Page 22 of Blood Beneath the Snow

As the structure came into view, I leaned over to Volkan, who rode next to me. “You’re godtouched, right?”

He frowned. “Godtouched?”

“Uh.” I fumbled for the word his parents had used earlier, the one Frode had explained the rest of the world used to signify the godtouched. “Do you have magic?”

“Oh. Yes. Why do you ask?”

I sat back in my saddle with a breath of relief. “Because the priests would not treat you well otherwise.”

After a few moments of silence, his tentative voice broke my concentration. “If those with magic are called godtouched, then how are those without magic referred to?”

“You didn’t pick it up during the talk at the castle?” I asked. “We’re godforsaken. Abandoned by the pantheon long ago.”

I held my breath, uncertain if he already knew I was without magic. This moment might sear itself forever in my mind as the one where Volkan’s budding regard for me turned to disgust.

I waited for the scathing look and its accompanying words. Instead, he simply said, “That feels dramatic.”

The laugh escaped me without permission. Volkan’s expression brightened at the sound. “Dramatic is certainly an accurate way to describe it.”

“Your people don’t half-ass anything,” he mused. “Is it true the heirs to the throne fight to the death to see who will be the next ruler?”

“Ah, you’ve heard of the Bloodshed Trials.”

“But you won’t be competing, right? Since we’re to be married.”

My rising mood fell just as abruptly. “I am not permitted to compete because I am godforsaken. If I wasn’t worthy of magic, why would I be worthy to take the throne?”

“But you are worthy to be used as a bargaining chip.” Volkan ran a hand through his hair. “That’s incredibly unfair.”

I’d expected to hate Volkan. He represented everything about my life that I despised. It was stranger to realize I’d be disappointed if he was as cruel and callous as the godtouched I knew.

“It’s nowhere near the same, but my family was disappointed when I came into my magic. I’m a healer. My father’s magic bonds him with water and my mother can conjure lightning on a cloudless day.” He smiled to himself and shook his head. “And here was their only son, with the most common Lurae of all.”

I said nothing, but Volkan didn’t push the matter. As we rode in silence, I studied him. I’d wondered what my future husband might be like for months, ever since I’d first been informed of the engagement. Never had it occurred to me that he might be a stalwart ally.

Were the godtouched and the godforsaken treated equally in Faste? If they were, I’d need to bring him to meet Halvar before we left for his homeland. Perhaps the two could discuss politics, make a plan in case the next generation of rebels had the power and capability of making a move against the priests and the royal family.

A priest waited outside the temple for us. The red eye on his forehead stared at me as our horses approached, looking like blood. Part of me expected it to start dripping, trailing over the clean fabric. Not for the first time, I wondered whether it was true they could see through the sewn-on markings. It was said their devotion to the gods was so high the priests were given the gift of sight in their minds as an additional ability when they swore their oaths to the Holy Order. They were certainly able to chase me through the streets with deadly accuracy yesterday. But part of me always thought it was just a trick—that the fabric must be thin enough for them to see through.

Even if they couldn’t see me, I glared anyway. They all deserved to feel my ire. Especially as the memory of Freja’s arrest continued to play in the back of my mind, fresh as a bleeding wound.

The priest bowed to my father and then Björn as we approached, ignoring the rest of us. They had taken my volatile brother under their wings years ago, encouraging him to become more bloodthirsty as time passed. Now Björn was filled with an appreciation for the gods and the desire to do what they wished—in as violent a way as possible.

I glanced at Frode.I want to go home.

My brother shot me a look telling me to be quiet. He had a fierce hangover from his drunken escapades in the sitting room earlier.

Peeking over the foothills of the mountains in the west was the top of the prison, with its tall watchtowers. I glanced at my family. Would they notice if I left? Not to break her out—only see her. Tell her I was working on it. I could take Volkan with me, save him from the priests’ boring speeches and rituals.

“Don’t be stupid,” Frode muttered.

My father was the first to dismount from his horse and greet the priest. We followed suit, lining up behind him. I stayed as far back as possible, directly next to Volkan.

“Thank you for having us today.” Father’s voice was quiet but managed to echo through the stone pillars holding up the temple.

I crossed my arms to protect them from the cold. We were still in our finery, and while this dress was pretty, it was not intended for warmth. The chill seeped through my heavy cloak. My mother glared at me until I rolled my eyes and stepped forward, in line with my brothers.

The priest’s voice was muffled through the fabric. “Thank you for being here, Your Majesty.” He turned to look at me—I thought. The embroidered eye appeared to stare straight through me. “I see your daughter and her fiancé decided to join us.”

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