It was all my fault. I was responsible for her death and the destruction of my village.
I crumpled to my knees, my palms slapping against the flat stone. The memory was like a flame to dry kindling. The heat grew too quickly, out of my control, spitting from my palms and onto the pile and then to my robe, greedily crawling upward until my clothes were completely alight. Although I knew it would take incredible heat to burn Fireblood skin, it felt as if the flames were eating me alive, searing my eyes, stealing the air from my throat, finding the vulnerable places where I might not be as impervious as I’d thought. It was as if I were back in my village again, the torches closing in from every direction with no escape.
My fists clenched. Push it away. Control it. Master the fire. But the fire was its own master and would not be ruled. The burning robes tangled around my feet as I clawed at myself, my mouth open in a silent scream.
FOUR
I WAS DROWNING.
Strong hands held me in the water, like the soldiers on that day. I bucked and clawed. Muffled curses rained down as I was hauled up and rolled onto soft earth, pinned down by hands on my shoulders and the weight of my own sodden robes.
“Let me go,” I gasped between coughs.
“Kindly remove your talons from my arms,” said a deep voice. His hands lifted, shaking off my curled fingers.
Arcus turned me onto my side and pounded my back as I coughed out water. As he leaned over me, his hood fell open enough to show a well-shaped nose with a strong bridge and a glimpse of scars on his cheeks. Dimly, I noticed that his skin was smooth where it wasn’t scarred. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than I.
When I could breathe again, I struggled against him.
“If you try anything,” he warned, “I’ll put you back in the river. A good dunking will cool that fury. Now, what exactly were you doing out here?”
I scooted backward and felt warm rock against my back. “Burning my clothes,” I said between coughs.
“You set fire to your own robes while wearing them?” he said doubtfully.
“No,” I sputtered angrily. “My old dress. The one I wore in the prison.”
“There is a refuse heap just past the stables,” Arcus said drily, nodding to the right. “You needn’t have started an inferno. Not that I’m against the destruction of those foul rags.”
I touched my arms and face, still coughing up bits of river water. My skin was hot, but smooth and unharmed. Relief mixed with embarrassment. I had panicked for no reason, frightened by my own fire.
Arcus waved a hand to the tree behind the rock, which was black along its trunk. “I was out walking when I saw a conflagration rise above the treetops. The fire was clearly out of your control.”
I plucked at my robe, cringing away from the cold fabric on my skin. The robes hadn’t fared much better than the dress I had come to destroy. It was in blackened tatters, the white linens showing through. Once I might have worried about showing off my underclothes, but Arcus was so stony I doubted he even noticed. I tried not to let my fear of him show.
I took a section of what was left of the robe and began wringing it out. “I suppose you think I should thank you.”
“No,” he said, his tone stiff. “I don’t care for gratitude.”
“How very humble.”
“Not humble. Gratitude creates a bond that begs further protection or care. I have enough obligations.”
“You can rest easy, then. I don’t need your protection. I have my gift.”
“A gift that led soldiers to your village.”
He’d spoken in neutral tones, but his words pierced the vulnerable places in my mind, where guilt was still naked and fresh.
“It was cruelty that led to the destruction of my home. The cruelty of your people with their border wars and raids on villages.”
“Perhaps if the Firebloods had negotiated instead of resorting to assassinations—”
“Frostblood history,” I said with disdain. “Forgive me for distrusting your version.”
“What is your version, then?”
My version came from my grandmother, who’d told me that fire and frost had fought for dominance for as long as anyone could remember. Frostbloods eventually took Tempesia in the North, and Firebloods settled in the Fire Islands of Sudesia. But when the islands had no more land to offer, Firebloods sailed to southern Tempesia and worked for generations to till and improve the soil of the Aris Plains. As their skills grew, they were accepted as valued farmers—until Frostbloods decided they wanted the land for themselves.
But history could be twisted and warped to suit the person telling it. I wouldn’t convince Arcus of anything, and he likely had no trouble painting his own people as rightful rulers and victims of rebel attacks.
“My gift can heal,” I finally said, taking a different approach. “Heat has the power to save lives.”