Page 77 of Blood Beneath the Snow

I dunked my head under the hot water, letting it burn my skin. While I was submerged, I took the tie off the end of my braid, letting my hair fall loose around my shoulders. It floated, unearthly, like a shadow beneath the water’s surface.

I wanted to strip my clothes off so I could scrub at my skin, but I glanced toward the path we’d carved through the snow, where the Hellbringer had retreated. Unease gnawed at me. Was it safe? Was he out of sight?

He had disappeared into the thick copse of trees. No dark figure stared back at me.

And if it did, I realized I didn’t particularly care. The coat of grime over my body itched enough that it would be worth it.

I pulled my clothes off, one item at a time, and scrubbed thembefore tossing them toward the nearest dry rock. I then proceeded to wash myself more thoroughly than I’d ever done before.

When I scrubbed my face, I was surprised to feel traces of the paint the priests had marked me with stuck to my skin. I’d forgotten about it once I’d been captured. As I washed it off, I smirked at the irony of being branded by Aloisa—marked for death. The Hellbringer was about as close to death as a person could get, and yet here I was, unclaimed by it.

Guess the priests aren’t as prophetic as they like to think they are.The thought was as satisfying as submerging myself in the water.

Time moved faster than I wanted, and when I finished washing, I let myself float on my back, savoring the heat. I hummed with contentment.

A song my mother used to sing—the same one Frode had been humming that fateful day when I met Volkan for the first time—drifted through my memory. It was instinct to let my voice carry the tune over the slowly moving water, the soft drifts of snow on the bank of the hot spring. I couldn’t remember the words, but the tune had stayed with me throughout the years. And now, I realized happily, the notes reminded me of my brother and not my selfish, bitter queen.

The tune echoed slightly through the trees, somehow managing to touch each flake of snow on the ground. As I sang, I realized that for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t thinking about my father or my brothers; the looming Bloodshed Trials hadn’t crossed my mind in hours; and the constant fury bubbling under my skin at being treated like godforsaken trash had cooled.

It was peaceful.

Eventually the song came to an end, and I relished the silence for a moment longer, loath to leave. The sooner I got out of the hot spring, the sooner I had to endure the frigid temperatures on the hike back to the prison.

I couldn’t stay forever, though. I wrung my hair out as I steppedonto the shore, rocks digging into the soles of my feet, and grabbed the pile of clothes the Hellbringer had left for me. There was a towel on top that I used to dry off, then wrapped around my sopping hair.

The pants went on first, then the long-sleeved black shirt. The material was soft, much better than the travel garb I’d been wearing for…was it twenty-five days now? The waistband of the pants draped loosely on my hips, threatening to fall if I wasn’t careful. Likewise, the shirt was too big but tight around my chest. Clearly made for a man.

Then it hit me—these were the Hellbringer’s clothes. He hadn’t brought back a set of women’s clothing when he went aboveground. He had found an extra pair of his own clothes and left them here for me.

A smile flickered across my face. He didn’t have to show me the hot spring. Didn’t have to lend me clean clothes. But he did anyway.

For a murderer, there was certainly some kindness behind the mask. I wondered how much he did under orders, and not of his own will. It confused me.

Maybe it confused him, too.

Either way, a sort of intimacy came with wearing another person’s clothing. I didn’t mind. I doubted the Hellbringer intended anything other than basic decency.

When I’d put on my cloak and boots, among my other warm outer layers, I gathered my wet clothes in the towel and called out. “Hellbringer? Are you there?”

I glimpsed the shadow of a man in the distance. He faced away from me. “Are you…decent?”

I snorted and began trekking over to him. The pants, too big around my ankles despite being rolled up several times, allowed some of the snow in and I winced at the sensation. The Hellbringer turned to face me, then froze, still as a rabbit realizing it was a wolf’s next meal. “Yes. Can we go back now?”

For a moment he merely looked at me, hands balled into fists. I tilted my head. “Hellbringer?”

His name brought him back to reality. He nodded, and we began to walk. His distorted voice floated back to where I walked behind him. I thought I heard a slight tremor in his voice when he said, “You sing beautifully.”

Red stained my cheeks. “You heard that?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes.”

How close had he stayed? Within earshot, clearly. “You didn’t…I mean you weren’t…” I paused, letting the question hang unspoken in the air.

He stopped abruptly and I nearly ran into him. “No,” he said forcefully. “I stayed out of sight. I would never have dreamed of…” He shook his head and resumed walking. Then he muttered, “I know what you must think of me. It’s true I am a monster, but there are lines I will not cross. You are safe with me here. And not only because those are my orders.”

I couldn’t explain why, but I believed him. The nervousness in me settled, and we kept moving.

The question had brewed in my mind for days, ever since our return from Bhorglid’s camp. Since the sentry boy was killed. I’d kept the curiosity clutched to my chest since then, but the hot water had loosened not only my limbs but my tongue, too. “When you kill on the battlefield with your Lurae…do you do it because you want to or because you’re ordered to?”

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