Page 24 of Blood Beneath the Snow

Björn straightened his back and tilted his chin up. The priest was clearly addressing him, though no one was bold enough to say it.

I saw Erik cast a glance in Björn’s direction, taking in our brother’s haughty expression. Erik didn’t look thrilled. What was he thinking? Did he lust for the throne the way Björn did? And what did Jac think?

My father bowed his head slightly. “Thank you.”

I closed my eyes and dug my fingernails into my palms. More war meant Arne’s death. The preaching about Bhorglid’s fate hanging in the balance practically guaranteed Freja would be stuck in prison until I left. My father would hold her over me for the remainder of my time here.

I rubbed my hand across my forehead, my headache returning in full force.

At least the first ritual was over. The priest stood and dusted the ash from his hands. Acolytes scrambled off to continue doing their chores or warming their hands. My family all stood, and I stretched my arms over my head. Volkan moved to examine the symbols on the doors of each prayer room, leaving me alone with the head priest.

The priest moved to stand beside me. “Be careful with your choices,” he murmured. “You may hold more than your own fate in your hands.”

“This is coming from the person who conscripted one of my friends and arrested the other yesterday,” I said with a saccharine smile. “Forgive me if I don’t trust your intuition.”

He chuckled, shoulders shaking. “I pity the Fastian Prince. He doesn’t know what he’s in for, does he?”

My vision clouded with red, but as my hands tightened, another wrapped around my arm and pulled me away from the conflict. Frode—hungover but managing to look out for me regardless. I huffed and shook my wrist from his grasp, wishing the priest’s words didn’t follow me.

But as I watched Jac, Björn, and my mother move to enter individual prayer rooms, a hand fell on my shoulder, fingers digging in just shy of too tight. Erik stepped up beside me. “Do not anger the gods,” he warned. “There is far more at stake here than your personal vendetta. Bhorglid is the land of the gods’ true will. If we anger them, they may choose to lend their favor to more faithful worshipers.”

I stifled a groan. Of course Erik was most concerned about the gods—they were all he cared about. Before I had the chance to think of a retort, he sauntered off to a prayer room, leaving me behind.

Frode sat backward in his chair. He rested his arms across the top of the wooden backing. When I leaned closer, I heard him humming the same lilting melody from this morning. The lullaby Mother used to sing us.

I patted Frode gently on the shoulder. He didn’t acknowledge it. I hoped his brain rested in blissful silence.

My father stood by the entrance, arms crossed over his chest. He towered over the tallest acolyte, and his build was large enough to be frightening—to me, at least.

Before I let myself think it through, I moved across the room to stand in front of him.

“Father,” I said, bowing my head slightly. Asking a favor meant remembering my manners.

He stared over my head, but I saw annoyance cloud his eyes. His red hair brushed against his shoulders when he sighed. “What?”

I took a shaky breath and lowered my voice. “What happenedyesterday was my fault and it was a mistake. I didn’t realize it was going to cause so many problems for so many people.”Lie.“Please, let Freja go. This wasn’t her fault; I dragged her along”—another lie—“and she shouldn’t be held responsible for what I did. Please.”

I felt eyes on me and turned to see the acolytes sightlessly staring at us. I ignored them, trying to think of anything but the heat rushing to my face.

Father put his hand on my shoulder, and I winced. To any casual observer, it appeared he was being kind, but I knew better. His hand was trembling with how tightly he held me, and heat from his Lurae surged through his palm. Any hotter and he would singe my dress. I bit my lip to keep from letting out a whimper.

He leaned forward. “What makes you think you deserve another chance?” he growled. He kept his voice quiet, and I was grateful. “You heard the priest. If our kingdom falls, it is because of you and your ignorance. You have been nothing but disrespectful since the day you learned to speak and you’re lucky I haven’t had you thrown out of our household for insubordination. Freja will not be released. Ever. The only reason you’re not in a cell is because this alliance will secure our fates.”

He released his grip, and I stumbled back. The joint throbbed and I knew there would be dark bruises there when I changed that night.

Hot tears filled my eyes and I glanced toward the acolytes—all staring.

I glared at my father, wishing I could channel all my rage and fury into fire, like he and Björn could. Then he would know what I truly thought of him.

But no magic flowed through my veins. So instead, I stormed out the door.

The priest who led the ceremony tried to grab my wrist and pull me back. “Princess, you’re forgetting the end ceremony—”

I threw off his grasp. “Don’t touch me.” If I spent another moment in the temple, I’d begin tearing it down brick by brick.

My mother appeared in the doorway as I fled and mounted my horse. “Revna!” she shouted. Fury coated her features. “Get back in here!”

With a click of my heels, we were off. Only the wind in my face kept me from screaming.

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