THAT NIGHT, I WAS PACING THE plush, richly patterned carpet in my room when a soft knock sounded at my door. I opened it to see Kai, still dressed, a cup in each hand. “May I come in?”

Conscious of the thin fabric of my nightgown, I crossed my arms over my chest and backed up. “I suppose.”

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, shutting the door with his foot.

I shrugged.

“Neither could I the night before my first trial.” He held out a cup. “To ease your nerves.”

“Is this tea or wine? I need to be sharp tomorrow.”

“Which means you need sleep. Just a few drops.”

I sighed and took the cup. He clinked his against mine. “To becoming a master.”

“Are we toasting you or me?”

He grinned. “Both.”

All was darkness outside the glow of my single candle. The emptiness pressed against us as if it wanted to swallow us whole. For all I knew, this night was my last, the last time I’d feel the comfort of a bed, the last time I’d dream my dreams and think about the person I cared for most in this world. I’d written a letter to Arcus after dinner, telling him things I’d never had the courage to say to his face. Hot tears had fallen, making a mess of the ink and sizzling tiny holes in the parchment. I hoped he’d forgive me. For that and for everything else.

I pushed the thoughts of Arcus away, at least as much as I could. He was never far from my mind.

“You’re confident I’ll pass, then?” I asked, my stomach knotting. I recognized the nerves—they were the same I’d felt every time I’d had to enter King Rasmus’s arena.

He gave me a reproving look. “I wouldn’t have wasted my time this week if I thought you couldn’t pass.”

Not as reassuring as I’d hoped, but maybe that was high praise from Kai. After all, he’d failed at least one of the tests.

“Did you pass the first trial?”

“Of course. I passed the first two trials, which is why I don’t have to retake them.” He took a drink and then stared at his cup, swirling it gently. I watched his dense lashes, several shades darker than his hair, cast shadows on his cheeks. He looked almost melancholy, which was so unusual for him that my heart squeezed a little.

I took another sip. “Do you ever consider how cruel the trials are? They’re risking the lives of anyone who isn’t strong enough. I see little difference between this and the Frost King’s arena.”

“The trials are a choice,” he said defensively. “No one is forced to take them. And there are ways out of the first trial for anyone who realizes they’re not strong enough to finish.” He snapped his mouth closed, as if realizing he’d said too much. “However, if you leave, you forfeit, and you’ll never be allowed to take them again.”

“Unless I bargain with the queen like you did. Oh, wait, you’re the exception to all rules.” I forced a smile.

“Indeed.” He lifted his goblet to me in acknowledgment, his lips curving, then drained it and set the goblet down. “Well, I suppose I should let you get some sleep. I don’t want to be the reason you’re fatigued on the most important day of your life.”

“Before you go, I have a favor to ask.” I went to my dressing table and picked up the rolled-up parchment. “If I don’t make it out of my trial, I’d like you to make sure this gets back to Tempesia.”

Kai frowned at the scroll. “To whom?”

“Arcus,” I said simply.

He frowned and didn’t move to take the letter.

“Just get it to him.” I pressed it into his hand. “It’s a last request. You do honor last requests here, don’t you?”

“We try.”

“Thank you.” I paused. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t read it.”

He looked offended. “I wouldn’t do that.”

I nodded, feeling a little awkward, though I didn’t know why. We stood in silence for a few moments more.

“You will pass tomorrow,” he said, his eyes bright with warmth. “Just stay calm. Remember your training.”

I tipped my cup, drank in a series of gulps, and offered it, empty, to Kai. “Thanks for the drink.” Craving oblivion, I turned and crawled into bed to settle under the covers.

“Sleep well, little bird,” he said, shutting the door with a quiet click.

The carriage wheels creaked in the predawn hush, depositing Kai and me at the school as sunrise bruised the sky. Master Dallr waited in the entryway. As we came closer, he held up one calloused palm to Kai, who halted beside me.

Kai took my hands briefly in his. He looked at Master Dallr and then bent to my ear. “Lava will burn the flesh off your bones—you or any Fireblood. Don’t hesitate. Don’t look back.”

I looked at him sharply. My already elevated pulse sped up even more. Was he breaking his oath by telling me something about the trial? His gaze was dark, intense. I dipped my chin to show him I’d taken note. His fingers tightened before letting go. I turned and followed the Fireblood master without looking back. My stomach was a tight knot of nerves, but my mind was clear and determined.

Instead of entering the school, Master Dallr veered onto flagstones leading around the side of the building, then to a scrubby footpath that climbed a steep, rocky hill. As we crested it, the sun’s rim peeked over the horizon, casting a pink glow over the undulating sea and the smudges of distant islands.

He gestured toward the shadowy bulk of a small building of gray stone. When we reached the inside, I saw a life-size statue of Sud holding a bowl of fire. The master knelt and pressed his forehead to the floor, and I did the same, mouthing a quick prayer. As he knelt, a chain slid from the collar of his robe and clunked against the floor. A black key hung from the end of it. The key to the library! My fingers itched to reach out and grab it.

But that would be far too obvious. I reminded myself I needed more than just the right book in my hands. I needed to conquer my powers as well. I wanted to become a master, not just for the sake of finding out how to destroy the Minax, but to prove I could do it when the time came.

He straightened and tucked the key back into his robe.

We left the temple and descended the hill where lava fields spread out below, barren and black with rough ridges like petrified waves. Plants grew from cracks and crevices, leafy ferns and saplings, bright green against the black. In the distance, a volcano spewed white smoke from its gray mouth, a dragon belching into the sky, vegetation clinging to its shoulders like bright green scales.

We reached the ruins of a stone wall. Black rock was pooled against and around it as if frozen in the act of trying to storm the walls. I followed Master Dallr through a broken archway—a remnant of the destroyed building—and continued for another minute or two. He stopped and gestured to the ground, then bowed low and turned away.

“I’m supposed to go in here?” I peered into an inky black hole, then looked up. Master Dallr was already several yards away. He didn’t look back.

I slid in feetfirst, lowering myself slowly, palms grating against the sides of a narrow shaft. I lost control, sliding for a few seconds before I landed hard on my hands and knees. Kai’s warning had put me on guard. I looked around quickly, sighing with relief that there was no lava in sight. Just torches lining the black stone walls of a tunnel, which tilted down into darkness.

The torchlight illuminated markings carved into the walls and ceiling: a swirl here, a diamond shape there, three curving lines underscored by a horizontal slash. I didn’t know whether they were writing or art, but they did look familiar. I’d seen similar designs carved into the ice columns of Arcus’s castle, most notably in the throne room. Come to think of it, I’d seen a few at Forwind Abbey, too. I’d figured they were common Frostblood motifs, something to do with Fors. How they made their way into a tunnel under the lava fields of the Sudesian capital, I had no idea.

Not far along, a wooden slab with the markings of a door blocked the tunnel, its bulk completely filling the space. A ladder hung a few feet before the door, leading up to a shaft above. That must be one of the ways out that Kai had mentioned. I ignored the ladder and pushed at the wood, then, when it didn’t budge, put my ear close and knocked. It gave a hollow echo. I stood for a moment, calculating. I didn’t think the test was supposed to be a great mystery. The door was made of wood. My gift was fire. It seemed logical I was meant to use it. Kai had said not to hesitate.

I burned through the door in less than a minute, careful to create a space only big enough to get through. I didn’t want to exhaust myself unnecessarily.

I walked quickly down the passage past another ladder until a second slab of wood loomed before me in the darkness. A little thicker than the last. It took over a minute to burn through.

By the fourth door, I started to lose track of time. My breaths came faster. My limbs felt heavier.

I’d just burned through the sixth—much thicker—door when a loud grinding sound came from behind. The tunnel filled with heat. I turned to see a glowing ooze that changed shape as it slid down the incline behind me. So that’s what Kai had meant when he told me lava would burn the flesh off a Fireblood’s bones. My pulse jerked frantically. I hurried to the next door, this time burning the upper portion only before climbing through the gap, leaving the lower portion as a barrier against the lava. I might need some extra seconds later.

I arrived at the seventh door. It was maybe twice as thick as the previous one. The passage widened here, and a shaft of sunlight lit the space. Another ladder. It was far more tempting to climb now. But that wasn’t an option.

I bent my attention to the door, pulling the heat from my chest and sending it through my arms, fire exploding from my palms into the wood. It splintered and crackled. When the hole was large enough, I hauled myself through, trembling and winded, and looked back as I held myself suspended in the opening.

A pinpoint of glowing orange, still far, moved closer. I calculated that it must have crossed the barrier of the first, and perhaps the second door.

With a final glance at the ladder, I dropped to the floor and rushed on.

After a grueling battle with the eighth door, the lava felt close, the heat rising with each harsh, uneven breath. Fatigue weighted my arms. I shook it off, and pushed forward.

No ladder hung next to the ninth door, although a narrow opening punctured the stone ceiling, admitting buttery rays of light. A shadow passed over it. A master watching, perhaps. Or just a cloud passing over the sun.

The thick door yielded the dullest of thuds when I knocked on it. I took two short breaths and made a concentrated flame.

I groaned as I held the flame steady, eyes closed. All my will aimed into the wood.

Scorch marks blackened the door, but it was otherwise unharmed. I took a breath and tried again, recalling my training.

Focus, don’t hold back, build the heat, let it burn. Hotter. Hotter. More.

My whole body trembled. I called up hot fear, burning hatred, the searing thirst for revenge. I allowed myself memories usually kept at bay: the night when the soldiers came to my village, their faces like nightmarish spirits in the glow of the burning buildings.

But when I pictured the face of the captain who killed my mother, another image came with it. Mother’s body crumpling to the snow.

Pain lashed my heart. Like a candle burned down to its base, my fire sputtered.

No.

Focus.

Tired.

Heat.

Tired.

Exhaustion pulled at every muscle and sinew. My legs shook. I grabbed at the door to keep from falling.

Hissing came from behind. Fiery liquid poured through the opening in the eighth door, devouring the wood until only the upper edges remained. Lava pooled and oozed like a glowing oil spill.

Panic replenished my heat, like adding fresh coal to a forge. I poured my fire into the door and burned a few inches away, the edges blackening under my fire. When the depth of the hole reached about two feet, a tiny point of light appeared. I shoved my finger through it and felt a rush of elation.

The heat from the approaching lava suddenly singed the backs of my calves. Acting on instinct, I turned and threw my hands out, the way I would to control flames.

The lava stopped. Just stopped, as if an invisible barrier held it back. But how?

“Sage?” I whispered.

I waited for a vision of the golden-eyed woman who sometimes appeared to me. But I couldn’t see her, nor hear her voice. Still, she must have intervened. Relief and gratitude brought another surge of strength.

I screamed as I poured the last bit of my heat into the door. The edges of the opening burst into flame, the space widening.

I pulled my legs up, away from the motionless lava, and wiggled feetfirst into the breach. As I hoisted myself through, my hips stuck in the narrow gap. I swore fiercely and braced my elbows on the sides, then a final heave ripped gashes into my tunic and leggings. My feet hit the ground. I looked back through the opening to see the lava moving again.

Two tunnels led downward to the left and right, but ahead, the passage rose. I ran up the incline, the torches blurring at the edges of my vision.

A minute later, I burst through into the sunlight. I collapsed onto the ground and saw that I was on the far side of the hill overlooking the school, the temple to Sud casting shadows in the morning sun.

I panted, lying on my back while clouds and seagulls cut white shapes into the blue. My head spun with relief—and just a touch of pride.

I’d passed the first Fireblood trial. I was one step closer to learning how to destroy the Minax.

Kai came to my room again that night. This time, he brought sweets: tiny iced cakes in a rainbow of colors. “To celebrate the passing of your first trial.”

I carefully lifted a pink confection with a tiny chocolate leaf on top. I was still giddy that I’d passed. Everything seemed possible; suddenly, even the idea of mastering my gift and beating the Minax was within reach. The only thing tempering my euphoria was the knowledge that Sage must have intervened to help me. After all, who else could have saved me from death by lava at the last second? And if she intervened, I must have been in real trouble. She’d never helped me so directly before.

But I shoved the thought away. I wanted to bask in the elation of my win.

“Mmm, I love sweets,” I said around a glorious mouthful of cake.

“I know,” Kai said drily. “You were covered in powdered sugar the night we met.” He smiled almost wistfully, as if that had happened years ago instead of weeks. “I had you pegged as a traitor to our people. Or at the very least, an opportunist who cared for nothing but your own ambition. Though the queen had sent me to recruit you, I didn’t have much hope that you’d remain loyal.”

I swallowed my bite. “I’m assuming you’ve changed your mind. Otherwise, it would be rude to mention that.”

“I might have cause to reexamine my thinking.” He seized a tiny cake and popped it into his mouth.

I dusted sugar from my fingertips, then selected another: white with blue piping. After eating a few more, I put a hand to my stomach. “I shouldn’t have eaten so many. Or maybe I’m just getting nervous about the next trial.”

He put the tray on a side table. “Climb in bed and I’ll tuck you in.”

I crossed my arms. “Again, I’m not a child.”

“Well, you look like one at the moment. Could they have fit any more ruffles on this nightgown?”

I looked down. My nightgown was, indeed, covered in ruffles, one of which Kai flicked with an extended index finger. He transferred the touch to my chin and smiled. My cheeks heated. I turned away and crawled into bed. It seemed safer than standing in the candlelight in a semisheer nightgown. I didn’t want him to leave yet. It was nice to have company to take the edge off my anxiety about the second trial.

“Tell me a story,” I said with sudden inspiration. “Like you did on the ship.”

He laughed. “I thought you didn’t want to be treated like a child. You sound just like Aver.” He came and sat on the edge of the bed. “What do you want to hear, then?”

“Continue the one you were telling. About the birth of the wind gods. Eurus had just been banished.”

“Ah.” He cleared his throat. “Well, Neb and Tempus barely had time to grieve for their son’s betrayal when Neb found that she was expecting again. She gave birth to twins, Sud and Fors, who were equally matched in every way. As they grew, they loved to hunt. Cirrus would follow her younger siblings to make sure they weren’t injured by the animals that had spread across the world. But she also felt sorry for the animals and often saved them, mending their cuts and pouring life back into their broken bodies.”

“A convenient ability,” I observed, covering another yawn.

“Indeed, and not just for the animals. Sometimes she healed her younger siblings from cuts and bruises and broken limbs. Sud and Fors were fearless and curious, getting into scrapes and risking themselves for the sheer joy of facing danger… much like someone in this room.”

“You must be talking about yourself. I’m the soul of caution.”

He chuckled. “As they explored the world, they found the broken dolls Eurus had discarded as a child. Together they fixed them and breathed life into them. They grew fascinated by these creatures, whom they called men and women. For a while, the twins worked in harmony to help people in small ways, teaching them how to hunt and cook the meat with fire.”

“Mmm,” I said. My eyes had fallen closed.

Kai stroked my hair—it felt so nice I didn’t bat his hand away—and continued. “But Fors and Sud grew bored of watching people do the same things day after day, and decided to explore. They traveled east and found a young man who looked like them. He said he was their brother, Eurus, and that he was tired of living all alone.”

I shivered and pulled the quilt higher over my shoulder.

“They brought Eurus back to their parents’ dwelling, which was built high in the clouds so that Neb could be close to her first daughter, the Sun.

“‘We have found our brother,’ they said, ‘and we want you to let him come home.’ At first, Tempus refused, but the twins said, ‘Do as we ask, or we will leave and never return.’

“So Neb and Tempus had no choice but to embrace their oldest son. In gratitude, Eurus wove palm fronds into fans and gave them to the twins. Fors used his fan to create the north wind and Sud created the south wind. And Cirrus joined them in a game that tumbled winds across the world and all four siblings laughed in great joy.”

I smiled serenely, imagining myself as a wind god floating on the currents I’d made with my fan.

“But their games had caused havoc over the earth, creating typhoons and hurricanes and tornadoes. Sun looked down upon the people and saw that her siblings had destroyed simple homes and crops they had started to grow, and she shone a light on the destruction. And Cirrus saw what her sister, Sun, was showing her, and she told her other siblings to stop their game.”

“Did they stop?” I asked drowsily. Grandmother had told me this story, but it was so long ago, I didn’t recall the details.

“They did. All but Eurus. ‘Why, those people are nothing but the dolls I broke as a child,’ he said, laughing at their pathetic fragility. And he made wind after rushing wind and laughed as it swept people and animals into clouds of dust, wiping the land clean.

“‘You are cruel,’ said Cirrus, shaking with rage, ‘and you have no regard for life.’

“‘You are foolish and weak,’ said Eurus, ‘and you care too much for small, broken things.’

“‘I am stronger than you,’ she said.

“Eurus said, ‘Then let us see who will win a contest of strength.’”

Kai’s warm hand cupped my shoulder. “Ruby?”

I tried to reply, but I was floating in the clouds. With one more stroke over my hair, his hand left me and I felt the bed move as he stood.

“Good night,” he whispered.

That night, I was back in the Frost King’s castle—in my old room with the heavy curtains, richly upholstered chairs, and the table piled with books in front of a darkened window. The room was lit by a single candle that sat on a table next to the bed. I slid out from under the covers, my feet landing on soft carpet. Strangely, the air was warm—scented with hibiscus and bougainvillea. I paused a moment, breathing in.

A book lay at my feet. As I picked it up, it fell open to a picture of a throne room that looked like one of Sister Pastel’s illuminations at the abbey, painted with charcoal and scarlet and tints of cerulean blue. The throne was mostly black, with veins of red and vermilion running through it, and icy pillars all around. The walls were a mix of stone and crackling frost. A sapphire ring glinted on one armrest of the throne, while a ruby ring glinted on the other.

I closed the book and put it on the bed before leaving my room, breathing softly as I wandered the empty hallways.

“This way,” a voice whispered. I followed it, my hands brushing the walls. Suddenly, I was no longer in the king’s castle, but the queen’s, the walls of black stone. I found myself at a set of double doors opening into a cavern with black pillars and sputtering torches, a throne in the center casting a dull red glow. I could feel its heat pressing against me, beckoning and warning, hinting at a power that could not be fully contained.

The fire throne.

It was so beautiful. Sud had created this, and I could feel the goddess’s own heat searing the air. Hot bubbling lines of molten lava ran continuously through the black stone, small air bubbles forming and bursting, each tiny vein glowing. Could even a Fireblood bear to sit on that relentless heat?

It was hard to see the full shape of the throne in this light, but it looked somewhat irregular, the two armrests slightly uneven. I stepped closer and reached out, placing my hand on one arm. There was a long, breathy sigh.

My hand slid farther up the surface of the rock—it was hot, but not unbearable. My whole body warmed. I moved closer until my legs brushed the throne’s base. Heat traveled up to my belly and into my chest, through my arms, and out my fingers, back into the throne. It felt as if I were part of it, drawing from its energy source and giving back in equal measure.

Suddenly, I sensed a pressure under my skin, and a consciousness that was not my own examining the feel of my form, curious and searching, like a bird that visits a newfound nest. I realized I’d been holding my breath, and exhaled a mouthful of air. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to find the light inside myself, to expel the presence inside my skin.

“Ruby,” a man’s voice said. “What are you doing?”

My eyes flew open, but all I could see was a tall, shadowy figure, with only dim light coming through an open door. We were in a dusty storage room filled with broken baskets, sagging shelves, and piles of firewood.

“Where did the throne go?” I whispered.

The form moved closer, a warm hand finding mine. “You’re not really awake, are you, Ruby? Come. I’ll take you back to your room.”

With those words, I felt the dark presence shift, felt its reluctance as it flowed out of me, leaving me limp and shaking.