As if by an unspoken command, the villagers retreated as the soldiers moved closer. In moments, my mother and I were the only ones left, two shivering women ringed by blazing torches.
“There’s one way to know for sure,” said the captain, holding his torch in front of him with a glimmer of enjoyment in his cold eyes. “Firebloods don’t burn.”
“Get away, Mother!” I pushed her to the ground.
The torches were almost on us, six or seven coming from all sides, the heat searing my face. The fire from one leaped to the fabric of my dress. Flames ate at my clothes and roared in my ears. My skin was blistering hot, but it didn’t burn.
The captain stepped forward, his hand moving to his sword, and Mother threw herself at him. Her nails slashed down the side of his face, drawing a bead of blood. I tried to pull Mother back, but as I came close, the captain’s booted foot crashed into my chest. I fell to the ground, gasping, the fire on my dress hissing into steam against the snow.
As I struggled to my knees, he lifted his sword, almost lazily. Then he slammed the hilt down onto Mother’s head with a sickening crack.
She crumpled to the ground like a broken doll, her hair spread over the snow, wispy and delicate, as if drawn with a piece of charcoal. Her long, lovely neck curved like a wilted flower stem.
I crawled to her side and took her shoulders, called out to her. My hands fluttered to her chest, her neck, searching for her heartbeat, strong and steady, like she was. But she lay still.
The world froze.
No. No. No.
The timid little flame in my chest flared to a river of heat, far beyond my control. I didn’t care. What was the use in hiding it now? I breathed in a gasp that stole the air from the sky, the trees, the world. The wind seemed to twist around me, the eye of the tornado.
I exhaled.
The flames that covered my body expanded, erupting with a roar and pinwheeling forward. A chaos of writhing, panicked men blurred in my vision as soldiers fell to the ground, pushing their faces and hands into the snow.
My mother’s still form lay behind me, her hair and limbs in a tumble. I reached out to gather her to me, but hands seized my shoulders. I lashed out with my fists and searched my mind for that well of flame I’d found in my deepest self.
The heat died as they dropped me into a horse trough, my body breaking through a layer of ice into water that stabbed my skin like needles. Rough wooden walls pressed against my sides. I pushed up, my chest bursting with singeing cold, and was shoved back down. I clutched at the edges of the trough, my nails digging into the wood.
Finally, I was pulled up, gagging out water and sucking in great mouthfuls of icy air.
The captain, his head gilded by a flickering orange light, bent down and grasped a fistful of my streaming hair, shoving his face into mine. His face was red, blisters forming on his cheeks.
“You’ll pay for what you did to me and my men. Your whole village will pay.”
Fire already blazed behind him, storefronts and houses belching out black smoke. Some of the villagers tried to stop the soldiers, whose torches touched wooden walls and piles of firewood and carts, while they hooted and shouted as if this were an evening’s entertainment. Their voices mixed with the wails of those who could only stand by and watch as their livelihoods burned.
Rage mixed with panic, heating my blood and making the water steam.
“A fitting punishment for harboring a Fireblood, don’t you think?” said the captain, his eyes glittering.
So everyone would suffer because of me.
“I’ll kill you for what you’ve done this night,” I managed to whisper.
The flames cast strange shadows on his leering grin. “Tie her to a horse. We’ll take her to Blackcreek Prison.”
“But, Captain,” said a soldier. “Her fire.”
“Then knock her out.”
Pain split the back of my head. The last thing I saw before my world faded to black was the white arrow on the captain’s chest.
The mark of the Frost King.
TWO
Five Months Later
BOOTED FEET APPROACHED IN AN unsteady shuffle, a sign the guards were already deep into their cups. It was just past sunset, the light from the tiny barred window withering into a ruddy glow.
“Wakey, wakey, little wretch.”
I lay huddled in my usual position, knees up, arms wrapped around my chest to hold in my body heat, which the stone floor seemed so greedy to leech away. I sat up slowly, my ankle cuff clinking against the chain. Three faces leered at me through the bars.
“What time is it?” Bragger asked, the words tangling together in his mouth. He was thoroughly drunk.
“Time for you to toddle off to your barracks,” I replied, voice scratchy from thirst.
He gave a sly smile. “How do you like your new accessory?”
I glanced at the dull gray shackle. “I’m not sure it matches my dress.”
He snorted a laugh. “Filthy like the rest of you. And how does it feel?”
“Unnecessary.”
“Then I guess you won’t be using that heat of yours again anytime soon.”