Page 55 of Blood Beneath the Snow

He moved a strange contraption over to the fire, hooked a cast-iron bucket onto it, and then placed the broken blades inside. “I’m always serious.”

The inside of the cave was beginning to grow warm, and I discarded my own cloak, trying to decipher his new motive. The thought of teaching the Hellbringer to dance was utterly ridiculous—but then again, the man flowed like water when I tried to nick him with my sword yesterday. Maybe he wouldn’t be half bad.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I finally answered him. I gestured to the pot of melting steel. “Can you explain what you’re doing? I’d like to have an idea of what I’m getting into before I handle scorching-hot metal.”

He twisted sharply to look at me. “You’ll only be watching. I’ll be doing the forging.”

I scowled. “Nice try. If this is the blade I’ll be using to kill my brothers, then it will be made with my own two hands—no one else’s.”

“You think I’d sabotage you? There are far easier ways to do so than by tampering with your sword, especially since I’ll be spending the next month teaching you how to use it properly.”

“I don’t think you’re going to sabotage it.” Now, I frowned. Should I be worried about treachery? “I want to learn. I want to forge my own weapon. I don’t want you doing it for me.”

For a long, unbreakable moment, he was silent. Finally, he nodded. “Fine. But it’s backbreaking work. You can do all of it or none of it. No in-between.”

I smiled. “Let’s do this, then.”

He wasn’t wrong about itbeing backbreaking.

In truth, it was the most physically strenuous thing I’d ever done. But the budding truce hovering between us made it bearable. The once-aggravating Hellbringer turned patient in the face of a challenge, especially one that could be hammered into submission.

“Is this the secret to controlling aggression?” I panted, lifting the mallet in my hand to bring it down again on the newborn blade held in the tongs.

The Hellbringer, who was shaping a dagger on another anvil he’d brought over to the working area, huffed a laugh. “I suppose.”

My limbs shook and sweat poured down my face as I hit the metal over and over, the clang drowning out my thoughts. There was only the weapon in front of me, beginning to take shape, and the finished version I saw in my head. Each time the metal cooled, unmalleable once more, I returned it to the fire. The Hellbringer had kept it burning all day, steadily adding more logs to keep it hot.

I had no idea how long I worked before I needed a short rest. My clothing was damp with sweat, and while the smoke rose and drifted out the hole in the cave ceiling, I wanted to lie down in the snow and take a nap there. I put down the tools and stripped the heavy protective gloves from my hands. “I’m going to step outside for a minute to cool off.”

The Hellbringer grunted in response. I rummaged through his pack for more dried meat, snagging a couple of pieces and taking the waterskin. I could refill it with snow outside, leave it to melt by the fire so we’d have enough for the rest of the day.

The path to the entrance was winding but solitary. Impossible to get lost on my way back. I wondered whether I should be offended that he didn’t insist on coming with me. He truly believed I had no chance of escaping on my own.

As the late-afternoon sky came into view, I remembered again why he was right. The lightly falling snow must have continued through the day, settling into a thick crust over the powder. The mountains stretched for miles. The howl of a wolf echoed in the distance, and I sighed.

There was no war front here. Nor anywhere remotely close to here.

I relished the cold air on my face, though. My sweat froze quickly and I felt the hairs escaping from my braid stiffening. Best to be quick, then.

After draining the last of the water and refilling the flask with snow, I stepped into the shadow of a tree to relieve myself. By then I was ready to be out of the cold once more.

Without hammering steel resounding in my ears, my worries returned with a vengeance. Was Freja suffering in the prison? Was she still angry with me?

Was I still angry with her?

I sighed as I walked, uncertain of the answer. We’d both said things we didn’t mean, all because our lives were falling apart around us. I didn’t blame her for lashing out. I hoped she knew my reaction had been purely emotional, not vindictive.

I hoped I’d have the chance to tell her.

The light dimmed as I entered the forge and I traced a handalong the wall to keep from tripping. Were Frode and Jac worried sick about me? Or were they grateful they didn’t have to worry about keeping me alive in the arena anymore?

One question was louder than the rest: Would training with the Hellbringer honestly help me win the Trials? Or was I wasting time here when I could be planning with Frode and Jac to ensure we were united in our strategy for victory?

Every question vanished from my mind when I stepped back into the largest cavern and saw the Hellbringer—utterly shirtless.

My breath caught in my throat. I desperately hoped the flush warming my cheeks was from the heat of the fire and not a blush. Thank the gods he had his back turned—though whether I was more grateful to have a moment to compose myself or to get a good look at him unobserved, I couldn’t say.

Wouldn’tsay.

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