“Exactly. A Fireblood daughter can be very useful.”
She gave a bark of laughter and my heart lightened. “I am grateful—believe me.” She pulled me into a tight hug, gasping and laughing as she felt the sting of heat coming from me in waves. “It’s like holding a cooked chicken. I think you’d better take a walk to cool off. See if you can find some more kindling to replace the lot you used up.”
I pressed through drifts, the snow hissing as it melted against my shins above my boots. The wind howled from the southwest, yanking the hood from my head and raking through my hair with pine-scented fingers. The air was bitter, but my skin was still hotter than normal after practicing my gift. Mother had said to gather firewood and bring it home, but she also wanted me to calm down. Surely it was better to expel some of this heat out here, where it was safe?
I had done it before, sneaked out late at night into the desolate, snow-draped woods, my hands thrust into a hastily built fire as I willed myself to control the flames. All I’d managed to do was singe the edges of my cloak.
I gathered a bundle of small sticks, holding them tightly. The forest held its breath, eerily silent but for the rustle of wind in the treetops. Although I knew no one ever came here, I still looked around furtively, my heart beating thickly in my ears. Closing my eyes, I searched for the little wisp of flame I’d found earlier. The sticks grew hot in my hands.
The wind changed direction, barreling in from the north and carrying the dregs of a wet winter storm. I shivered and clutched the sticks tighter, struggling against the cold seeping into my pores and leaching the heat from my body.
Suddenly, the distant sounds of footsteps echoed through the woods.
I dropped the sticks and clambered onto a rock, knocking snow from it in heavy clumps. To the northwest, the path veered down into a gulley, where an overhang protected it from snow. In a few seconds, I would see whoever approached without being seen myself.
First a hood came into view; then a metal helm flashing between tree trunks washed gray under a steel sky. The blue of the men’s tunics shot startling color into the starkly white scene.
Soldiers, breaking the quiet with their heavy, crackling steps and ringing voices.
Blood rushed to my heart, fear blossoming into heat.
I’d been warned a thousand times about the king’s soldiers, but I’d always told myself we were too high in the mountains, too insignificant to warrant their search for Firebloods. I hoped they were just passing through on their way from the barren North. But our hut was right along the path they were following. They could easily stop to raid our larder or use our hut for the night. We couldn’t risk them getting too near me, feeling the heat of my skin.
I slid off the rock and shot toward home, my shuddering breaths whisper-quiet as I scraped past trees and bushes, using undergrowth and my knowledge of the bend of the land as cover.
When I reached our hut, Mother was sitting by the fire, her long braid hanging over the back of the woven-bark chair.
“Soldiers,” I said, rushing to grab her thick cloak, still drying by the fire, and shoving it at her. “In the woods. If they stop here…”
Mother gaped at me for a moment before launching into action. She grabbed a rag and packed up some dry cheese and bread, then stumbled to the scarred wooden table, where healing plants dried in the warmth of the fire. We’d spent hours gathering the precious herbs, and neither of us could bear to leave them. We packed them as quickly as we could, folding them into scraps of fabric tied with frantic fingers.
The herbs were swept from the table by the wind as the door crashed against the wall. Two men emerged from the snowy darkness, their blue vests each emblazoned with a white arrow.
“Where’s the Fireblood?” The soldier’s small eyes moved from Mother to me.
“We’re healers.” Hearing the tremble of fear under Mother’s bravado made my legs weak.
With long strides, one of the men cornered me and grabbed my arms. My throat convulsed at the sharp reek of old sweat and foul breath. His cold hand slid to my neck. I wanted to turn my head and bite his wrist, hit him, rake him with my nails, anything to get his hand off me, but the sword at his side held me still.
“Her skin is burning hot,” he said with a curl of his lip.
“She has a fever,” Mother said, her voice desperate.
I took a deep, shuddering breath. Hide your heat. Push it down. Calm yourself.
“You’ll catch my fever,” I said, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice.