Page 42 of Blood Beneath the Snow

The Hellbringer paused, his long cloak floating behind him in the breeze. “I can change my mind if you’d like.”

I didn’t answer. Erik’s calls were growing louder.

“And if we aren’t out of sight before your Father and your other brothers return, then Iwillchange my mind,” he said softly. “That is what bringing you by force looks like.”

He reached out his black-gloved hand. I refused to let myself think about it. I barely heard Frode’s protests as I grabbed the Hellbringer’s hand.

I swore the masked general relaxed a little. But before I could make any assessment of him, a soldier clothed in black droppedfrom the trees, placed a hand on our clasped arms, and teleported us away from my family.

For a moment there wasonly darkness, the feeling of his gloved hand clasped around my wrist, and a rush of wind whipping my braids back. Then my feet touched solid ground.

I stumbled against rugged stone and fell on my hands and knees, hissing as my palms slapped against the floor. Nausea swarmed for a moment, threatening the loss of my breakfast, but gradually subsided. It was impossible to see through the thick darkness surrounding me.

Footsteps sounded, and I heard the switch of a match against something. A flicker of light slowly grew until a lantern cast a shadow against the Hellbringer’s engraved mask. Before I had the chance to say anything, the soldier who had transported us grabbed the Hellbringer by the arm once more and they were gone again.

I pushed myself onto my knees. Where was I?

The lantern swung slightly from a peg in the stone wall. I took it and held it up as I turned, taking in my surroundings.

I was in a dark, damp hallway. Despite the barrier between me and the outside world, the cold sank in, wrapping itself around me and making me shiver. When I reached out to brush my hand against the wall, the below-freezing temperature seeped through my gloves. I frowned. Who would make a structure out of metal in the wastelands?

The hallway continued in both directions, the lamplight illuminating only a few feet each way before being swallowed by utter darkness. The ground was smooth beneath my feet but covered in a thick film of dust. I wondered how long it had been since this place was inhabited.

I turned in a circle. Surely one of these directions would lead meout—but how far were we from the front? My breath, crystallizing in front of my face with every exhale, told me we were still in Bhorglid, but without being able to look around, I couldn’t be sure. Maybe I’d been transported to another place with equally frigid weather. Maybe this was Faste or even Kryllian. Maybe I wasn’t even in the Fjordlands anymore.

My body shook and I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders. My family would assume I was dead. I didn’t blame them; it was only a matter of time before the Hellbringer returned and finished me off in the blink of an eye.

I clenched my teeth from both the cold and the determination flowing through me. If I didn’t find a way out, a way back to my family, then Freja would rot in prison. Björn would become king. The godforsaken would never have a place in the world.

If the Hellbringer had dropped me here and left without any guards or soldiers to watch me, it must mean escape was nearly impossible. But I had to try. For Freja. And at the least, walking would keep my blood flowing and my body temperature up. This metal structure was somehow colder than the snow-covered mountaintop.

The only question remaining was: Left or right?

Freja’s voice popped into my head, with its razor-sharp spark of glee at the thought of an adventure.When in doubt, always go right. Then you can’t be wrong.

I tried to smile to myself, but my lips were so cold it became a grimace. I turned to my right and started walking.

It must have been hourslater—itfeltlike hours later—when the lamp started sputtering. I swore. Navigating the rest of this structure in the dark would be a nightmare.

My walking had revealed more than I wanted to know. This place wasn’t simply an old, abandoned building—it was an old,abandonedprison. Thankfully, the cells I’d noticed as I explored were empty save for a few bones that looked suspiciously human. I’d hurried away from them. Knowing what remained in the cells wasn’t necessary.

The layout of the prison was utterly baffling. There were endless twists and turns. Making my way back to where I started would be impossible. I scowled. Why would the Hellbringer drop me off in an abandoned prison? What was the point?

My one useful discovery was two heavy doors with more locks than I could count. After careful examination, they appeared to be thicker than the other doors, which opened easily. I assumed these unique doors led to the outside, providing a possible means of escape. If I managed to open them, that is. Without any tools to provide leverage, picking the locks would be hopeless.

Going back the way I had come felt futile, so I took the next branching hall, starting in the other direction. The candle within the lantern sputtered again, clinging to its last bit of life. Seconds later the wick made a popping sound and the light went out.

“Damn it,” I muttered. There was no way I could go anywhere now. I reached for my sword, hoping the hilt would bring me comfort, but instead it reminded me that the Hellbringer hadn’t bothered to disarm me before taking me captive.

My eyes adjusted slowly to the dark. Some of the indentations and imperfections along the walls came into a shadowy focus. Ahead, the glow of another lamp beckoned me.

I squinted. Was I imagining it? There had been no light before.

I moved toward it. I had walked only a few feet before the passage widened into a large room.

This had clearly been a communal space at some point. Maybe a mess hall for the prisoners? But now it was curated into cozy living quarters. Most of the room was empty, but lanterns lit the entire perimeter. I walked to the back, where there was a long dining tablemade of dark wood with a single chair on each end. Shelves lined the walls, and a small bed was pushed against one side of the room.

To the right of the bed was a firepit. It extended into an opening in the wall, funneling smoke out through a chimney, and the crackling flames spread warmth into my bones. An involuntary gasp escaped me, and I ran toward the blaze, peeling off my cloak as I went. My knees hit the ground hard enough to bruise and I stretched my fingers toward the heat, paying no regard for how close the sparks jumped. Being burned was nothing unusual growing up as the only godforsaken child in the king’s household.

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