Page 4 of Blood Beneath the Snow

“Enough.”

The familiar voice came from behind me, and I snapped my head around to see my mother standing there, her displeasure as icy cold as the water she froze with her magic. My head throbbed with the sudden movement and I inhaled raggedly, blinking away stars from my vision. I didn’t think I had a concussion, but now the injury seemed more than likely.

The priest’s hold on my arm tightened once more as the queen stepped up to face me and placed two long fingers beneath my chin. Revulsion filled me at the touch, her digits as cold as the ice running through her veins. I jerked my face away and snapped my teeth threateningly close to her fingers.

The priest holding me hauled me backward and my mother slapped me across the face. My skull throbbed. “Insolent brat,” she said. My face stung and I held back tears from the shock of the abrasion in the freezing air. “Tell me where your disgusting friend has taken the sacrifice.”

“No.” My voice was thick with blood, my nose swelling from my earlier collision. I felt like a fish, mouth hanging open in order to keep breathing. The taste of blood passed my lips.

Mother sighed and I looked up at her from where my head hung. Her cold eyes, the same green as mine, were filled with disgust. “You could have made your life as painless as possible, you know. Being godforsaken as a member of the royal family…you’re already an embarrassment. We advised you to keep to the shadows, where you belong. Lower your head and accept your station. Do what’s right for the benefit of your country. And yet you’ve never listened. Nowhere you are, toying with the idea ofrebellion. Ruining your home one ritual at a time. Dreaming of things that don’t belong to you. Like you have any clue what it takes to run a country.”

“You could find out,” I suggested, allowing the edge of malice in my voice to show its claws. “Throw me in the ring with the others during the Bloodshed Trials. You never know. Perhaps I’d manage to come out on top, at the end of things.”

The once-in-a-generation competition for the throne was mere weeks away now—it wasn’t an entirely preposterous suggestion that I join my brothers in the fight to the death that would decide who ascended to power, taking our father’s place. I had enough training that, even without magic, I might be able to hold my own in the ritual sacrifice of heirs. But no; even allowing a godforsaken to fight was too far. Instead, I was good for one thing: to be married off to seal an alliance.

She laughed. “You’re many horrible things already, daughter mine. Queen won’t be one of them.” To my surprise, Mother ordered, “Let her go.”

“Your Majesty?” The priest holding me sounded as shocked as I must have looked.

“You heard me.”

The hand released its bruising clutch on my bicep and I stumbled slightly before catching myself on the wall of the building in front of me. Everything ached. I wondered whether I’d be able to convince the royal healer to mend me up or if Halvar would have to reset my nose again.

“That’s it?” My voice trembled when I spoke, knowing I was inviting Mother’s wrath.

But she scoffed. “I’ll let your father deal with you. He’ll know what punishment suits you best.”

Mother knew it as well as I did: Father had a knack for consequences that cut to the bone but left no visible scars.

I shuddered at the thought of what my future might hold when he next returned from the front lines, then swallowed the river of blood pooling in my throat. The queen walked away as if nothing had happened, as if the blood from my nose hadn’t dripped onto her fingers.

The priest turned to face his two companions, murmuring something I couldn’t make out as they moved away.

“Revna Thorunsdotter, consider yourself lucky to be royalty,” he called over his shoulder as he retreated. “Otherwise, you would not be leaving here with your life.”

I managed a smirk. “Oh, I know.”

2

By the time I felta new set of eyes on me, carefully tracking my every movement, the early signs of a storm were blowing in.

I’d been wandering the streets for the last hour, fully aware the priests had been following me since they set me free. They didn’t blend in well in the lower side of the city, where the buildings were still constructed with dark wood from the trees growing in the forest to the west instead of the expensive gray stone the godtouched were able to build their homes from. The white robes made them look like haunting specters.

I could sense them itching to punish me, anxious to slice their scythes through my cloak and flesh until my blood pooled in the street. Swift revenge for undermining their power. If they did, I doubted anyone in my family would care, except maybe my brothers Frode and Jac. But the acolytes had a king to please, and since my mother had declared my punishment his choice, they wouldn’t make a move.

The decoy fabric was now wrapped around my neck as a scarf to shield me from the descending snowflakes, leaving my hands unfettered and protecting my battered face from the cold. It allowed mybroken nose to peek out, and the freezing wind eased the pain a bit. My sword and knife were sheathed under my cloak, and I fidgeted with the hilts, wondering whether Freja had made it back to the Sharpened Axe—the tavern Halvar ran on the godforsaken side of town—with the infant. If she’d been caught, I’d never forgive myself.

On either side of the street, I watched godtouched women walk in and out of shops, gossiping with their friends about the newest army recruits and advancements. The few soldiers who were home for a month in between war calls glared at me from where they stood guard. All wore bright cloaks and makeup. Some were adorned with copious amounts of jewelry.

The energy in the market plaza was different than usual. The godforsaken ran businesses here, homes often built above the bottom level of each shop. Instead of the depressing, soul-sucking sadness that usually permeated every aspect of the streets, today there was a lightness in the air. Godforsaken smiled at each other and dealt with the snide comments from their godtouched customers with an ease I’d never seen before.

But with the aura of relief came backlash. The godtouched were in a foul mood, especially knowing I’d stolen away their sacrifice of blood and life. The priests would now pivot to teaching how the pantheon would retaliate in anger because of my actions. And because the godtouched couldn’t take their anger out on me, they would take it out on my people.

I allowed my thoughts to encompass me, wondering if there was any drastic measure I could take to turn the fury of the upper class to me while I was still here for another month before my fiancé arrived to whisk me away to another country. But my senses sharpened when the hair on the back of my neck stood up straight, my hand reaching automatically for the hilt of my sword.

I knew the feeling of unfriendly eyes chasing my movements as well as any godforsaken.

Turning in a slow circle, I observed the sights around me. Past the plaza and into the part of town where the other godforsaken lived, the cobblestone streets were fairly empty. Everyone was inside, preparing for the incoming storm. The inches of snow covering the road showed footprints treading back and forth with the occasional set from a stray cat or a horse alongside them. Priests stood watch every few houses, their scythes reflecting the lazy flakes making their way down from the sky. The shops and homes lining this stretch of road appeared the same as always. The priests who had been tailing me had finally seen fit to vanish back to their posts.

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