I realized my mouth had fallen open as he chuckled.
“What did you think, we would send you in by yourself through the front door? You wouldn’t make it to the foot of the mountain without my help.”
“What’s the plan? Tell me everything.”
“So impatient to ride to your death, Fireblood? You would make a good soldier.” He quickly changed tack. “You favor your left shoulder. I had thought to teach you swordplay today, but I noticed you kept your left arm to your side and winced whenever you raised it.”
I grimaced. Those cold blue eyes took in much more than I had expected.
“An old injury,” I said, gently rotating my shoulder.
“From prison?” he asked softly.
I shook my head. “From when I was seven and fell out of a tree. I was trying to catch a squirrel. I wanted a pet.”
He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter. “And it still bothers you?”
“Only when I’m forced to spend hours with my backside planted on the freezing ground.”
He smiled, drawing my eye. My heart fluttered at the way his eyes crinkled, the flash of his bright teeth. The scar that cleft his lip seemed to add to the attraction of that smile. Unsettled, I forced my eyes away and focused on the drab stones of the abbey.
“Why do you hide your face?” I asked.
A dark suspicion had crept into my mind. Arcus wore a hood and he was clearly scarred. He and Brother Thistle had said they were drawn to me because of what happened in my village. What if Arcus was one of the soldiers I had burned?
As soon as I asked the question, the temperature dropped. Frost spread underfoot, making dead leaves crackle.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to ask me questions,” he replied.
“I don’t recall needing permission. What are you hiding?”
“I’m hiding nothing. I only cover what people don’t wish to see.”
I crossed my arms. He regarded me with a steady, unwavering stare. Perhaps I was wrong and he had simply lumped me in with all the small-minded fools who would ridicule someone for their appearance. I would never judge someone for their scars.
“At least I get to see your eyes today,” I said.
“And why should you wish to see my eyes?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps because I know so little about you and you know so much about me. Or, perhaps, to make sure you are a person and not a block of ice.”
His expression turned guarded. I knew I was staring, but the blue of his irises was a mosaic of tones, not just one single color. I found myself straining forward in some unconscious, infinitesimal way, as if all those enchanting blues were calling to my blood, cooling it and heating it at the same time, leaving me in a state of restless confusion.
Something flickered in his eyes, which turned into a snowy sky, suddenly blank and cold. “I am a block of ice.”
The words met my skin like a bucket of water drawn from a mountain stream. Dead leaves crunched under his boots as he turned and strode off, taking all the blues with him.
TEN
THE MIDAFTERNOON SUN DANCED through the remaining library window, laying rectangles of blushing gold on the stone walls.
“Sister Pastel, may I come in?” I asked from the doorway. In the week since returning from my aborted escape, I’d seen Sister Pastel, reportedly the finest illuminator in the abbey, hunched over her work for hours at a time. I was fascinated by her work, the precise, flowing letters and vibrant pictures.
She put her brush back into the cup and turned to me. “You may enter, Miss Otrera.”
I stepped forward, careful to keep my sleeves from catching any of the delicate rolls of parchment lying on the tables.
“I had wondered…” My voice trailed off as my eyes caught on a blackened table leg, reminding me of my show of temper during my previous visit. Surely the calm and careful illuminator wouldn’t trust a Fireblood near all her precious books.
“I’m glad you came,” she said, surprising me. Her mouth curved into something I took to be a smile on a face unused to the expression. “I have not thanked you for saving my life.”
“No need,” I said quickly. “Fire doesn’t hurt me—at least not easily. I’m sure Arcus would have found a way if I hadn’t.”
“It was still a risk and shows character that you bothered. We were not friends.”
“We weren’t enemies. At least, not as far as I was concerned.”
Her eyes fell to her hands, folded neatly in her lap. “I confess I saw you as one. The first day, when Brother Lack and I brought in your bath, I suspected you were a Fireblood. I was furious that Brother Thistle had allowed you to come here. I felt he was endangering us with your presence.”
She paused, and I waited before prompting, “And now?”
“I see that you are trying to learn to master your gift with Brother Thistle’s help. I ask your forgiveness for judging you wrongly.”