“Good people, hear me!” he shouted above the din. “I come to you not as a peasant fighter, or a warrior, or a champion, as you have been told.”
No, not a mere champion, I thought. Despite his stature, which could pass for one of the king’s champions, he had a proud bearing that hinted at his noble birth, now more than ever before.
“I come to you as the man who would sit rightfully on the throne of Fors!”
I heard the words, but my torpid mind couldn’t take in the meaning. He was pretending to be someone else, saying things that weren’t true. And he didn’t stop.
“I come to you as Arelius Arkanus, son of Akur, elder brother to Rasmus. I was burned by an assassin and left for dead. But I did not die.”
I fell back, my heart racing, but my mind still stuffed with feathers.
“I lived to fight,” said Arcus, more power in his voice than I’d ever heard, “to return to the people I love. I come to you now and present myself as your faithful servant. I come to you now as the rightful Frost King!”
TWENTY-SIX
TIME LOST MEANING. THE SOUNDS of the arena faded to a distant roar.
Arcus towered over me, his face bared for all to see, scars standing out in the bright afternoon sunlight. It was like looking at a stranger. He addressed the crowd, saying things I only half heard, about it being up to them, his people, to choose which ruler belonged on the throne, that they should fight by his side because his rule would be fair, his memory of their loyalty long.
He exhorted them with the skill of a seasoned orator, convincing and confident, his shoulders thrown back, his chin held high. Gone was the mysterious figure skulking in a hood. Gone was the young man who had feared my fire. Gone was the person whom I’d come to trust, whose scars I had gently touched, whose lips had moved over mine with sweet, ardent pressure.
A king stood before me. The Frost King. Towering and merciless, ready to take his seat on the corrupted throne and gorge himself on its power.
My skin roughened with gooseflesh. This time there would be no hope. Arcus radiated banked power, a hum of energy kept leashed and dormant but waiting for a chance to break free. It was in the very air around him, and always had been, though I hadn’t recognized it before now. Where Rasmus drew his power from the throne, Arcus had inner strength. He would harness the throne’s power and amplify it tenfold.
Then he turned to look down at me. His cold blue gaze softened, his eyes meeting mine with a hint of deep warmth.
I shook my head, the fearful image of an invincible king on the throne clearing like morning mist. This was Arcus. He might be Rasmus’s brother, but he was still the same person I knew. I offered my hand and he took it, pulling me to my feet and against his chest. A smile curved his lips.
“My bundle of firewood,” he said softly. “It’s good to have you in my arms again.”
A blast of ice exploded at Arcus’s feet, bringing him to his knees.
I turned to the source and found myself facing the king’s balcony. Rasmus’s hands were out, his eyes fixed on us, fury blazing in their depths.
“Kill this imposter!” Rasmus shouted, the words echoing around the arena. “My brother is dead. You see a usurper before you. Kill him or be named traitor!”
Many of the spectators drew swords or clubs from underneath their ragged clothes and poured from the stands into the arena.
As Arcus stood and pulled me back to him, I struggled out of his arms. “Go!”
“Ruby, stop,” he said. “These are my rebels, people who have chosen to fight for me. And others may choose to follow us.”
He was right. As the people rushed forward at the king’s soldiers, swords clashed in a deafening cacophony of steel on steel. Those with the gift threw frost and ice in a dizzying display of shining white.
Full-scale revolt had landed on the king’s doorstep. I turned to find his balcony, but I couldn’t see past the forest of bodies.
“We need to get you out of here,” said Arcus. “I can’t be sure you’re safe, even among my allies.”
He sprang to his feet and pulled me by the hand toward the side of the arena, an alcove opposite to the entrance where I usually stood waiting to fight. A blast of frost at my heels made me stumble. Arcus pulled me into a shady recess.
I twisted to look at him. “The king will put down your little revolt in minutes, starting with you. Why would you be so foolish? This was never the plan.”
“This was always part of the plan, just not the part that involved you. I’ve been meeting with my supporters in secret for the past year. But we hadn’t planned to move on the castle until the throne was destroyed.”
“And you know it hasn’t been. You shouldn’t have come!”
He shook his head. “That plan changed the moment you left the abbey without me. I couldn’t let you face this alone. We came as quickly as we could… though I didn’t know for sure whose side you were on anymore. I heard how you became a champion. There were reports that you were getting quite close to the king.”