Page 9 of Blood Beneath the Snow

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

I shook my head and sighed, the fight leaving me in a rush. We had so little time left. Did I really want to spend it arguing? “I’m sorry. We’ve had this same talk—”

“About a million times. I know.” His fingers ran around the edges of the armor on his opposite arm.

“There’s nothing we can do.” My voice was quiet now. “I don’t want to leave. But if I have to, to keep you and Freja safe, I will.”

“You can’t protect us forever.”

“Doesn’t stop me from trying.”

We practiced for the next hour in silence. Another person might find it disconcerting to spend so much time without exchanging words. But Arne preferred it, and I didn’t mind.

Today my mind was occupied trying to imagine my life in Faste: wife to a spoiled godtouched prince in a country that cared more about agriculture than the art of war. So far, “decent enough” was the most I dared to hope for.

In Bhorglid, it was unseemly for a godforsaken to know how to fight. In Faste, it was unseemly foranyoneto know how to fight.

Regardless of where I ended up, I would be forced to hide this part of myself—the part of me craving to defend the godforsaken against their oppressors. Only Arne, Freja, and Halvar saw through the façade forced on me.

These thoughts followed me as Arne and I traveled back to the main path when we finished sparring. His gloomy expression told me he was tangled in his own inner turmoil. Steeling myself against the torrent in my mind, I clapped a hand on his arm. “Don’t be so glum,” I said. “You and Freja will have plenty of fun without me. And I’ll send letters, so it’s not like we’ll never talk.”

Arne stilled, his face contorted into an expression I didn’t recognize. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, quick movement from below caught in my peripheral vision.

I whirled, turning to look at the cobblestone streets. Sure enough, five riders were making their way toward the path leading up to the castle, their matching fire-red hair noticeable from my position high above them. I shut my eyes and groaned. My worst nightmare. “They’re back. Three days early.”

When I opened my eyes, Arne wore an expression of concern. I knew he cared about me, but this was the first time I noticed it was leaving permanent frown lines around his eyes.

We concealed ourselves in the trees so my father and four olderbrothers wouldn’t notice us when they passed. My father’s booming voice echoed from the horse at the front of the group. “Well done, Björn. We’ll have you as our captain in no time.”

I massaged my temples. What a headache of a day.

Arne put a hand on my shoulder and gently rubbed my tense muscles. “It’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before. They’ll be too busy talking about the Trials and the Hellbringer to pay you any attention.”

Good point. With the Trials being so close, it was unlikely either of my less-than-friendly brothers would antagonize me. And while stories of the Hellbringer were always morbid, I found them fascinating in a strange way.

“Dinner will be an hour at the longest,” Arne reminded me. “Stay quiet and things will be fine.”

Eat and stay quiet. Should be easy enough.

“You should get going,” I said.

He stood but glanced back. “Are you coming to Halvar’s tonight?”

“Of course.”

The worry evaporated from his face and a bit of light returned to his eyes. “Good. I’ll see you there.” He left, and I was alone.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to remember the morning’s victory. Freja and I had successfully disrupted the new year ritual. We saved an innocent life.

A cold wind blew over me and I shivered. By the end of the month I’d be in Faste, too far to help anyone. The castle loomed into view as I ascended the rest of the path.

The white stone edifice comprised four towers and five levels. On the bottom floor, an odd section jutted out from the original foundation: the armory, expanded to its current size only fifty years ago. The landscaping included a huge courtyard for sparring and hosting parties, a rose garden that bloomed only for a few weekseach summer, and the stables. A few priests milled about, weapons in hand to guard against any imagined threat. Their embroidered eyes stared me down as I made my way to the doors.

My home served as another unwelcome reminder of why we’d truly gone to war. The priests and the godtouched might claim it was a holy crusade, but the castle’s towers and smooth, sloping arches told another story. The original castle my ancestors had built long ago had been a mighty wooden structure with sharp angles and straight lines. The new home my grandparents had commissioned was an imitation of the palace in Kryllian—a fact I only knew because my father often bragged about taking everything from our enemies. Their land, their culture, their lives—all of it was ours in his eyes.

My father and his father before him had a bad habit of wanting anything they didn’t have. What had once been an admiration of Kryllian’s ways had quickly festered into an obsession. And obsession always led to war.

At least signs of the approaching storm had disappeared. The winter sun danced idly on the grass, and I took my time walking across the courtyard. The crisp air had a particular taste and I inhaled deeply, clearing my lungs. The tip of my swollen nose was numb, but the sensation steadied me.

---