Page 3 of Blood Beneath the Snow

Freja was close to getting around the first corner. I bounced on the balls of my feet, heart pounding. As soon as she was out of sight, as soon as I guaranteed they were following me and not her, I could run.

Right as I moved to take off, a white-gloved hand landed on my shoulder, tightening hard enough to bruise.

On instinct, I pulled a knife out of my belt with my free hand and whirled, slashing until it connected with something solid. Red sprayed over white fabric and the priest cried out in pain. Time wasup. I leapt into action, running as fast as I could down the uneven streets.

“There’s two of them!” someone shouted behind me.

A curse escaped me. They’d seen Freja. If I didn’t act quickly, they’d send search parties after both of us.

Time to play our most valuable hand. I pulled my hood down, exposing my jet-black hair and well-known face. My mother rarely smiled, but when she did, we had the same feral grin. In one swift moment I became the most recognizable person at the ceremony. “Over here!” I called, drawing the priests’ attention.

They looked my way, forgetting about Freja.

“The princess,” one roared. “Get her!”

I grinned. Exactly as we planned.

Sprinting past run-down buildings, through puddles of melted snow and hidden alleyways, my mind took over. This part of the city was a maze ingrained in my memory.

I clutched the bundle of fabric to my chest, heading away from Freja as if my life depended on it. “Out of the way,” I ordered a group of godforsaken standing in my path. The people moved without complaint, recognizing me and filling in behind, slowing my pursuers.

As I moved to turn another corner, the ground in front of me erupted, forming a wall where there had once been a clear path. I stumbled slightly and cursed. When we made our plan, we accounted for every possibility—but predicting the abilities of the priests who pursued me was impossible.

Clearly, at least one of them had been touched by Isak, god of earth. I growled in frustration and sprinted back the way I had come, down another clear path, ignoring the rumble of the ground beneath my feet. My only advantage was knowing the streets of the lower side of town better than they did.

I heaved air into my lungs. Keeping them away from Freja longenough for her to get back to Halvar’s was crucial.A little farther,I told myself.Come on.

I stretched my hand out and clutched the edge of a building, using the leverage to propel me around the corner.

A few steps down the street, a block of ice shot out in front of my face, too fast to dodge. I slammed directly into it and fell flat on my back, stars blooming in my peripheral vision as I gasped for breath. Wetness on my lip spoke to the blood pouring from my nose as a result of the collision. My wits were scattered across the cobblestones, but I had enough left about me to curse the priests and their horrible gods once again.

A strong hand wrapped around my bicep and hauled me to my feet. The motion made my vision spin and nausea writhe in my stomach. Half of me was disappointed when I didn’t vomit all over the white robes of the priest holding me. His fingers pressed so roughly against my skin that I knew I’d have a hand-shaped bruise there in the morning—he was likely godtouched with strength, a gift from Asger, god of the body. The same ability my oldest brother, Erik, possessed.

The bundle of fabric had fallen when I collided with the ice structure. Another priest was unrolling it while three other members of the Holy Order stood laughing among themselves at my predicament. I dredged up a mouthful of saliva and blood and spat it at the closest one.

He howled at the mess now covering his robes and I grinned at him. It must have been a horrid sight, considering my broken nose and the bruises I felt forming around at least one of my eyes. I could taste the blood staining my front teeth.

The one with inhuman strength twisted my arm behind me at an unnatural angle and a hiss escaped me. The other returned with the now unwound bundle of fabric, clearly not containing the infantthey’d been looking for. I imagined he was scowling behind the veil covering his face.

“These were my favorite pants,” I said, glancing down at the muddy stains now coating the fabric. “I hope you’re prepared to replace them.”

“Where’s the sacrifice?” he demanded, holding up the empty stretch of fabric. I made a valiant effort to hide my smirk.

I shrugged. They may have caught me, but if they didn’t find Freja, then it didn’t matter. There was no replacing a baby born on the last day of the year. The ritual sacrifice could not be supplanted. “You probably should’ve kept better track of it.”

The priest tilted his head and grabbed a fistful of my tunic, yanking me closer until he was right in my face. His voice trembled with anger. More priests appeared behind him, finally catching up to the chase. “Little bitch. Do you know the punishment for interfering with our rituals, Princess? Your hands are cut off at the wrists. It’s quite painful. No healers are permitted to tend to the wounds. The perpetrator almost always dies of blood loss.”

I shrugged. “If you want to explain to my parents how you cut off my hands, be my guest. But I certainly wouldn’t recommend it.”

“The king and queen don’t care what happens to you,” a priest behind him sneered.

Heat flushed my face. “They don’t. But they do care about the treaty. I don’t think the Fastian royal family would be too thrilled to marry off their son to a thief with no hands.”

For a moment the hold on my arm tightened. The priests had arranged the treaty—and my impending marriage—in the first place. Even they weren’t stupid enough to risk ruining it now.

If the war continued for another full season, people would begin dying of starvation. In exchange for regular deliveries of food, the Fastians would receive the support of our soldiers at their borders.The seal between a war-mongering country and a distrustful agricultural nation? A loveless marriage between two royal children.

The priest in front of me growled, the fabric of his veil fluttering as he prepared to continue arguing.

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