Page 17 of Blood Beneath the Snow

When I opened my eyes again, I caught sight of a piece of paper on my nightstand with my name on it. I frowned and pulled it open.

Revna,

I’m going to visit Freja tonight. Don’t bother your father about this; he’ll only continue to take it out on her. Our first priority must be keeping her safe.

Arne

I swallowed hard, the knot in my throat sinking to the bottom of my stomach. Arne was right—if I spoke out of turn to my father, he would take it out on Freja. He already had; he was using her to get back at me. My status was high enough that, despite the priests’ dislike of me, they wouldn’t imprison me without direct orders.

Freja was not so lucky.

I clenched my teeth. Father had found my weak spot.

The door opened and my mother entered, holding an elaborate gown. “Get up. The Fastians will be here in half an hour.”

I reached up to rub my forehead, where a pounding headache had made its home. The image of Freja, shivering and cold, danced through my mind again. I fought against a wave of nausea.

Meeting my fiancé was the last thing I wanted to do today.

My right hand twitched, and a throb of searing pain shot through my fingers and up to my wrist. I grimaced. Somehow, in all the chaos, I’d forgotten about my broken fingers.

“Could you send up the healer? I have a headache.”

My mother’s frown managed to deepen further as she kicked my dirty clothes into a corner. On any other day, she would have procured a chunk of ice with her godtouch and that would have been the only respite for my throbbing skull. Today, though, I knew she wouldn’t want to risk me being out of it when the entourage arrived. “Out drinking again. Why am I not surprised?”

I rolled my eyes. “I can hear you.”

“You were supposed to.”

“Are you going to send Waddell or not?” I was already in a bad enough mood; this was making it worse.

“Fine. You’d better be outside when the delegation arrives.”

She made sure to slam the door behind her.

Waddell arrived minutes later and did his job efficiently. Because my mother had sent him, he knew better than to demand a payment from me this time. I had to look away when he healed my broken knuckles; the loud crack of bones snapping into place was jarring. Watching the blood from the bruises flow back to my veins was fascinating, though. Ten minutes later my hand was good as new, my hangover was gone, and I was alone once more.

I glanced at the gown my mother had left on the chair. When I rose and picked it up, thick green fabric slid between my fingers. Intricate beadwork and endless jewels I couldn’t identify cascaded down the layers of skirts. How was I supposed to wear something so heavy? Was it meant to be worn all day? It differed widely from my own wardrobe of simple linen dresses, casual pants, and tight shirts.

I hoped it was ceremonial. Surely the royal women in Faste didn’t dress like this every day. If they did, no one would get any farming done.

Once dressed, I slipped my shoes on and headed out the door, holding back a groan when I realized the gown was longer than I had anticipated. The silky green fabric dragged on the ground behind me, and if I wasn’t careful, falling down the stairs would become my legacy.

Twisting my hands in the fabric, I gathered it up enough not to risk an untimely demise on my way to the courtyard. I imagined Freja trying to stifle her laugh behind her hand at the sight of me in such finery.

I rubbed a hand over my chest. It hurt to breathe when I thoughtabout her. I ignored another wave of nausea—vomiting on the prince probably wasn’t the best way to start our relationship.

As I descended the stairs, I mulled over Arne’s letter. To him, it wasn’t worth the risk of talking to my father and trying to make a plea for Freja’s freedom. But what if it was? My father wouldn’t be cruel enough to keep her imprisoned, not after I’d been sent off to Faste…would he?

Panic settled over me and the pain in my chest sharpened. Would he keep her there after I was gone? Was Freja destined to live the rest of her life as a prisoner?

Her curls would flatten. Dark circles would find permanent homes beneath her eyes. Her dark skin would wither and the muscles she’d strengthened through the years with hours of training and swordfighting would atrophy. Her once cheerful voice would be hoarse and ragged from disuse.

I stopped walking and gulped in a breath. No. No. I wouldn’t let that happen. I would find time to talk to my father. I had to.

To my left, voices echoed from behind a heavy wooden door, distracting me from my thoughts. The council was in session, which meant leaders from the six provinces of Bhorglid were gathered with the king to discuss the newest developments in the war and the impact it was having on their people. I frowned. The last council had been only a few months ago, and they typically only occurred twice a year. Why were they gathered now, especially with the Fastian royals arriving today?

A quick glance in either direction told me I was alone in the corridor. I kept my steps quiet as I leaned forward to press my ear against the closed door. The voices were easy to hear, something my brothers and I had discovered long ago when we were just children eager to be involved in our father’s responsibilities.

---