Page 54 of Blood Beneath the Snow

I might have been imagining it, but I could have sworn a shiver ran up his spine before he turned and walked onward. “An hour and a half before we arrive,” he said gruffly.

Readjusting my gloves, I followed. If I’d known telling him to kill me would change his attitude so significantly, I’d have done it the moment I met him.

True to his word, wearrived at the forge after ninety more minutes of trudging through the snow.

It reminded me of the prison we were staying in. The architecturewas obviously from the same time period—the slate-gray metal of the prison also made up the walls of the forge. The biggest difference was that the forge was built into the side of the mountain, woven into cave walls so seamlessly that, without studying them closely, the melding of metal and stone might have gone unnoticed.

We stepped through the open entrance, stretched wide like a gash against the mountain, and the world dimmed. I didn’t realize how loud the wind whistling in my ears was until it vanished. I could hear my own breathing again, the sound of my own thoughts like music.

There were no doors to close behind us and snow followed our footsteps inside. The ceilings were tall, held up by strong beams of wood reinforced with metal in some places. I wondered how the material survived the damp weather.

The Hellbringer moved to the wall and lit a lantern, pulling it from where it hung and handing it to me. When his gloved hand brushed against my own, a fresh patch of goose bumps appeared on my arm—and not from the cold. I staunchly ignored it. He gave himself his own light before gesturing for me to follow him.

I obliged without complaint. We hadn’t spoken any more on our trek here, but he’d at least glanced back every few minutes to make sure I hadn’t died in the snow behind him.Generous of him,I thought now as we continued further into the cave lined with evidence of man’s conquering. The pathways twisted and turned and I wondered how much of the cavern was man-made, carved away from the rock by godtouched.

“How long has this forge been here?” I asked as we moved into a bigger, more open part of the cavern. The ceiling was higher here and the temperature dropped. A quick glance upward explained it—there was a giant hole in the ceiling, exposing the clouded sky. A few flakes of falling snow drifted down through it, landing ina small pile on top of a giant firepit positioned in the center of the room.

The Hellbringer grabbed a broom leaning against one of the walls and began using it to brush the snow off the firepit. “Not sure. I found it ten years ago or so, long after it was abandoned.”

Why would there be a fully functional forge abandoned in the northern wastes of Bhorglid? I frowned and walked a circle around the edge of the room, studying the dusty equipment. The Hellbringer had obviously made improvements to what he found all those years ago—the wall had an impressive number of hammers and anvils hung on it, obviously curated by a careful hand. But the existence of the structure itself bothered me.

Especially because the Hellbringer had no reason to be wandering the Bhorglid wastes ten years ago, before the war even started.

“We’re in Bhorglid still, right?” I asked, glancing over at him. Faste was the only country touching ours, but their northern border didn’t extend as far. When the Fjordlands were first divided, no one had wanted to claim the desolate land. Callum and Arraya eventually brought it into Bhorglid, thinking the extended territory would increase their power. If we weren’t in Bhorglid, we had to be outside of the Fjordlands for it to be this cold.

He continued to clean off the firepit. “Where else in the world is this damn cold? Yes, we’re still in Bhorglid.”

It was difficult not to imagine a Hellbringer of ten years ago stumbling upon this place. It was impossible to tell his age now, but he couldn’t be much older than Erik. Was he a gangly teenager, taking shelter from a blizzard in the nearest cave he could find? Had the helmet been too big for his features back then?

A crackle made known the fire in the center of the forge was coming back to life. The Hellbringer retreated from the tiny flamehe’d coaxed to grab larger logs off a pile behind him, carefully adjusting them with no regard for the heat.

“You’re a dancer.”

I jumped when he spoke, startled gaze shifting to his face. I’d been utterly absorbed by the fire, wondering what my brothers might be up to now that I was gone. “What?”

He didn’t look at me, merely continued working. “You’re a dancer. What kind?”

“How do you know that?”

He sat back on his heels and brushed soot and wood shavings off his gloves. “I spent a long time watching you. I was there in the tavern when you found out your friend had been conscripted. And when the other one was arrested.”

My mouth twisted at the realization. How many of my private moments had he observed with me none the wiser? “Without the mask, I assume,” I said drily, stepping forward to observe the preparations he was making.

The Hellbringer had swept the snow from the firepit into a large bucket earlier. Now, he moved it next to the fire, keeping it far enough away that it wouldn’t melt easily. It was obvious he knew this space well. None of his movements revealed uncertainty. Something unfamiliar swooped in my stomach at his confidence, his competence. “Good assumption.”

“Why even bother with the mask?” I asked. His next acquisition was a table on which he placed a large…anvil? I wasn’t sure what to call it. I forced my eyes to remain on his hands, nimbly arranging tools. If I looked at his face, he would notice the flush of my cheeks. A flush I didn’t want to think about or rationalize.

“So that I can do things like spy on you without being noticed. You think your bartender friend would have let the Hellbringer walk into his tavern without a fuss otherwise?”

“You do a lot of reconnaissance work, then.”

The Hellbringer shrugged as he took off his cloak and tossed it to the edge of the room. “Enough.”

“Why ask about my dancing if you already knew?”

He assembled materials on the table. I moved forward, curious. Hammers and long metal tongs. A small assortment of broken sword blades. I wondered who had taught him to forge in the first place. “I asked because it might help your fighting if you think of it as a dance. Many of the steps to some dances are similar to the footwork and positions. Like dancing, swordfighting uses every muscle. Both are underappreciated arts. As part of your training, we could dance a bit.”

I choked on a laugh. “Are you serious?”

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