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
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