Frostblood

I curtsied low. “I will do my best to die slowly to please Your Majesty.”

“Not a sound, child,” she whispered.

I needed no reminder. The crowded catacombs were so silent that any noise seemed like an explosion of sound. Not that the crowd minded. They were all dead.

“You can go now,” he said coolly.

“Oh, can I? Why, thank you, my lord,” I said sarcastically. “And for the record, I already know how you feel about fire, so you don’t have to be mad that I’ve witnessed one of your weaknesses. We all have them, you know.”

He turned to look at me, his face completely expressionless. I tensed, waiting for a scathing response, but he mumbled something and looked away.

I left the smithy and headed toward the kitchen to help Brother Peele with dinner preparations, still puzzling over his parting remark. I must have misheard him. It almost sounded like he’d said, I fear you are becoming one of mine.