anyone had tried to protect me. A part of me longed to curl into his arms and warm him with my heat as his words warmed me. But the last time I had touched him, he had told me to stop. He took a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was steady. “But I cannot only think of myself. You know what’s happening to my people. You know what’s already happened to yours. It cannot continue.” I pressed my palms against the earth and focused on a spot in the distance. “Why me? You don’t believe in prophecies. You said yourself I’m just another foul-tempered Fireblood.”

He pushed up and sat forward, resting his elbows on his bent knees. His skin, where it wasn’t scarred, was smooth and young, though I knew his eyes held the weight of experience many years older. “Who else is there?” he asked. “What Fireblood will do this but you?” “What if I do destroy the throne? When it’s all over, are you just going to”—I waved a hand—“disappear into the air like mist?” “From the time we leave the abbey until you’re safely back again, I’ll protect you with my life.” I looked at Arcus and remembered Brother Thistle’s claim: that the Frostblood felt more than he showed. The pounding of my heart eased and the fog began to lift. “And if I die there?” I asked. “Will someone take my body? Or will he put my head on a post at the castle gates?” His fist hit the earth, making the ground reverberate. “You have to believe you can win. What happened to your rage? Your fire? Are you giving up already?” “I’m not giving up! But you should have told me e...

He was careful not to touch my ankle as he slid his arms under my knees and behind my back. For once, the cold that seeped from his body into mine didn’t bother me. “Damned ankle,” I muttered. “Always a trial and a burden.” “Much like the girl to whom it is attached,” he mused. I opened my mouth to say something biting in return but completely forgot the words as I felt his lips press gently to my head. Heat flared over my skin. I told myself it meant nothing. It was a gesture of friendship. But a feeling of contentment persisted, calming me as much as the sound of his footfalls and the beat of his heart against my ear. He pulled me tighter to his chest, and I let my suddenly heavy eyes close as he carried me back to the abbey.