Page 99 of Blood Beneath the Snow

Arne turned and marched away, disappearing fast through the steadily falling snow.

I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered, mustering all my strength to keep from collapsing on my knees. My fury wasn’t enough to ward off the cold, but it made me numb to everything else. I fought back the tears burning my eyes. In the space of barely more than a month, Arne had hardened into a shell of his former self.

Was it my fault? Did turning him away and falling for the Hellbringer make me responsible for his cruelty?

Dwelling on that was futile now.I can’t stay out here or I’ll freeze.

My survival instinct was louder than my anger. I turned andwalked ten steps into the nearest tent. As the flap closed behind me, I felt the subtle shift of bodies in the darkness. Gentle snores mixed with heavy breathing. I couldn’t see, but I sensed the tent was packed with soldiers, each laid out in their sleeping bag.

I was furious with Arne, but one thing he said was correct: I didn’t know how many of these soldiers were friendly. I couldn’t risk waking anyone. My anger turned into hot tears, and when I tried to hold them back, a lump welled in the back of my throat.

I stepped backward and bumped into the pole holding up the front of the tent. It was cold, and I braced myself and slid down it. When I was sitting, I leaned my head back and took a deep breath.

There was an ache in my chest, and as I closed my eyes, I thought of Søren’s arms wrapped around me. The memory of his lips on mine, his fingertips tracing over my collarbones…it soothed me.

More than that though, I recalled the way we’d pushed each other to fight harder. The way he had driven me to do better with my swordplay. The way he’d cradled me to his chest a few days ago, when I was having a particularly difficult moment. The careful attention he’d given my every word.

I dozed against the post, chin pressed to my chest, only starting awake when the Søren of my dreams reached out to brush my jawline.

25

Sunlight streamed through the tentand lit my face. I cracked my eyes open and ran my tongue across the roof of my mouth. It felt like sandpaper. I grimaced.

I did enjoy waking to the sun, though.

A quick glance told me I was the only one left in the tent. All the soldiers from the night before were gone.

Panic struck. Where were they? Why was I alone? I rose quickly, adrenaline rushing through my veins. The hair on my arms stood up straight. Outside was eerily quiet. And when I pushed through the tent flaps, an empty campground awaited me.

Trampled snow, empty tents, and the smoking ash of a campfire were all that remained. I turned in a full circle.

Had I slept through a mass exodus?

My eyes followed the trampled snow to the edge of the grove of pines. Those, at least, were familiar—I’d come that way last night. Beyond the trees, a trumpet blared.

I stiffened. Though it was my first time on the front lines, anyone in Bhorglid would recognize the sound. No good parent let their child grow up without knowing how to identify a battle call.

There was no time for hesitation. I sprinted down the path until I reached the center of camp.

I arrived gasping for air and clutching at a stitch in my side. The bitter wind tore like claws at my lungs. I’d strapped my sword on while I ran, fingers slipping over the buckle keeping the scabbard fastened to my waist.

It didn’t take long to spot a flame of familiar curly hair.

Frode! Get the hell over here.

The last of the army trickled out of the camp, heading north. I had no doubt my father was at the head, Björn by his side.

Frode sauntered toward me, his two curved knives sheathed at either hip. “You sleep too deeply for your own good,” he observed, reading my thoughts to learn the events of the morning. “Are you coming?”

Yes.

I was too out of breath to speak.

“Good. Your armor is in my tent. Bottom bunk on the left.” He pointed to a tent at least five times larger than the one I’d slept in last night, but I didn’t have time to dwell on his luxury accommodations. I rushed in, stripping out of my warm outer clothes to throw my armor on over my wool underlayer. My cloak went back on top. I ran my thumb over the hilt of my blade, and deep in my stomach I felt a rush of exhilaration.

I’d never truly fought in a war before. It was every godtouched child’s dream to win honor for Bhorglid or die in search of it. I didn’t pay much attention to godtouched socialites, but I knew those whose children didn’t fight in the war were shunned. The social consequences piled on fast, but they were nothing compared to how the godforsaken lived.

I jogged out to where Frode waited for me, my horse saddled next to his. I clambered on, awkward with my armor. “Will this be like the battle in the canyon?” I asked him.

---