Page 38 of Blood Beneath the Snow

“Make a fucking difference.” My temper, steadily heating to a boil beneath my skin, finally bubbled to the surface. “You think half the people in this prison are here because they actually committed crimes? You think the godforsaken deserve to be killed by the priests again and again, helpless against the godtouched? I know you’re scared. So am I. But I’m tired of letting fear rule my every decision. For the first time I have the chance to make a change for the better. And gods be damned if I don’t take it.”

I pushed to my feet, brushing sand and dirt from my clothing. “I came here hoping you would be excited for me. That this might bring you a bit of hope, knowing I’m doing what I can to get you out of here, to keep you from rotting in prison until you die. I likely won’t be visiting you again until after the Trials—Father is bringing me to the front lines, since I’m competing now.” I swallowed thickly. “This is goodbye.”

“I didn’t ask you to do this,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to die for me. But it seems I don’t get a say in the matter anymore.”

Each footstep felt heavy as I took my leave.

10

The sunrise in the easttinted the sky a perfect pink, matching the tip of Frode’s nose. My sword was strapped to my hip and a small bag of my clothes was hooked to my horse’s saddle.

I couldn’t decide if my pounding heartbeat was from excitement or lingering fear. Probably both.

When we headed south, into the city, I was confused. The war front was several hours’ journey in the other direction.

I turned to Erik, riding next to me. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t look at me when he responded. “The temple. We always go for a blessing before we leave for the front.”

I tried not to groan. Would Father let me stay outside and wait? Or would he insist I join them?

My stomach sank as the pillars of the temple appeared in front of me. The inside of my mouth tasted sour. I would rather face the Hellbringer alone in battle than be here.

Despite the enemy general’s claims that he would see me soon, he was nowhere to be found this morning. As we rode through the streets, my eyes searched every shadowed alley and concealed corner for any evidence of the man who’d been following me. But if he was watching, he’d found a hiding place I hadn’t thought to search.

I’d tossed and turned for the single hour of rest I’d had after returning from my visit with Freja, desperate to parse out why he’d been tracking me. The Hellbringer was an enigma—no one understood why he allowed the war to continue, why he didn’t simply kill us all and put a stop to it. Now I knew he spent his precious time following a godforsaken royal who meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

It didn’t make sense.

We came to a stop in front of the temple steps and my father instructed the servants to keep careful watch over the horses.

Inside, fires blazed on every wall, both for light and warmth. The priest at the front of the room saw me enter and inclined his head. I didn’t acknowledge him, moving forward to stand next to the rest of my family. The red embroidered eye on his forehead kept careful watch as he spoke to my father.

“Your daughter will be accompanying you?” the priest asked.

My father nodded. “She does not truly understand the war, like most of the godforsaken. I believe her experiences in the northern wastes will serve to change her feelings about the Holy Order of Priests and help her rethink her decision to compete in the Bloodshed Trials.”

My hands tightened into fists.

“Each of you may come forward to receive a blessing and a marking,” the priest said. My brothers moved toward him.

A small thrill replaced my resentment for a moment. I loved seeing my brothers in the traditional war paint of our ancestors, wearing it proudly into battle. It reminded me of victory. Bhorglid wasn’t perfect, but I would represent my forebearers as I made an attempt to change it for the better.

Callum and Arraya founded Bhorglid on the principle of the godtouched being superior because they were gifted magic by the gods. But for there to be a hierarchy in the first place, the godforsakenhad been subjugated—the first of our kind forced to believe they were less-than. I considered them to be my true ancestors. I would don my war paint with hope of a future that past generations would be proud of.

Once, our ancestors had performed all religious rituals with the blood of animals, including applying the symbols they wore when preparing for battle. After a bad winter several generations back that killed most of the livestock, the priests of the time considered it more prudent to switch to paint instead of blood. I was glad for the change.

After Jac went to the front for the first time, he’d explained the changes made to the symbols themselves over time as well. I wished I remembered what he’d taught me.

Erik stepped forward first. The priest muttered something under his breath and then raised a brush to Erik’s forehead. When he finished and Erik turned to face me once more, I had to hold in a gasp at the bright red marking on his forehead.

There were two lines across each of his cheekbones and another two lines extended from either of his temples to form a point in the center of his forehead. He noticed me staring, and while Frode stepped forward, Erik leaned close to explain the markings.

“The ones on my cheeks are for leadership,” he said softly. “And the marks on my forehead are for strength. Those are the blessings the gods saw fit to give me today. When it’s your turn, you’ll receive your own.”

Frode stepped away from the priest with a line of dots across his forehead in a straight line. “Focus,” he explained in response to my curious thought. He rolled his eyes. “They give it to me every time.”

Did I truly believe the paint offered any additional power? No, not really. But perhaps the markings would one day symbolize peace between the godtouched and the godforsaken once more.

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