Page 23 of Blood Beneath the Snow

My father frowned. “She didn’t have a choice.”

I stared at my shoes, boots pressing deep prints into the snow covering the cobblestones. On a normal day, I’d exhaust my bestexcuses to get out of going to temple. But I knew better than to make a scene in front of other royalty. Father would never hesitate to discipline me in private and then send Waddell to seal the wounds. If it didn’t leave scars, then to him it was fair game.

With healers at our disposal, not much was capable of leaving a permanent scar.

“Well, we are delighted to have her.” The priest tilted his head and the white fabric covering his face shifted to the side a bit. I clenched my teeth and didn’t look up. His voice was strange, and I wondered, not for the first time, if there was something inhuman under the cloth. “And you as well, Your Highness.”

Volkan inclined his head slightly. “Thank you for allowing me to witness your ceremonies.”

I wondered what he would think of our ceremonies by the time we were finished.

The priest led the way through the wooden doors of the temple. My parents followed and then the rest of us ascended the stairs. I hesitated on the bottom step.

Erik put a hand on my back and pushed me gently but firmly toward the door. Reluctantly, I allowed him to move me forward. Father would say it was my duty, and Erik would doubtlessly agree.

Once I left for Faste, I wouldn’t have to attend temple again. The thought managed to comfort me.

At least the inside of the temple was warmer. On my left, several acolytes warmed their hands by a burning hearth. The acolytes, still in training to the Holy Order, were almost more eerie than their superiors. Their uniforms were the same, but they had not taken their vows yet, and therefore had no eyes embroidered on their veils.

The acolytes turned at our entrance and bowed, pressing their palms together in front of their chests. “Rise,” my father commanded. They obeyed silently.

Nine chairs were arranged in a circle in front of us and along thewall were seven closed doors. They led to individual prayer rooms for each of the gods in the pantheon.

The priest sat at the head of the circle of chairs. My parents sat on either side of him and then my brothers took the chairs closest, leaving me and Volkan to sit directly across from the priest.

I stifled a groan. This was my absolute least favorite spot for temple and my brothers knew it. When I was young, I would beg them to trade chairs with me so I didn’t have to stare straight at the priest the entire time.

Björn smirked at me from his seat next to my mother. I took a deep breath and settled into the hard wooden chair.

“Let us begin,” the priest said. The acolytes moved from their places by the fire to sit on the ground behind the priest. I grimaced at the sight of all of them. They couldn’t be older than I was, and yet they’d given their lives and free will to the Order.

In one fluid motion, each member of my family reached out to grasp the hands of the two people on either side of them. Together, we formed one huge circle. I reached out for Frode’s hand on my left. Volkan, understanding the expectations, took my right. The sooner we started, the sooner it would be over.

The priest began the calling of the gods. “Aloisa, goddess of the soul, bless us with your presence. Aksel, god of air, bless us with your presence. Hjalmar, god of fire, bless us with your presence. Viggo, god of water…” The chant continued until all the gods had been mentioned by name.

I laid no claim to the gods, but if I had, Aloisa would be my favorite. She was the only woman in a household of men, overlooked by those meant to be her subjects. They rarely spoke of her despite her abilities being incredibly sought-after. Whether or not she was real, I knew how she felt.

When the priest finished, he reached into his pocket and scattered a handful of ash onto the dirt in front of us. It was burntgrass, but it always made me cringe regardless. It represented the final state of bodily decay, indicating our powerlessness before the gods who watched over us and decided when it was time for a person to die.

“Tell me the troubles of this country,” the priest murmured.

That was my father’s cue. We released our hands and he began to speak.

“We seek a blessing on the union of Bhorglid and Faste, to be sealed with marriage,” he began. “We seek guidance in our war efforts, to know how we may win the holy battle against the Kryllian nation. We seek strength for my sons as they prepare to compete for the throne.”

The priest tilted his head back as if listening for something. I used every ounce of self-control not to roll my eyes.

After a moment he spoke. “The gods tell me the future of your kingdom hangs in the balance,” the priest said. He knelt and drew a line through the scattered ash with his finger. “Your daughter and her friend sabotaged the new year ritual. This does not bode well for the coming year. The gods are angry.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek and folded my hands in my lap. Everyone in my family looked at me. Mother, Father, and Björn glared. Erik and Jac were more concerned than anything else, and Frode…well, his eyes gazed in my direction, but they were both unfocused. Volkan, on the other hand, appeared curious.

The priest needed to shut his mouth before he got me in serious trouble.

“Do not fear. There is hope yet. Under the guidance of your youngest son, the kingdom will thrive. But the alliance with Faste is necessary to win the war.” He looked up so the embroidered eye gazed at me again.

The priests had started this war in the first place, whispering in Father’s ear how we “deserved” what was rightfully Kryllian’s; theywould take any opportunity to blame it on me when things started going wrong.

The priest turned to my father. “Continue to fight the holy war,” he said. “The gods desire for your bloodline to lead Kryllian. The next ruler must listen carefully to the words the gods have to offer them.”

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