Page 110 of Blood Beneath the Snow

My thoughts turned to Jac. Had he made it out of the city without being caught? Considering his Lurae, I would have been surprised if he hadn’t. The only one who might have turned on him was Volkan. I didn’t want to entertain the idea of such a betrayal, but I had been blind to the Hellbringer’s true motives. I wouldn’t discount the possibility of Volkan’s true loyalty lying elsewhere.

There was an hour or so until the Trials were to begin. I glanced at myself in the mirror, wishing I looked a little less plain—less Nilurae somehow. But I shook my head. No. I needed to look like my people as much as possible today. Even if today meant my death.

I turned to leave my room, hands twitching, when my eyes caught on something resting on a shelf. A jar of bright red paint, thesame kind the priests used at their rituals. The only use I’d ever had for it was to highlight my lips. Today I had another idea.

I grabbed the jar and a brush, then turned back to the mirror, where I carefully painted a large X on my face, the lines intersecting across the bridge of my nose.

The symbol of Aloisa.

I raised my chin. She had dared to claim me once and I had escaped her grasp. Why not tempt fate another time?

Plus, my father and brothers would hate it.

There was a light rapping on the open door, and I turned to see Volkan dressed in his finery. “There you are,” he said. “I worried when I didn’t see you at all yesterday. Your father said you were out, but I wasn’t sure whether to believe him.”

“I was busy,” I said, facing my reflection once more. “And I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

Our gazes met in the corner of the mirror. He nodded and sighed, running a hand over his hair. “I heard what happened to Frode,” he said. “I came to offer my condolences.”

Condolences meant nothing. My pulse was erratic. Before I registered the motion, my shaking hand had pulled a knife from my belt and turned to him.

Volkan’s eyes widened and he held up his hands. His throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously. “Let’s be civil about this.”

I stepped closer to him. “Did you know?” My voice trembled. “That he would turn on me?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear, Revna. I didn’t know anything. The only time I saw either of you was when I came to heal you. That was it.”

I relaxed my stance but didn’t put the knife away. “He killed Frode. Instead of me. I don’t know why.”

Volkan shook his head, lips pursed in bitterness. “I don’t know if his intention was ever to kill you. Maybe it was an intimidation tactic, a way to convince your father and brothers of your innocence. After all, the queen wants you to win, doesn’t she?”

Yes, I wanted to scream,she does, but it isn’t enough to excuse him from murdering my brother.

He must have seen something frightening in my expression because he took a half step back. “That was stupid of me to say. Please forgive me. I can’t say I knew what he was thinking when he killed Frode. And you have every right to feel betrayed. And lied to. Because that’s what he did.” He sighed. “And if I had known, I would have stopped him. No matter what it took.”

There was truth in his eyes. As he stood between the stone blocks making up my doorframe, my anger cooled for a moment. I slid my knife back into its sheath. “We were both fools,” I said, grabbing my sword. I took one long last look at the bedroom. Would I ever be back?

As I walked to the stairwell, I heard Volkan murmur from behind me, “Yes. We were.”

Located beyond the edge ofthe city, the arena’s giant steel walls were taller than the castle. The Bhorglid flag waved in the breeze from its post at the top of the structure. Dark clouds swirled overhead, and I grimaced as I viewed it from where I sat on my horse.

The arena’s appearance was as cold and unforgiving as the occasions it hosted. Here, my father had competed to win the throne decades ago, slaughtering his two brothers without a second thought. It was where traitors were executed for their crimes. I swallowed hard as I rode nearer, staring over one of the rolling hills at the massive expanse of metal before me.

Realizing the freezing sandy floor of the arena might be where I took my last breath made me stiffen. My blood might stain the sand permanently.

There was no time to back out now. Though every part of me screamed to turn around, I clicked my heels gently on my horse’s sides and rode to the arena.

By the time I made it to the bottom of the hill, it was swarming with people. Travelers from all over the country had arrived to watch the Trials and learn who would be their next ruler. They were wrapped in fur blankets to shield them against the harsh wind. Even the priests had come from cities far and wide to honor the sacred ritual sacrifice of heirs.

I realized suddenly all of this had started with a disrupted ritual sacrifice. Perhaps the gods had a twisted sense of humor; perhaps by saving one intended sacrifice, they balanced the scales by putting me in her place.

As I rode through the crowd, excited shouts turned to whispers at the sight of my face, covered in war paint.

I wondered what they thought. Were they as angry as my parents? Disgusted that a Nilurae would try for the throne?

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