Page 7 of Blood Beneath the Snow

Standing along the mountain pathoverlooking the city, I couldn’t tell the roads on the godforsaken side of town were in desperate need of repair. From a distance it all looked almost beautiful. A thin layer of white snow covered everything, refusing to melt in the frigid air.

Surveying the city from a distance kept me grounded. It served as a reminder of all the good the godforsaken did and lit a fire within me at the same time, urging me to do what it took to ensure my people were finally treated equally.

For a moment I just looked while I caught my breath. As my lungs steadied, I stepped back from the edge and turned to the path again. If I continued along the familiar switchbacks to the cliffside, the castle would come into view. But my brothers and father remained at the war front for another three days, and I had no intention of going home now.

Snow-covered foliage obscured the trail, packed down enough to show that several travelers had come this way over the past few hours. Probably priests doing their rounds or godtouched coming to socialize with my mother, hoping to gain her favor. But the main path wasn’t the one my eye snagged on. Through the towering pinesand between the frosted greenery, half-smudged footprints traversed the untouched landscape, headed into the unmarked part of the mountainside. Anyone who wasn’t looking for them wouldn’t have spared a second glance.

Careful not to leave noticeable footprints of my own, I followed the path to the west side of the mountain. Soon enough, the main road was out of sight. My only company was the occasional squirrel skittering up a tree.

No one would be able to find me unless they knew where to look.

With each step through the film of ice on the ground, I relaxed a little more. Here, I bore no responsibility to the throne or the godforsaken. Here, I was Revna. Nothing more.

By the time I reached my destination, the sun had arced its way high into the sky. When I pushed through the last pair of bushes and into the clearing, a familiar voice called out: “You’re late.”

Arne sat on a tree stump, once the foundation for a magnificent oak. It made a nice resting place for anyone in the clearing who wasn’t sparring. Then again, few people frequented the clearing besides the two of us and Freja.

I’d first met Halvar here. I smiled fondly at the memory—running away from another punishment at the hands of my father simply for asking to sit at the table with the rest of the family instead of on the floor, where the godforsaken were designated to eat. Losing the priests chasing after me had been easy at ten years old, my tiny form fast and small enough to crawl through spaces where my pursuers would never fit. When I stumbled through the bushes, unsure of my destination, I found Halvar sitting on the tree stump, staring at me with wide eyes. At the time it had been summer, and wildflowers dotted the grass. He’d been taking puffs of a cigar but hesitated at the sight of me.

It had taken every ounce of bravery in my fiery heart to standtall in the face of him. Even then, it was clear he was strong, more than capable of holding me captive until my father found me and lashed fire across my back. “Are you godtouched?” I’d asked, hands curled into fists.

He shot me a bewildered look. “No, Princess.”

With a deep breath, every muscle in my body had relaxed and I’d thrown my arms around him in a hug as relief flooded through me. Rough, hardened Halvar hardly knew what to do with himself, but eventually found his own arms wrapped around me, too.

Since then, Halvar had shared the clearing’s location with Freja and Arne. But besides the four of us, no one was the wiser to its existence. It was nice, knowing this place belonged to us and no one else.

Arne balanced his sword on his knee, using a whetstone to sharpen it. His dark hair was pulled back, exposing the shaved sides of his head. Beaten armor covered his casual clothes.

He pushed to his feet and his tall, gangly frame moved toward me. When he got close enough, I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.

Arne offered me a half smile—the most happiness he ever expressed—and leaned down to press his lips to mine.

I leaned into the kiss, the expression of affection calmingly familiar until our noses brushed. I hissed from the pain and he pulled back with a wince. “Sorry. Do I need to set your nose again?”

“I don’t think so,” I muttered, wishing the persistent throb would make its exit already. “I’m going to try and persuade Waddell to heal it for me before dinner.”

Arne scowled. “I hate that you have to bargain with him for the same healing your brothers areentitledto.”

I wrapped an arm around his waist and rested my cheek against his chest with a chuckle. Arne was fiercely protective of Freja and me. If he could stand guard at our sides all day, I had no doubt he would.

With a sigh, he intertwined our fingers. My stomach chose thatmoment to growl loudly. Arne frowned. “You gave your food to Freja today?”

“Yes.” He knew better than to argue with me about it. “She needed her strength.”

“Hopefully we’ll be able to put our hungry days behind us soon,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

I stiffened at his words—at the reminder of my arranged marriage, coming far too soon for my liking. In a month, I would marry the Fastian Prince in exchange for shipments of food to keep our people from dying out while most of our supplies were funneled to the wastelands, where the fighting took place.

Arne didn’t notice my discomfort. “I missed you.”

Saying it back should have been as easy as breathing, but the words weighed heavy on my tongue, remaining unspoken this time. Wishing I could say it wasn’t enough to force the words through my lips for once. I pulled back slightly. “Can we spar?”

His smile disappeared. “Of course.”

Our relationship—if it could be called that—was complicated at best. With my twenty-first birthday having passed two weeks ago, my engagement to the Fastian Prince approached quickly. Pursuing more than friendship with Arne was foolish and rash. I’d kissed him for the first time nine months ago after my father revealed he’d arranged a marriage for me. The panic of the moment broke me, made me ache for something that was mine and no one else’s.

I didn’t want to imagine a first kiss with a person I didn’t love—didn’tknow. And in the chaos, it was simple to press my lips to Arne’s and tangle my fingers in his hair.

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