Fireblood

by Elly Blake

  “But the blockade—”

  “The provinces are still friendly to us and find ways for our ships to pass through. Not often, mind you. But enough that we heard tales, even before we received your king’s invitation, of the Fireblood girl who destroyed the frost throne. I had come here to…” He paused and shook his head in frustration. “Never mind that. All my plans are in tatters, but I can still help you. Consider this your formal invitation: Come to Sudesia with me.”

  I tried to remember how to exhale. That was about the last thing I’d expected him to say.

  “Why would I go anywhere with you?”

  “Let me spell it out, then: They don’t like you here. They tried to kill you once, and they will try again. I’m offering safety. Freedom. Not to mention knowledge and training that you’re sorely lacking. Your mastery of your gift is on par with my six-year-old niece. A Fireblood school could do wonders for you.”

  “If you think insulting me will—”

  “More important,” he interrupted, “you mentioned that you want to see peace and harmony in this godsforsaken iceberg of a kingdom. Let me assure you, the emissary of the Aris Plains will never sign any treaties unless my queen sanctions it. The provinces’ ties with Sudesia go back centuries. If you come to Sudesia, perhaps you can propose some kind of agreement.”

  In spite of myself, I was intrigued. Though I had no time or space to weigh the odds that he was telling the truth.

  “Why are you offering this?” A gust of wind made the few remaining ice trees shiver and chime.

  He grabbed my hand. The shock of his skin! The first person I’d known whose temperature matched mine. I was only numbly aware as he slid a ring onto my finger.

  “Think of this as a ticket onto my ship. Meet me at the port in Tevros within the week. You could hold the key to peace in these soft little hands.” He caressed my palm with his thumb, then grinned unrepentantly as I yanked it away. “Forgive me, but I don’t care to wait around to be questioned by the king’s soldiers. You’ll find me in a tavern called the Fat Badger near the wharf. If you don’t show up, I’ll assume you prefer assassination to my offer.”

  Then he dashed toward the perimeter of the garden, climbed a tree, and hopped as nimbly as a jackrabbit over the wall.

  I wasted a few seconds staring after the Fireblood stranger, then realized how incriminating it would look if I were discovered with three injured or dead Frostbloods. I took my skirts in hand and splashed through the melted remains of ice flowers. How was I going to explain what happened? Would anyone believe me? If the court was looking for a way to show that I was a threat, I had practically gift-wrapped myself for them.

  When I neared the door to the ballroom, muffled screams came from inside. I forgot everything but the need to make sure Arcus was safe. I grabbed the handle and yanked. Locked. I moved to the right, where light spilled through one of the windows.

  And saw chaos.

  Gone was the civilized mingling of Frostblood nobility with foreign ambassadors, the tilts of heads and the flutter of fans and the waltzing flare of skirts. In their place was well-dressed warfare—the heft of steel and the blast of frost wielded with animalistic ferocity, the combatants wearing ball gowns and brushed velvet instead of armor. Frostblood against Frostblood.

  My eyes roved frantically, searching for Arcus. I couldn’t find him. I threw myself against the window, but it held firm. I searched the ground and, in a few seconds, found a large enough rock to hurl at the glass, which exploded as it shattered. I used another rock to clear the jagged bits at the base, then slid through, only half aware of a stray piece slicing my palm.

  I scanned the scene. Some of the guests were at the doors, pulling desperately on the handles and calling for help. Others were slumped on the floor, unconscious or dead. For a second, I wondered if Kai had been complicit in what was clearly a coordinated attack, then dismissed the idea instantly. He’d fought the attackers off with me.

  I finally spotted Arcus, standing on the edge of the dais where the musicians had played a waltz only a half hour before. Lord Pell fought alongside him, but they were outnumbered by four other Frostbloods: two men and two women, all of them dressed as servants or guards. I rushed forward and blasted an attacker in the back, who screamed and went down, his black doublet in flames.

  As the others turned and threw out their hands, my second blast of flame meeting their frost, my eyes cut to Arcus. Even outnumbered, it was strange that he hadn’t won this fight. His gift was spectacular. But then I realized one of his hands was pressed to his chest near his shoulder. His face was paler than usual, his expression pinched with pain. Blue blood seeped between his fingers. He’d been stabbed.

  I saw red.

  Rage boiled my blood, lending me strength to bring down another of his attackers. Then Arcus shouted a warning, his gaze fixed behind me. I whirled. Three Frostbloods dressed as servants converged on me, two throwing frost and one wielding a sword. I heard Arcus call my name, but I was too busy dodging the sword and throwing flame at the attacker’s feet, forcing him back. As I twisted to avoid a stream of frost from the side, ice caught me from behind, sending me to the ground.

  “Kill the king and his Fireblood harlot, and rise, Blue Legion, rise!” the swordsman snarled.

  Shock at his words held me immobile for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough to lose the opportunity to use my fire. I rolled out of the way as his sword tip crashed against the floor.

  I found my feet, only to be grabbed from behind, but an elbow and a fist soon dislodged the hold. A few seconds were spent in intense concentration as I threw out fire to keep the attackers, at least six now, from getting close. But there were too many, and I was grabbed on either side, no matter that my sleeves were on fire from my own flame. A sword rose over my head.

  And clattered to the ballroom floor. The servant’s blue eyes blinked in shock, blue blood sliding from both nostrils as he crumpled. Lord Pell, standing behind the man, yanked his blade from the body. My other attackers were completely immobile, as if someone had stopped time. I glanced at the two Frostbloods holding me, a man and a woman, both encased in ice, their hands frozen around my arms. The fire on my sleeves was out, my dress in blackened tatters at the edges.

  My head jerked up to check on Arcus. He stood on the dais, his hands thrust out. He had frozen my attackers in a single burst of frost. There was murder in his eyes, and for a fraction of a second, I saw his brother in him. The rage and hatred, the thirst for death. As if the Minax preyed on him now, twisting his fears and hurts and dusting away his pain to make him into someone who was incapable of mercy. I honed in on Arcus’s eyes, half expecting them to be pure shining onyx. But they were still blue.

  He blinked, his eyes focusing on me. He mouthed my name. And then he swayed, his eyelashes fluttering.

  I pushed out heat into my arms, broke free of the ice, and ran to him, stepping over bodies along the way. I reached my arms up and caught him as he fell, giving a surprised oof as I was crushed under his muscular bulk.

  “Arcus,” I groaned. How ironic to survive the fight only to be flattened under the unforgiving weight of the person who had saved my life. A hysterical giggle bubbled up but came out as a strangled gasp. The laughter fled as I realized he wasn’t moving. “No,” I whispered, struggling to free myself.

  Hands slid around Arcus’s arms and for a second I panicked, expecting more enemies, but it was Lord Pell and Lord Manus, both of them bloody and stern-faced, gently pulling Arcus to his feet and holding him between them.

  I sucked in a relieved breath and stood, moving my hands to Arcus’s cheeks. “Wake up, please. Arcus, please.” My words were whispered prayers, frantic and raw in my burning throat.

  His eyelashes fluttered open. “Thank Fors you’re all right,” he mumbled, his mouth twitching up at the corner.

  I turned to Lord Pell, drawing myself up. “He needs a healer now!”

  Arcus laughed weakly. “You give orders like a
queen.” His eyes slid over me as Lord Pell and Lord Manus moved toward the ballroom doors, which now stood open.

  “You’re unhurt?” Arcus slurred as I followed him toward the exit.

  I scanned for Marella and Brother Thistle, relieved that neither were among the prone forms on the floor. “I’m fine.”

  “I got blood all over your gown,” Arcus said rather irrelevantly.

  “It doesn’t matter.” I noticed a bearded man in robes who must be the Safran ambassador—alive and unharmed, talking with a few other delegates. Thank Sud. His murder would have meant war.

  “If my blood were red like yours it would match your dress,” Arcus rambled. “You should have worn blue. Oh, stop spinning, I don’t want to dance.”

  I looked at him sharply, then met Lord Manus’s eyes. “He’s delirious.”

  “Couldn’t find you,” Arcus muttered, his eyes closing. “Worried.”

  Lord Pell chuckled, though I heard the tension in his voice. “The king nearly lost his mind when he couldn’t find you during the attack, Lady Ruby. I’ve fought alongside him in battle and I’ve never seen him so close to wetting his pants.”

  “Quiet, Oliver,” Arcus murmured.

  “You were outside?” Lord Pell asked me as we reached the doorway.

  I told a brief version of events about Lord and Lady Regier, Drake and his revenge, and what he’d said about the Blue Legion.

  “You fought them all off by yourself?” Lord Manus asked.

  The guards crowded around us now, offering help. I wasn’t about to say anything about Kai. There were too many people here. “The king needs to be in bed.”

  A crooked smile spread over Arcus’s face and his eyelids fluttered open. “Why, Ruby, I didn’t know you were so eager to get me into bed. Wish I’d known sooner.”

  Lord Manus’s cheeks darkened with the blue-tinged Frostblood version of a blush. I was sure my complexion was thoroughly pink.

  “Come now, friend,” said Lord Pell, motioning the guards to help carry their king, “before you give the guards far too much to talk about.”

  Arcus muttered something barely audible and stumbled, but the steady hands of his men were there to carry him. I had never seen him look so weak.

  “What a night,” said Lord Pell as we moved into the hallway toward the stairs. “The glorious dawn of our peace talks has ended in attempts on our lives.”

  “The dignitary from the Aris Plains!” Lord Manus exclaimed, as if just remembering. “We couldn’t find him!”

  “He was with me in the garden,” I said now that we had more privacy, although I couldn’t quite bring myself to admit that he wasn’t the dignitary at all. “He ran off during the attack.”

  “Well, we’ll have to find him and grovel on our knees for all this. Thank Fors he wasn’t killed. The assassins seemed to be targeting delegates, particularly the ones who’ve shown a willingness to sign the peace treaties. Which is probably why Arcus threw himself in front of the dagger meant for the Safran ambassador. Typical. He’s calm and focused when defending himself, but he’s a fiend when he’s protecting someone else.”

  “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”

  “The healers will tell us more shortly. Though it probably didn’t do much good when he yanked out the blade so he could search for you.”

  I groaned. “I’m going to kill him. And then I’m going to find out the names of every man and woman who had a hand in this attack and”—there were so many things I’d like to do, and they all involved my fire—“express my extreme displeasure.”

  Manus chuckled. “Leave that to me. Your job is to go make him rest, since I doubt anyone else could.”

  FIVE

  I SAT ON ONE SIDE OF ARCUS’S BED, and Brother Thistle sat on the other. A fire had been lit, though somehow the heat didn’t penetrate the massive space. Plush royal-blue curtains covered wide windows that looked down on the castle courtyard. All the luxuries of the king’s bedchamber—carved wardrobes, thick rugs, wingback chairs with delicately curved legs—were painted a soft yellow by the glow from candelabras.

  I watched helplessly as the healers, a man and woman with similarly long, serious faces, checked the king’s pulse and washed and dressed his wound.

  It was deathly quiet after they left. Arcus lay in the bed, silent and still, his skin almost as bleached as the sheets, the covers pulled over his bare chest up to his bandaged shoulder. When I touched his cheek, he was frighteningly cold, even for him.

  “Will he recover?” I asked, as if the monk, with all his scholarly knowledge, would know the answer to that question, too.

  “He must.” Brother Thistle’s expression was openly worried as he stared at Arcus. He loved him like a son, that was clear. Surely we would make Arcus better with the force of our affection alone.

  “Where were you when it happened?” I asked.

  “I left the ball early and returned to the library.” He offered it like a confession.

  “You couldn’t have known. This is more my fault than anyone else’s.” A wave of guilt swept through me. The so-called Blue Legion, apparently a network of bitter nobles, all hated the king because of me. Or at least what they perceived as my influence over him.

  “The timing was deliberate,” I observed.

  “Of course.”

  “And the targets were anyone who supported the peace accords.”

  “That much is clear.”

  “Who is behind it?”

  He rubbed his temples. “I fear there are many more suspects than we’d first thought.”

  I told him what Lady Blanding had said, her veiled threats that she had decided to leave us to our fate, and my suspicion that she’d known about the coming attack.

  He didn’t look surprised. “Arcus has promised to give the Aris Plains back to the farmers of the southern provinces once he assures peace. I was surprised that he didn’t see more direct opposition from his court, many of whom were given that land by Akur and Rasmus. Now we know why.”

  I feathered my fingertips over Arcus’s bandage, the cold seeping into my skin. I sent a pulse of gentle heat into his shoulder near the wound, hoping it would help the healing process somehow, even just a little. “What happens now?”

  “I truly do not know. His court is divided. He has friends—most notably Lord and Lady Manus and Lord Pell—but they alone don’t have the land or connections to have great influence. And many who do, like my cousin, Lord Tryllan, choose neutrality over risk. They wait to see which way the wind blows before taking sides.” He paused. “At any rate, we must form a new plan. No one will sign accords with a monarch whose reign appears so tenuous.”

  “His court is divided because of me,” I said dully. “His reign is tenuous because of me. What can I do to help him?”

  “You were with the dignitary from the southern provinces when you were attacked, were you not?”

  If I could trust anyone, it was Brother Thistle. I told him everything.

  “Remarkable! What would the Sudesians want with you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well,” he mused, “if they meant you harm, the Fireblood could have just killed you himself. Perhaps you are celebrated as a hero for destroying the frost throne and helping overthrow King Rasmus.”

  “So I should trust him? Should I go if it will help Arcus achieve peace?”

  Emotions chased one another across his face: curiosity, doubt, uncertainty, excitement. He shook his head. “We cannot act rashly.”

  “But we do need to act.”

  “More than you know.” His tone was resigned.

  “Why? What don’t I know?”

  There was something overly careful in his expression, as if he were preparing for my reaction. “Murders have risen tenfold in the villages within a few days’ ride from here. In each case, the murderer has died of seemingly natural causes shortly after, but the blood found in the body is always black. I believe the Minax is possessing people, moving from villa
ge to village.”

  The pain of betrayal sent wild heat through my chest. “How could you not tell me before now?” I had a terrible thought. “Did you and Arcus not trust me? Did you think I would… that I was so corrupted by the Minax that you weren’t sure whose side I was on?”

  After all, the Minax’s possession had been like an opiate, erasing all worry and fear. Brother Thistle knew how I’d struggled not to let the creature consume me.

  “Of course not! Arcus insisted you were worried enough already without the burden of more guilt. He said you would blame yourself for releasing the Minax.”

  He was right about that.

  “So it’s out there possessing people.” I clenched my hands together. “Making them kill each other and feeding on the grief that follows.”

  “Perhaps, but I think its intentions go beyond that. Recently, our Frostblood general in the Aris Plains ordered his soldiers to attack a peaceful province with no command from the king nor a strategic goal in mind. They simply began cutting people down. I do not think it a coincidence that peace is always out of reach; the Minax thrives on war. If this goes on, we will continue to decimate one another with no end in sight. Arcus has sent his best trackers after it, but what would we do if we catch the person who is possessed? If we imprison or kill its host, the creature will merely choose another.”

  It seemed hopeless. Too many factors we didn’t understand or couldn’t control. “But we can’t do nothing. The Minax is out there… slaughtering people, turning them against each other. Innocent lives.” I gasped, my chest so tight I could barely breathe.

  Brother Thistle spoke softly, calming me. “You are right. We cannot afford to ignore this opportunity or the knowledge we now possess on how to kill the Minax. Do you remember the book on the thrones I mentioned? The one that is no longer in our library?”

  I nodded. “How could I forget Pernillius?”

  “There were two copies, one for each Frostblood and Fireblood monarch. One for each throne. The secrets in it were considered dangerous, so it was kept under lock and key in King Akur’s time. I”—he cleared his throat—“managed to obtain it once… .”