Page 19 of Blood Beneath the Snow

Frode leaned toward me, evidently listening in on my thoughts. “Father told me they were conscripting him,” he muttered, careful to keep his voice low. “I tried to talk them out of it, but…well, you know what happens to me when we get to the front lines. They don’t exactly respect my opinion.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the wind ran through me as I thought back to when we were younger. I was only eight when Frode came home from his first stint in the war, utterly broken. I found him in his room seconds before he slid a dull knife over his wrists. The voices were too loud in his mind at the battle sites, the unspoken pain of the dying and fearful soldiers wreaking havoc on mygentle brother. I’d begged Father to let him stay home, but to no avail. So, whether he wanted to or not, Frode had gotten used to it.

As used to it as a person could be, at least.

He shook his head. “Things were…worse this time around.” He paused for a moment, and I resisted the urge to put a hand on his arm, wishing I could take the thoughts from him. “We are losing. Badly. The troops are growing weak. We lose soldiers in battles and we lose them from starvation. This alliance is the only thing that will save us.”

I would have answered if I hadn’t heard the sound of horses riding up the northern trail leading to the castle. Sure enough, the Fastian delegation appeared over the crest of the hill. Two carriages, both black, were pulled by majestic white horses. Soldiers in uniform were perched on the sides of each, keeping careful watch for enemies.

The carriage rolled to a halt in front of us and five people exited. I recognized two of them—the king and queen—from their former diplomatic visits to the castle. The younger man who stepped out behind them must have been the prince. He was dressed in finery and his ebony skin matched the king and queen’s.

They dismounted and approached. The other two members of their party were guards—they wore Fastian green, the same shade as my dress. Weapons were sheathed discreetly at their hips.

I glanced at the prince, standing behind his parents. He nodded at me, and I returned the gesture. Might as well keep things friendly.

“Welcome,” my father said, taking the queen’s hand and pressing his lips to it. He’d stepped into the courtyard right as the carriages appeared. It was strange to see my father in his royal finery. Since the war started, he rarely put it on. The red coat made his shoulders look broader. A white sash with red leaves embroidered along it ran from his shoulder to his hip. “Thank you for coming.”

The King of Faste wore a haughty expression. His long blue cloakwas lined with fur and grazed the ground. He had a beard cropped close to his face, matching his dark, curly hair. “We are anxious to see our end of the deal come to fruition,” he said, casting a look in my direction.

What an ass. I wanted to punch him in the face.

The prince chewed his lip. His face was nearly identical to his father’s: same nose, same downward curve of the mouth. He was handsome, but I knew nothing about his personality. Did he wish this wasn’t happening? Were his parents using him as a pawn the way mine were using me?

After enough pleasantries were exchanged, the royalty and their guards were invited into the sitting room to discuss politics. I was grateful—goose bumps ran up my arms and my teeth chattered in the morning air.

When we took our seats on the plush couches, I made sure to sit next to Frode. My mother scowled at me, obviously wishing I had chosen to sit next to the prince, but I ignored her look and settled in for the political talk.

Is the prince feeling as awkward about this as I am?I thought, hoping Frode was listening.

He was. Frode offered me a strained smile and nodded. The Fastians must be thinking louder than he expected—Frode looked like he was in physical pain.

“Headache,” he whispered.

Across from us, the two kings discussed the war. “If you aren’t careful to keep your army in control of the situation, you could end up with two fronts for this war,” the King of Faste said. “We do not want Kryllian attacking our territory. This is your conquest, not ours.”

My father leaned back in his chair before replying. “Kryllian will not risk splitting their troops, especially not when we have them cornered in the wastes. Their tactical choice to try and surprise usby coming from the north was only the first of many mistakes they’ve made. Rest assured, we have the advantage.”

A servant arrived with cups of tea and Frode grabbed him by the arm, whispering something in his ear. The young man glanced at my father uncertainly, but Frode touched his chin lightly until the boy looked straight at him again. The boy nodded and left the room on whatever errand he’d been sent on.

“Doyou have them cornered?” the Fastian King asked. “Last I heard, the Hellbringer was wreaking havoc on your armies. Will it be long before you’re forced to enlist your non-magical people?”

The room fell silent. I wondered what silent conversations were happening between my father and my brothers. Surely they wouldn’t admit to conscripting the first godforsaken in the ranks mere hours before the Fastians’ arrival. I risked a glance at the prince. He was listening intently to the conversation, a clear frown on his face, chin propped up by his hand.

“We feel it is important for every citizen to have a chance to fight for their country,” Erik said, his voice a deeper timbre than the Fastian King’s. Something twisted uncomfortably in my stomach at the lie. “Godtouched or not, Bhorglid’s citizens are united in the fight against our enemies.”

It took every ounce of self-control to hold in my scoff. I was only successful because Frode reached over and put a hand on my knee, obviously aware of the fury building inside me. How dare they pretend we were a united people? How dare they pretend we were all equals?

To claim the godtouched and godforsaken were united in anything was as blasphemous as rejecting the pantheon itself.

“This war is one of magical proportions,” the Fastian King countered. “Kryllian has the Hellbringer on their side. They will not hold back if Faste is left undefended. We have negotiated much of our alliance already, but in case it was not made clear”—he turned tostare directly at my father—“we expect any troops you send to protect our lands to be Lurae.”

I glanced at Frode when the unfamiliar term was spoken. He leaned over and muttered, “That’s what the rest of the world calls the godtouched.Lurae.”

Father’s knuckles whitened almost imperceptibly, but I swallowed and sat up straighter. The King of Faste was no pushover. I wouldn’t be surprised if an all-out brawl were to begin in front of us all.

But Father’s cruel smile told another story. “Of course not. We are fully aware of how much we benefit from this alliance. My daughter could never be enough to make up for that on her own.”

All eyes turned to me at the jab. I squared my shoulders and kept my face neutral. Father knew I was about to snap. The moment I did, he’d use it against me. Against Arne, against Freja. He had me right where he wanted me.

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