Page 80 of Blood Beneath the Snow

I swallowed. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Revna.” He sounded pained, his hold on my hand tightening. “I can’t.”

The disappointment brought me back to myself. The elation of being so close, reveling in our newfound trust, evaporated in aninstant. I cleared my throat and took a step back, removing myself from his embrace.

“You’re right.” I couldn’t look at him. “I won’t ask again.”

The prison was colder and quieter than usual when we separated, each of us heading to our respective sleeping places.

20

The days following were heavywith tension.

Things had changed between us again in another unspoken way—far too similar to when we’d first returned from spying on my family’s camp. Then I hadn’t been sure what to make of his kindness, the way he’d softened around me. Now, when every interaction turned into a spat, it was easy.

The Hellbringer was frustrated.

Our tender moment of dancing had been electrifying. But when he reminded me of the barrier between us, his hidden identity, the duties we both needed to put first…he might as well have dumped a bucket of ice water over me.

I refused to become tangled in something so messy. Not now, when my complete focus had to be on the Trials. And especially not when the person I wanted wouldn’t even show me his face.

I understood his reasoning. But it wasn’t enough.

He seemed determined to punish me for it. Or perhaps he was punishing himself; there was no way to be certain.

Sparring against the Hellbringer was nothing like sparring with Halvar. The pub owner had been precise but slow—something Ididn’t realize until the Hellbringer began to spar against me with a speed and intensity I’d never seen before.

The past two nights I’d gone to bed sore, my muscles aching so badly that I woke multiple times. Yesterday, I demanded he take me to the hot springs again for a long soak. He didn’t seem inclined to acquiesce, but I knew my facial expression conveyed what my words didn’t: if he didn’t take me to the gods-damned hot springs that instant, I would use the sword he had helped me make to end his sorry life.

The water helped my muscles recover. I no longer felt like every part of my body was swollen. Visiting the hot springs had the added benefit of giving me the chance to wash the set of clothing the Hellbringer lent me the last time we were there. I was sad to see it go—it was ridiculously comfortable—but it was more satisfying to see his hands clench at his sides when I returned the sopping-wet pile of fabric to him.

If he wanted to fight dirty, I would fight right back.

There was no morning sun to shine over us as we sparred today. Only flickering firelight that reminded me too much of our dance together.

Sweat poured down my forehead, forcing me to blink it out of my eyes or risk giving the Hellbringer an opening. I couldn’t stand to let him win—not today. Not when he was acting like an ass.

After a particularly rough clash of our swords, my thin patience fractured. “What the fuck is your problem?” He pretended not to hear me.

The next strikes came with enough blunt force behind them to make me stagger. More than once I had to leap out of reach of his blade. Even parrying took all my energy. Before long, I was exhausted once more.

My hands twisted along the leather covering Aloisa’s hilt and I swore. “Why are you acting like such a man-child right now? If you have something to say, then say it!”

“No,” he snapped, finally stopping. I followed his lead, lowering my guard slightly. Was he going to finally explain what was happening in his head?

If only. “Your hands are wrong.” He stepped over to me and I wordlessly held out my hands, wrapped around the hilt of my sword. It took all my willpower not to snap at him for his rough readjustment.

“There,” he said finally. “Again.”

“You were the one who told me never to fight angry.”

“Again.”

I planted my feet and raised my blade. As I adjusted, grit scraped beneath the soles of my boots.

We fell into the rhythm of war once more.

Fury fueled each of his movements—I knew because the Hellbringer’s swings became sloppy and wild, the way mine had been when we first started training.

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