Page 112 of Blood Beneath the Snow

Part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the statement. The hypocrisy was stark, like blood against snow—kindness until it required change, care for only those who were already gods-blessed.

From inside the arena a trumpet sounded, quieting the crowd. My heart raced, and I tugged on the loose edges of my armor, waiting for my father to start the competition.

Father’s voice echoed through the chamber from outside.“Welcome to the thirteenth Bloodshed Trials,” he announced. The crowd cheered and I shivered as a cold wind blew through the metal tunnel. “Here you will see my children compete for the throne. They will all enter the arena—but only one will leave. The gods have blessed this ritual sacrifice of heirs, and he who triumphs will be blessed.”

Whispers of anticipation crawled through the crowd. I scowled at the use ofhein reference to the winner. There was no acknowledgment that I was even competing. For the first time, though, I realized being here would have destroyed Frode. He would have tried to fight, but with so many people crowded around us, he would have gone out of his mind. Unable to make a difference. Erik and Björn would have killed him slowly and painfully.

Perhaps it was for the best that I was here alone.

The iron gate creaked open and Erik stood, straightening his shoulders, double-checking his armor and his weapons. He cracked his knuckles. There was no glance back as he strode into the arena, waving at the cheering crowd. Björn waited for the cries to die down before he walked out, too. The roars that greeted his entrance were significantly louder.

I swallowed, lightly touching the hilt of my sword and each throwing knife, one strapped to each bicep. A shaky breath wasn’t enough to calm my racing heart, especially as Björn turned and offered me a smile with a tinge of bloodlust in the shine of his teeth.

I was going to die.

When I stepped into the arena, there was no cheering—only a chorus of boos, which I ignored. I scanned the crowd, catching the occasional glimpse of priestly white scattered among the citizens.

I took courage knowing Halvar was somewhere in the stands, the Nilurae organized and ready to fight when the time came. The fact that the priests were scattered would hopefully give the godforsaken a slight advantage.

When I brought my gaze back down to the bottom of the stands, a familiar visage stared back at me. My heart stopped in my chest.

Søren. He was here, his face lined with tension, eyes serious. The black cloak—the same one I’d slept under and admired—covered his shoulders. The rest of his clothing was all black, but it was strange to see him without his armor.

It was all too easy to imagine him standing next to me again, directing me to stand tall. His Hellbringer mask was nowhere to be seen, but still I wondered how Bhorglid’s biggest enemy could sit with its citizens unnoticed. Couldn’t theyfeelit emanating from him? The animosity, the calculated coldness of stolen lives? The sight of him made my heart stutter, and I resisted the urge to take a step back. We stared at each other, and I curbed my snarl.

He’d come to watch me die.

Disappointed you didn’t get to do it yourself?I wished he could hear my thoughts, hoped he could see them clearly on my face.Here to make sure I scream before I perish?

When no one followed me into the pit, the crowd’s cheers morphed into whispers. They started from the top of the audience and trickled down, much like the way Jac’s shape-shifting took over his body. His disappearance had not gone unnoticed. My eyes flicked away from Søren and the distracting way his appearance made me dizzy.

I took a deep breath. Jac was gone now, far away, safe from the wrath of our father and brothers. Frode was dead, hopefully somewhere better than this. I didn’t need to worry about either of them anymore.

And I could ignore the Hellbringer. Ignore Frode’s murderer, here to see me make a spectacle of myself.

Björn crossed his arms over his chest, smirking. Erik strode to the west side of the arena, studying the obstacles around him with a keen eye. I looked up at the royal platform, where the king andqueen sat with their retinue of priests. I spotted Volkan there too, looking uneasy.

Four priests made up the last of the royal designation. They stared into the pit, and Erik and Björn didn’t so much as flinch at their veiled gazes. Standing in front of the crowd at assigned checkpoints were the few silencers my father employed. Their magic allowed them to keep the crowd from interfering with their Lurae, if any dared.

“It appears my third son has done the dishonor of running from his fate,” my father drawled. The audience listened in hushed silence. “When we find him, he will be executed on sight.”

The Lurae on all sides cheered at this declaration. My lip curled, and I made no attempt to hide my disgust.

“The audience may not interfere with the battle,” the king continued. “There are no other rules except that only one of my children may leave alive. Let the Bloodshed Trials begin.”

30

My brothers and I werepositioned far enough away from each other that as chants and jeers began to fall from the crowd, none of us moved.

Erik was studying Björn, who studied me. I drew Aloisa, the satisfying sound of metal sliding from its sheath like a balm against my ears. I wasn’t sure how to handle this, the very beginning of the battle. Did I hide and hope they killed each other first? Or did I plunge in and hope they didn’t team up on me?

My heart pounded beneath my ribs, and against my will my eyes darted to the stands—to Søren, sitting right where I’d last seen him. Our eyes locked.

“This is your last chance, Revna.” Erik’s voice called out to me, bringing me back from my distraction. I narrowed my eyes at him as he twirled his greatsword, something akin to regret in his expression. “There is no possible way for you to win. I’ll be merciful if you’d like. I can kill you quickly.”

I was offended he would ask. But I was also sorely tempted.

Before I could reply, a lick of fire burst into being on the ground, tracing a path from Björn to Erik. My oldest brother leapt back, hissing as his shoes smoked.

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