Page 15 of Blood Beneath the Snow

He did worry, though.

Arne traced his finger through the ring of condensation his mug left on the table. “I did want to tell you,” he began, voice strained, “I think your stunt this morning had more fallout than you two were expecting.”

Freja and I exchanged glances. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Arne took a deep breath and his eyes flickered up to us. “I got a conscription letter this evening.”

My heart dropped into my stomach.

Freja choked on her beer and Arne pounded her on the back while she coughed. When she could breathe again, she wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “What the hell. You’re not godtouched. They can’t.”

“She’s right,” I whispered. The rhetoric about why godforsakenwere never conscripted changed every few months—the priests couldn’t seem to decide if they kept us from the front lines due to our lack of magical abilities or because our very presence would taint the battlefield and summon the wrath of the gods. Whatever the reason, the godforsaken never fought, even if it was only to keep the economy moving while the rest of the population did the fighting.

In some ways it was a blessing. I had no doubt that, when the time came, Father would throw extra bodies in front of the enemy. The thought of my people being used as shields against the Hellbringer and an army of ruthless soldiers made my stomach turn.

If Arne was being conscripted, what would stop my father and the priests from pulling the rest of the godforsaken out to the front lines?

“How is this happening? Are all the godforsaken being conscripted?” Freja demanded.

He shook his head. “No. I’ve asked around. Only me.”

I shook my head, unable to tear the image of Arne’s lifeless body from my mind, my friend bleeding red into the snow as his eyes went glassy.This is the other half of the punishment,I realized.They are using him against me.

Freja pounded her fist on the table. “This is your father’s doing,” she spat. “Oh, I want to—”

I put a hand on her shoulder and she stopped talking. Looking around, I noticed a person or two gazing at our small group. Probably newcomers wondering what business the princess had here, but…it was always possible someone would overhear one of us get too zealous and take their news back to the king.

Freja’s voice cracked when she spoke next. “Revna, can’t you do anything?” The grief in her voice was palpable—as if she already mourned Arne, though he sat beside her. “Can’t you talk to your father?”

I clenched my teeth. “I can’t. He found out I was involved withthis morning’s events and…well, I knew they were going to marry me off, but I was supposed to have another month. The entourage from Faste arrives tomorrow. Kryllian has begun encroaching on their borders and they want the alliance to go through as soon as possible. I’ll be gone by the end of the week.”

Silence fell and Arne leaned his head back. It didn’t fit—the music and the tapping of hard-soled shoes against the wood, the happy cries of the dancers stabbing sharply through the dull pain of knowing the three of us were about to part ways forever.

Freja, always upbeat, stared straight ahead at nothing.

“You can’t both leave me,” she muttered. Time snapped back to normal. She sniffed and rubbed a tear away, chugging the rest of her beer in one fell swoop. “It’s rude.”

She hid her pain behind a smile. Arne smiled back at her, albeit sadly.

“There’s no guarantee it will end badly,” he said. “I’m one of the few godforsaken lucky enough to have training with a sword.”

“You’ve always wanted to be a fighter,” Freja murmured, putting her hand on Arne’s. “I’ll see you again. If anyone can kill the Hellbringer, it’s you.”

I tried not to grimace at the thought of the Hellbringer. I didn’t dare tell them of my strange dream, not so soon after I thought I’d seen him wandering our city streets. Especially when I wasn’t sure if it was real or not.

We all had far more pressing matters to worry about.

I pushed the Hellbringer from my mind, turning my attention back to Arne. “You’ll miss the Bloodshed Trials.” I smirked. “Disappointed you won’t get to see which of my brothers is alive at the end?”

Freja snorted. “Your brothers are assholes. Well, Björn and Erik are. And they’ll be the last in the ring, so it’ll be interesting to see who wins. I’ll send you letters with a play-by-play of the action.”

I would miss it too, I realized with a jolt. By then, I would be married to the Fastian Prince, whisked away from my home to become nothing but a symbol of unity between countries.

I tightened my hold on my mug, but I didn’t say anything, keeping my mouth in a carefully preserved smile. How could I complain about my fate when Arne was going to war and Freja would be left alone? I’d be selfish to act as though marriage was nearly as bad.

“We should dance,” I suggested. Maybe it would help us forget about our woes.

Neither friend responded. I sighed. The weight in my stomach had returned and I dreaded the thought of going home and closing my eyes. Tomorrow I would stop being Revna and start becoming the Princess of Faste.

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