Page 59 of Blood Beneath the Snow

We walked in silence for a few more steps before he asked, a note of puzzlement in his voice, “Why do you call yourself ‘godforsaken’? And those with power ‘godtouched’? Are the terms not ‘Nilurae’ and ‘Lurae’?”

I shrugged. “So I’ve been informed. But not in Bhorglid. I’d never known there were other words until I met Volkan earlier this week.”

My steady gait faltered. Had it really been only a few days since I first met Volkan? It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Do you prefer Bhorglid’s language?” The Hellbringer sounded genuinely curious. “Words are powerful. As a Nilurae yourself, you’re intimately aware of such.”

I considered the thought as we tromped through the snow. A few flakes descended from the skies, the white spindles stark against thedark end of my braid. Halvar, Freja, and I had always focused on the bigger things, the ones we felt would make the most difference.

But the Hellbringer had a point. Words had the ability to change thoughts, change reality. I considered the way Bhorglid’s citizens talked about him: the descriptions and stories painted a horrifying tale of an irredeemable monster, something inhuman behind a carved mask. And maybe some of them—mosteven—were true.

He was more irritating than terrifying, though.

I’d never thought of how calling ourselves godforsaken would reinforce the literal meaning of the term. Those of us without magic weren’t cursed or forgotten by any pretend gods. We were simply different.

“Nilurae,” I said softly, testing the feel of it on my tongue. There was something right about it, and I made no effort to suppress a small smile. “Nilurae.”

“I don’t know the origin of the word, but I believe it’s older than the terms used in Bhorglid,” the Hellbringer said. His long cloak billowed behind him in a sudden gust of wind. “It wouldn’t surprise me if your priests were the ones to coin the…less pleasant terms.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get me started on the priests.”

He hummed. “They’re the driving force behind the war. Behind everything. I’ve never interacted with them, only watched from afar, but…I often can’t help but wish…” His hand squeezed into a fist by his side.

I knew exactly what he meant. And, truthfully, I didn’t think I’d mind if he used his godtouch—hisLurae—on the priests to exterminate them either.

“You dislike the war, then?” I asked. “Don’t you want to keep your country safe?”

He waved a hand dismissively, the black glove like a stain against the perfectly unbroken picture of white surrounding us. “I care about the people of Kryllian, but it’s hard to feel like they’remypeople.”

I furrowed my brows. “You’re from Kryllian, though. Aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t they be your people, then?”

We were interrupted by Mira’s arrival. She appeared out of nowhere, landing on both feet in the snow. I glanced back toward the mountains in the distance, where the forge lay. Had we really walked the entire distance in such a short amount of time?

The Hellbringer noticed me looking. “Almost like stewing about how much you hate a person makes the trip feel longer.”

I ignored him and grasped Mira’s extended wrist. Her expressions were difficult to read, especially since she never spoke more than a word or two in my presence. But her slight scowl radiated dislike. I wondered what imagined slight I’d inflicted on her.

We were back at the prison in an instant, the cold, gray walls glaring down at me. I let go of Mira and held back a sigh. I missed the sun already. At least outside, the cold was accompanied by snow. In this depressing place, it was simply frigid and dim. The fire had been put out before we left, meaning it would take ages to warm up again.

I turned to ask the Hellbringer where he kept the kindling, but he and Mira were both gone. Once again I was alone.

The wary camaraderie I felt for the Hellbringer disappeared in an instant.

You have been kidnapped by a madman and no one is coming for you.

I began to search for kindling and firewood.

16

When the Hellbringer reappeared oneevening—or what I assumed was evening—I knew I’d been in the prison for several days. He held out his hand to silence me before I could speak.

“It’s been four days since we returned from the forge. And if you ask me again how long you’ve been here, I’ll make you do another hundred push-ups.”

I frowned from my perch on the bed. “Don’t I have the right to know?”

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