Page 10 of Blood Beneath the Snow

In the spring, the sight of the white castle against the green grass was stunning. Now it was nearly invisible before the snowcapped mountain. Its spot high above the valley was meant to give us a unique perspective in case of an invasion. From the top tower’s vantage point, a person could see out to the southern sea on a clear day.

As of yet, the predicted invasion hadn’t happened. If it ever did, I pitied the army who attempted it.

I reached the ornate front doors and took a deep breath. Now to prepare to deal with my family.

They went off to the front lines frequently enough that I knewtheir routine: they would head straight to their rooms to rinse off the month’s grime before they came to dinner. My father would briefly consult with the Holy Order of Priests regarding updates on the war front as well. If I gave them enough time, I wouldn’t run into anyone before dinner. And hopefully I’d be able to convince the palace healer to mend my face.

The front doors of the castle were huge and, of course, squeaky on their hinges. I closed them quickly and relaxed when the noise finally stopped.

All the bedrooms were on the third level. After ascending the stairs, I peered into the hallway to make sure my brothers’ doors were closed before walking to my own door, which was cracked open slightly.

There were no guards or priests in the castle to give me trouble. If we were attacked, my brothers were expected to protect themselves. During the war, we couldn’t waste soldiers. A single unit of fifty—the ones home on rotation—remained in the city while the rest fought on the front lines. The priests claimed law enforcement duties, but they all knew better than to intervene if I was in danger—no one cared if I lived or died.

Thanks to Halvar and Arne’s training, I’d stand my ground if an attacker made their way into the castle. Otherwise, only two of my brothers cared enough to help me.

In the familiar, comforting space of my room, I threw on a maroon dress with sleeves long enough to hide the purpling bruise the priest gave me this morning. Then I brushed through my long sheet of dark hair, wavy after being in braids all day. I stared at my reflection, eyes hollow from long nights spent planning the morning’s disruption with Freja and from bruises spreading away from my nose.

Where I saw strength glittering in my green eyes, my father saw defiance. Now I only hoped he saw little enough of it for me to make it through dinner unscathed.

First things first, though: I needed my nose to stop hurting so I could hold my own at the dinner table. I dashed down the stairs to the floor below, where my father’s personal healer resided, and knocked on the door.

The wizened old man opened it, his back hunched forward, and glared at me. I offered him what I hoped was a winning smile, though I knew there was likely still blood on my teeth.

“Waddell,” I greeted him. “As you can undoubtedly see, my nose is broken. I was hoping you’d be kind enough to heal it for me before I attend dinner with my family.”

He didn’t answer, simply scowled deeper. I wondered how it was possible.

I sighed. “I’ll trade you for it.” My brothers and my parents were treated well by Waddell, but whenever I needed healing, I was forced to barter. Even if the injury was dire, I knew he’d stand above me, tapping his foot while he waited for me to offer up my firstborn child in exchange for his services.

“I want a piece of jewelry,” he said, voice cracking around the edges like a withered piece of paper.

I nodded. “Done.”

He knew me well enough to know I’d follow through. So he reached forward and pressed two fingers hard to the broken bone and let his magic flow through them.

With a loud snap, the displaced pieces of my nose flew back together. It didn’t hurt, but the feeling of bone writhing beneath my skin made me gag. Soon I felt the swelling recede and knew the dark bruises were vanishing. When he was done, I made the short trip upstairs to fetch him a necklace from my slowly dwindling jewelry box.

“Giving this to a fine friend?” I said, attempting a teasing tone.

His expression was serious. “No. I simply enjoy being able to take everything from you.”

Waddell slammed the door behind him, leaving me fuming in the corridor.

I despised family dinners, whichwas unfortunate, because Mother insisted on having one every time Father and my brothers were back from the front lines. Attendance was mandatory; no exceptions.

I fidgeted in my seat, trying not to pull my legs up underneath me. Imagining the look Mother would give me kept me from doing it. On a normal day, I’d relish her glare, enjoying every minute she spent scolding me for petty rebellion, but I was too exhausted to fight back tonight.

My four redheaded older brothers sat on the sides of the table, my mother next to them, and my father sat at the head of the table, across from me. The foot of the table was my assigned place. Still better than the floor.

Directly on my left, my youngest brother, Björn, rambled on about some battle they’d been part of in the north. “The last one who tried to kill me had the godtouch of air. Probably thought he had the advantage over my fire, but I had the advantage in swordplay.” He smirked. “It didn’t take long to get rid of him.”

I wondered whether the soldier had quenched Björn’s fire by pulling the oxygen out of the air. Godtouched gifts were different in subtle ways—while many people could control the basic elements, they each had different limits and specific abilities. As a child, I spent years wondering what part of the gods’ magic I possessed, which valuable talent would be my godtouched gift. When no magic ever manifested itself, I spent years languishing in disappointment.

When Björn finished rambling, I rolled my eyes and glanced to my right, where Frode, my second-oldest brother, sat across from Björn. Frode’s hair was distinctly curly, unlike the rest of ours. Hekept it cropped short against his head. He’d changed out of his military uniform and was dressed in a casual shirt and pair of pants. I wondered if Erik scolded him on the way to dinner for his outfit choice.

I channeled my thoughts in Frode’s direction.Is Björn this prissy when the temperatures are far below zero at night?

Frode didn’t say anything but smirked as he brought another bite of food to his mouth. I grinned. His godtouch was my favorite out of all my brothers: he could hear thoughts. It made for interesting fights and fun dinnertime conversations. The conversations were one-way, but I was glad someone appreciated my snippy comments, even if I didn’t say them out loud.

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