Page 108 of Blood Beneath the Snow

I didn’t have the heart to ask how long Valen had been locked in this prison; how long they’d had to sit with their thoughts and prophecies until the real world and dreams blended and became one.

“How?” I asked. I wanted to believe them, but without Frode, possibly without Jac…it seemed unwise to hope.

The Seeing One shrugged and turned to face the corner. “I cannot see the path, only the destination,” they said. “But it will come to pass.”

Freja was thrilled, and I managed to paste a smile on my face. “I hope it does,” I said. “I hope it does.”

When I finally returned tothe castle, I found a hot bath waiting for me.

I didn’t know who had left it—maybe one of the servants—but I didn’t hesitate before pulling off my grimy clothes and sinking into the warm water. I sighed as the heat moved into my bones, defrosting my core. The war front had been traumatizing, yes, but more than that, it had beencold. I wasn’t sure I remembered warmth.

The water looked dirty instantly. I pulled the tie out of my braid and unwove it, sinking my hair beneath the surface. I used the vial of soap that had been placed on a stool with a towel next to the tub to scrub at my scalp, working out all the sweat and filth.

The scent of death.

I shivered despite the heat. The last time I had bathed was…

No. I pushed the thought away. I didn’t want to remember. Not right now—not when the Bloodshed Trials were tomorrow.

I toweled off and dressed in a comfy pair of clothes. Lying in bed, I surveyed my childhood bedroom. It looked the same as always, blankets draped everywhere and books in piles all over the floor. My dancing shoes from my youth were hung on the wall, from a time when Mother had actually praised my accomplishments and treated me like her daughter. That was before my lack of magic was confirmed.

I allowed reality to sink in. Tomorrow I would enter the arena and fight to kill my brothers. And if I couldn’t, then one of them would kill me.

I wondered how they’d do it. Would Björn use his Lurae to burn me to a crisp? Would Erik smash his war hammer through my skull?

What was it like to die?

I reached my thoughts out to Frode, or whatever remained of him, lost somewhere in the freezing wasteland of the north. Did he sink into darkness like falling asleep? Or was there excruciating pain like nothing he’d ever experienced before?

What would my death be like?

The image of Frode laughing brushed across the backs of my eyelids.

I tossed and turned in my bed for hours, wishing a fitful sleep would overtake me. Being exhausted for the Bloodshed Trials was a sure way to get myself killed. Every time unconsciousness beckoned, however, the image of Frode’s lifeless eyes appeared.

Was his body in the place we left it? The likelihood of a Kryllian battalion making camp there again was slim but not impossible. Kryllian bodies in their dark armor had been strewn across the bright snow, leaking blood from irreparable wounds. Had the Hellbringer been the only one to escape?

Would he return to bury the bodies of his fallen soldiers? Or would they be left there to freeze, like Frode?

If I hadn’t fallen down the hill, would he be alive right now?

The thought tore me in two, and I curled in on myself, hoping to stay in one piece.

When sleep finally took me away, it was like being smothered.

I called for him.

Frode? Where are you? It’s too dark; I can’t see you.

My only answer was the haunting melody he’d been humming in recent weeks.

I sat straight up in my bed, covered in a cold sweat, tears streaming down my face. The cry caught in my chest and I covered my mouth as I let out a sob that wracked my whole body.

He was gone. He wasn’t coming back. There was no one with the power to reverse the Hellbringer’s deadly magic.

Nothing could stop the shaking echoing through me with every gasp. I shoved my fist into my mouth and bit down, trying to silence my own crying. Instead, blood seeped from my knuckles and into my mouth, coating my tongue with its bitter, metallic taste. The song from the dream played on a haunting loop in my mind.

This was my last chance to truly mourn him. I was alone now, but in the morning I’d stumble into the arena, a spectacle for the godtouched and a beacon of hope for the godforsaken.

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