“That was part of it.”
I sat silently for a while, sifting through the details of what he’d told me. Arcus wasn’t a mercenary but a displaced noble, looking to heal the king he had known as a child. It made sense now that he had wanted to destroy the throne rather than kill the king.
But that didn’t mean I agreed with him.
“I wasn’t leaving,” I admitted. “I was just upset and I wanted to be alone. I wasn’t going to break my promise.”
I changed positions and let out a pained sound as my swollen ankle pulsed with the stab of a hundred needles.
“You’re hurt,” said Arcus, shifting toward me. “I’ll take you to Brother Gamut.”
“Don’t!”
But he didn’t pull me up. He blew out a breath that encased my fevered ankle in blessed cold. The throbbing calmed instantly.
“I think you have a bit of the healer in you, Arcus.”
“Let me carry you to the infirmary,” he said as he crouched next to me. “I have grown accustomed to holding this particular bundle of crackling firewood.”
My chest warmed a little at the hint of fondness in his tone, but I hesitated, struggling with my anger, my bitterness, and my sense of betrayal. He had shared things with me I never thought he would, though, and I couldn’t help the feeling of closeness that came from that.
He was careful not to touch my ankle as he slid his arms under my knees and behind my back. For once, the cold that seeped from his body into mine didn’t bother me.
“Damned ankle,” I muttered. “Always a trial and a burden.”
“Much like the girl to whom it is attached,” he mused.
I opened my mouth to say something biting in return but completely forgot the words as I felt his lips press gently to my head.
Heat flared over my skin. I told myself it meant nothing. It was a gesture of friendship. But a feeling of contentment persisted, calming me as much as the sound of his footfalls and the beat of his heart against my ear.
He pulled me tighter to his chest, and I let my suddenly heavy eyes close as he carried me back to the abbey.
FIFTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING I MADE MY WAY to the library, intending to lose myself in the dip and swish of brushes and ink. Sister Pastel had said I was making progress in the art of scribing and would likely be waiting for me.
Instead, I found the hunched form of Brother Lack writing furiously at one of the tables.
“Come to start another fire?” he jeered, rolling up the page, which then disappeared into the folds of his robe.
“You know I didn’t start it. Because you did.” The accusation was a gamble, a suspicion I’d had since the night of the fire. But I hadn’t had the courage to voice it before.
My gamble paid off. He looked startled, guilt written clearly on his face. “How dare you even imply…” When I gave him a disbelieving look, he took a shuddering breath and drew himself up. “I merely wish to protect my order, as no one else here is prepared to do so! I’ve seen the way he looks at you, a Frostblood warrior undone by a Fireblood girl. It’s disgusting. You went to his room, alone, and then just last night I saw him carrying you in his arms, a foolish look of… of adoration on his face.”
I was breathing hard, my temper fraying. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I care for Arcus as a friend—”
“Spare me your lies. If you cared for anyone here, you would relieve us of the danger of your presence.”
I made a disgusted sound. “There’s no reasoning with you. You’re not like Brother Thistle or Arcus or Brother Gamut. Your mind has been poisoned against me because of my gift. You say I’m dangerous, when it’s your people who have wiped out mine.”
“And what came before that? I lived in the South, where Firebloods rained terror on my people. I will not stand here while you twist things to make yourself the victim. Get out of my way,” he said, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“No.” I moved to block the doorway. “What were you writing so furtively when you should have been at morning prayers?”
My hand darted out and snatched the letter poking from the collar of his robe.
“You dare to put your filthy hands on me!” he railed, coming at me with a raised fist. I dropped the letter and sent a blast of heat at his arm, but momentum carried his hand forward. His fist slammed into the side of my face with a blow that knocked me soundly out of the room to sprawl on the floor of the corridor.
“You burned me,” he said in shock, holding his singed wrist. His face turned red. He brought his foot back. I curled into a tight ball just before the sharp toe of his sandal met my back.
When he pulled his foot back to kick me again, I grabbed the other foot, yanking him to the floor. I used my elbows and knees the way Arcus had taught me when he gave me a lesson in close combat, then finally managed to shove him across the floor.