“What’s your weakness?” I asked curiously.
His expression cooled. “You’re my apprentice, not my confessor. Try the move again.”
“Strength? Agility? Speed?”
His jaw lifted. It seemed I’d nicked his pride. “None of those. Now, focus.”
As he demonstrated the correct techniques, I watched with the hunger of a predatory bird, trying to imprint every nuance of his movements into my mind. It wasn’t that I’d been doing things wrong, exactly. Just inefficiently, at least compared to him. Every shift of his feet, every extension of his arm, every breath and grunt and punch was designed to give maximum impact to the moves he executed. And execution was the perfect description. There was a ruthlessness to the way he moved, a threat in every aspect of his posture, from the cords standing out in his neck to the way his fingers curled as he let flames loose. If he’d been a genuine opponent intent on hurting me, I might have lost my nerve.
His attacks landed on me like hard slaps. Kai ordered breaks to let me catch my breath, but as the hours wore on, my limbs grew heavy. I realized that he’d held back before, giving me opportunities to strike. Now, he was relentless. I had to struggle every second to keep up.
“Defend!” said Kai for the hundredth time. I brought my forearm up a little too late, my foot slipped, and I was on my back. Kai’s silhouette loomed over me.
My vision blurred. My scar burned.
“Get up,” said Kai again, but his breath fell cold against my face and his voice was lower, graveled. The voice of another opponent in another fight.
“Wait,” I gasped, fighting the sensation.
No, not now, not again.
Colors swirled and faded from the scene. Kai’s heart pulsed white in his chest. The Frost King’s arena loomed at the edges of my vision. I closed my eyes and scrambled backward, finding my feet and turning to stumble toward the gate that led out of the school, desperate to leave before the vision could take over.
A hand grasped my shoulder and spun me around. “Where do you think you’re going? If you’re even thinking of giving up—”
“I don’t want to hurt you!” I said, twisting away.
He scoffed. “You were flat on your back.”
“Just—give me a minute.”
I breathed heavily, hands on my knees, waiting for the feelings to pass. The vision had never quite taken hold, but I experienced the same aftereffects. My skin was chilled. I trembled despite the heat. When Kai’s palm slid gently to my upper back, I found myself turning to him, reveling in his warmth. I heard his surprised inhalation, and then his arms came around me, holding me with reassuring pressure. After a moment, he rested his cheek on my hair.
“I have you,” he said softly.
And just like that, a shuddering breath expanded my chest and my eyes filled. Humiliation washed through me at the thought of showing my emotions so easily. I tried to push him away, but he held tighter. “Hush.”
“I’m not a… child,” I said between uneven breaths, embarrassed that he felt the need to comfort me. “I don’t even know why I’m…” I gulped and blinked rapidly. Had it been the loss of control or the thought of hurting Kai that had bothered me so much? Or maybe the stress had been building more than I’d realized. Either way, I felt like a weak fool for allowing my tears to overspill so easily.
“Everyone needs comfort,” he soothed, the words rumbling in my ear pressed against his chest. “You fight your emotions too much, Ruby. A Fireblood feels too much to suppress. You do yourself harm by denying them. Let them flow.”
“Like you?” I sniffed and worked my hand into the space between my cheek and his chest to wipe my eyes. “Blustering and angry one second, then laughing and flirting the next?”
He chuckled. “I follow my nature. We all must do the same. Stop trying to shut down your feelings. Cry, Ruby. And when you’re finished crying, do what you feel like. Nobody here will think less of you for it.”
I raised my head a little to look at the masters, wondering if they were staring, expecting to see censure on their faces. Instead, they were unconcerned, one reading a book while two others spoke softly. One of them caught my eye and smiled. I turned my head back into Kai’s chest, embarrassed. “That’s not… acceptable where I come from.”
He scoffed. “I’ve seen Frostblood culture. A bunch of walking snowmen, priding themselves on self-control. They’re barely alive. What is the point of living if you can’t let yourself feel anything?”
I thought of Arcus. Surely that didn’t apply to him. He felt deeply; he just kept it hidden. That was one thing we’d always had in common, though I had a much harder time hiding my feelings than he did.
Maybe I didn’t have to anymore.
My whole life had been spent trying to tamp down my feelings, keep them under wraps so I could hide my gift. It had been sheer necessity. A matter of life or death.
When I’d been discovered and my mother had been killed, I’d blamed myself for practicing my gift when she’d forbidden it. I’d drawn the soldiers’ attention. Even now, when I let myself remember, I’d feel such terrible guilt it would overwhelm me.
“It scares me,” I whispered. “I don’t like to lose control.”
His voice was low and firm. “If you would let yourself feel more freely, you’d find yourself struggling less. The volcano that pours lava continuously is less likely to erupt.”
“Is that true?”
He grinned. “It sounds good, doesn’t it?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it? Sounding good. Looking good. Feeling good. You don’t worry about anything serious.”
He tilted his head to the side, considering, then shrugged. “Worry causes wrinkles.”
“Sud forbid.” Smothering a smile, I faked a bored look of superiority, the kind Marella had perfected. “Neither your clothing nor your skin shall bear such shameful signs of wear.”
He threw back his head and laughed, then gave me a little squeeze. “You’re quite amusing when you’re not lashing me with that sharp tongue. Although”—his eyes turned sultry—“I might not mind the violence of your tongue in the right circumstances.”
I shook my head reprovingly, my lips twitching. “You’re incorrigible.”
He adopted a confused expression. “Is that a compliment or insult? I confess I don’t understand your Tempesian values.”
I finally let myself smile, noticing how his pupils flared in response. “Definitely an insult.”
It seemed to take effort for him to pull his gaze away. “Very good. I see you’ve recovered. Come.” He tugged on my hand. “You can knock me into the dirt. That should restore you completely.”
We sparred for another two hours, but when the sun turned pink with exertion from a long day of warming the earth, the students returned to the training yard, effectively ending our lessons.
Kai grinned as we trudged, dusty and exhausted, toward the waiting carriage.
“What are you looking so happy about?” I darted a suspicious glance at him.
“As I expected, I’m an excellent teacher.” He turned his head to bestow his smile on me like a stray band of sunshine.
I blinked. “I suppose there’s a compliment to me in there somewhere.”
He punched my shoulder lightly. “You stopped fighting yourself and used your emotions to your advantage. Surely you felt the difference?”
I had. My attacks had been faster, more confident. I’d let myself enjoy the sensation of turning my anger and determination into flame. “I admit you’re not a terrible teacher.”