“Only if they give me good reason,” I replied with sweet poison.
“Pay attention because I’ll only say this once. The river is your boundary to the north, the stables to the east, the road to the south, and the edge of the woods to the west. If you pass these boundaries, you’ll receive a sound thrashing from me, and you will lose all freedoms and privileges.”
“You lay one finger on me and I’ll—”
“Burn me so badly my mistress will run in terror. I’m afraid that threat holds little weight with me, Lady Firebrand. Get yourself dried off before you take ill. You’re weak enough as it is.”
He walked out and closed the door with a quiet thud, leaving me steaming in my wet robes.
FIVE
I SPENT THE NEXT THREE DAYS IN the infirmary, seeing no one but Brother Gamut and drinking cup after cup of his tea. When resting bored me to distraction, I started a routine of limping around the room at intervals, with breaks in between. It was surprising how quickly I gained strength with the help of Brother Gamut’s herbs. For the first time in months, I started to feel safe.
Until I woke on the third night with the taste of ashes on my tongue.
My fingers dug into the quilt as I tried to shake off images of buildings wreathed in flames. It was just a dream. But the acrid smell wouldn’t leave my nose. I sat up, rigid with fear.
Fire.
I threw on my robe, slammed the door open, and ran as fast as my ankle allowed down the corridor and out through the cloister. Following the haze of smoke, I rounded the northwest corner of the abbey. Brothers and sisters ran from the river to the church, tossing buckets of water at the flames spitting from the north door, their wide-eyed faces and clenched hands appearing white in the firelight. One of the sisters cried out as heat washed over her, the water from her bucket hitting the door with a hiss. Then she wheeled around and ran back toward the river.
“Where is Brother Thistle?” I shouted as I drew close. His frost was worth a thousand pails of river water.
One of the monks pointed at a figure stretched out on the ground. I ran over and fell to my knees. Brother Thistle’s chest rose and fell too quickly.
Brother Gamut shuffled over to us, a bent silhouette against the orange glow. “He fell asleep at his desk in the chapter house. Brother Peele found him and carried him out.”
“We must wake him,” I said. “He can put out the fire.”
“We have tried. He won’t wake.”
My heat would hardly help in this situation. I knelt by the monk and gently shook his shoulder. If only I had some strong-smelling herbs to put under his nose to rouse him.
Pounding hoofbeats shook the earth. I turned to see a massive white stallion draw to a halt and Arcus swing from the saddle.
“What did you do?” he demanded as he rushed forward and fell to his knees on the other side of Brother Thistle. Shadows hid his expression, but the accusation was clearly directed at me.
“I did nothing,” I said coldly, “except try to wake him.”
Brother Gamut cut in to explain what had happened to Brother Thistle. As he spoke, a shout came from one of the sisters who had been accounting for everyone. “Sister Pastel isn’t here!”
Brother Gamut’s hands knotted as he looked at Arcus. “She must be in the library.”
Arcus pushed up and ran for the north door. He blasted the iron door handle with frost and yanked the wooden door open. Smoke billowed out and hungry tongues of flame licked at the edges of the frame. Arcus’s whole body was tensed, but he didn’t move. Something about his posture reminded me of a small animal facing a predator, its safety dependent on perfect stillness.
I left Brother Thistle and ran to Arcus’s side. “What is it?”
He shook his head.
“Use your frost to fight the fire as you go,” I said, perplexed. “Is there something wrong? Is your frost… not strong enough?”
“Of course it is!” he barked. “This is nothing.”
He put his hands in front of him. The air crackled with frost, but it melted instantly against the raging heat. My eyes widened as I saw how his arms trembled.
“You’re afraid of fire?” I asked, thunderstruck.
He rounded on me with a furious glare, but his breath came in short bursts, his chest rising and falling like he had just run for miles.
I waited to feel triumph at his weakness, but my thoughts were clouded with worry. “Where’s the library?”
“Just past the church,” he answered. “Third door.”
I nodded. “I need a pathway out. Try your best to clear the hallway. And have Brother Gamut ready to help when I bring Sister…”
“Pastel,” he supplied. “But you can’t go in. The roof could collapse.”
“Then I’ll have to get out before it does.” I turned and bolted through the doorway and into the church, ignoring Arcus’s shouts behind me. A wall of fire blocked the opening to the corridor. I closed my eyes and threw myself through the flames, tumbling onto the stone floor to quench my robes.
I opened the third door and found a room lined all around with books. Brushes and pots of ink sat in neat rows on tables in the smoke-filled room. Between two arched windows, there was a tapestry of Tempus, father of the four winds, whipping up a storm to punish disobedient sailors.
“Sister Pastel?” I called, my voice shrill.
A tall, robed figure was sprawled on the floor beneath the tapestry. I recognized her as the sister who had eyed me suspiciously as she’d helped bring in my bath the day after I’d come to the abbey. I slid my hands under her arms, grunting with effort as I lifted her. The temperature of her skin was cooler than mine, but nothing like the frigid sting of Arcus’s skin. She clearly had no gift of frost to protect her from the flames that filled the corridor.