Page 102 of Blood Beneath the Snow

Björn and Erik moved the horses into a concentrated area within the grove of trees, where they would be obscured from enemy sight. I followed suit, hitching my own horse to a tree and trying to draw as little attention from Björn and my father as possible. Honestly, I was surprised they’d let me come along in the first place. The only explanation I could fathom was they hoped the Hellbringer would kill me while we were here.

Frode cocked his head to the side, listening. He frowned. “I think the info we had was right. I’m pretty sure that’s the Hellbringer I hear.”

“What is he thinking?” Björn demanded.

Frode shook his head. “I can’t make it out. His mind sounds like…a battlefield.” Frode glanced at me questioningly. “It’s as if there are hundreds of voices in his head. And they’re all screaming at him.”

I had no clue why it would sound like there was an army living in the Hellbringer’s mind.He seemed normal enough to me. Well, as normal as someone like the Hellbringer can be.

Frode lowered his voice, and I was unsure whether his next words were addressed to me or to himself. “No wonder I’ve never been able to distinguish his individual thoughts in battle before.”

We settled in to wait for our moment to strike.

Was Søren here of his own accord, or because the queen had ordered him here? It was impossible to know. The more important question was whether my brothers and father actually stood a chance at killing him.

I tried to imagine watching Björn slicing off the Hellbringer’s head. Nausea rolled through my stomach. No. That couldn’t happen.

A hand grabbed my wrist: Frode. “Stop worrying,” he murmured. “You of all people know how capable he is.”

I took a deep breath and tried to silence my mind.

Hours later, when the sun had begun to peer over the horizon, people began emerging from their tents.

“What’s going on?” Erik muttered. “It’s not dawn yet.”

Frode frowned and inclined his head. “They’re gathering for something. A…a speech, maybe? I think the Hellbringer is going to give a speech. And”—he squinted—“something else, but I can’t make it out. There’re too many voices; they’re clouding my hearing.”

“Should we get closer?” I asked.

No one was more surprised than I was when Björn agreed with me. “Yes. Use the snowdrift there for cover.”

We crept toward the campground until we could hide behind the mound of snow Björn had pointed out. It rested just outside the border of the gathering crowd. Now, we faced the center hearth of the camp, the tents a backdrop against the speech Frode had learned was happening. If we listened carefully, we could hear voices over the wind.

My heart thudded an unsteady beat against my ribs. Søren was just through there, obscured by the soldiers. Anticipation swirled with anxiety in my stomach.

Father looked at Frode. “It’s up to you now, son,” he said.

Frode was pale. He fidgeted with the hilts of his knives. I knew the gesture—it most often appeared when he wandered the halls of the castle a day or two before leaving for the front.

I reached out and put a hand on his knee. He glanced at me, and I could see the anxiety in his eyes.You can do this.

He gave a curt nod.

The wind carried voices over the drifts. For a long while I didn’t recognize any of them, but when a sudden snag of conversation caught my attention, I stiffened. Nothing could disguise the dissonance of the mask distorting the Hellbringer’s tone.

“—a victory for Kryllian,” he was saying. I tilted my head to tryand hear better. “We are one step closer to destroying the heathens who dare lay claim to our land!”

Cheering echoed through the clearing. As it subsided, Frode turned to Father. “Something is wrong,” he said, panicked. “They know it’s Jac; they know he’s a spy.” He froze. “And they know we’re—”

A hand reached over the snowdrift and grabbed me by the arm. Thanks to the Hellbringer’s training, I moved on pure instinct, twisting in an attempt to remove myself from the attacker’s clutches and lunging with my own blow.

My fist didn’t connect, and I lost my balance, half falling. The hand adjusted its grip and pulled me up by the shoulder.

I looked into the familiar mask of my assailant.

“Hello, Revna,” the Hellbringer said.

I stared at him. Mythoughts swirled into something unintelligible in my brain, and a mixture of relief, adoration, and panic pounded through my veins. He pulled me over the snowdrift, and I cried out as my arm resisted being pulled from its socket.

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