Page 39 of Blood Beneath the Snow

Jac received a line from the top of his forehead, over his nose,and to the base of his chin. Frode remained beside me, so he helped translate. “Perseverance,” he said. When I raised an eyebrow at the three jagged lines Björn was given on his forehead, I could hear the exasperation in Frode’s voice. “Power,” he grumbled. “That one is consistent, too.”

My father received two lines across his forehead; Frode explained they symbolized truth. I had to hold in a scoff at that. Then it was my turn. I stepped forward, wondering what the priests could possibly see fit to bless me with as I went to battle.

The priest was silent for a long time before he finally spoke again. The scythe in his hand glinted in the flickering firelight. He leaned forward, his voice practically a whisper. “The gods are most disappointed in you, Princess,” he said.

I stiffened. “Are you going to bless me or not?”

The priest shook his head but put his paintbrush to my face. The paint was cold and sticky. He drew two lines on my face, each diagonal, intersecting to form an X across the bridge of my nose.

I froze. I didn’t understand many of the symbols the godtouched claimed, especially those involved in the temple ceremonies, but this was one I knew intimately.

I turned to face my brothers. Frode had paled. Jac looked at his shoes. Björn burst into gleeful laughter and my father turned away, striding out the doors.

Death. The X on my face meant I’d been chosen by Aloisa, goddess of the soul. Marked to die, like the symbol was a target for my enemies.

I turned back to the priest. “You disgust me,” I spat. “If Aloisa sees fit to claim me, I will do anything I must to stay alive.”

“I only repeat what the gods tell me,” the priest said.

“Liar,” I said. “You use the gods for your own gain.”

Frode grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”

He pulled me out the door, into the cold again. The wind sweptup the strands of hair falling from my tight braid, obscuring my vision slightly. A storm was coming in. I mounted my horse, trying not to think about the paint on my face.

Frode leaned over to me from where he sat on his own horse. “Take the paint off,” he said. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. Not if you don’t want it to.”

I shook my head. “No. It stays. If they’re damning me, I want the whole world to see it.”

Frode sighed. “Come on, then. Let’s catch up with the others.”

I heard the screams andexplosions before the front line came into view.

The mountains towered above us, jagged like monstrous teeth covered in snow, and with every blast the whole world shook.

Eyes wide, I turned to Frode.Is this it?

He nodded, mouth set in a grim line, and pulled a flask out of his saddlebag. I watched him tip his head back and drain the entire container in one swig. “They’re mid-battle, through the canyon pass.”

A man I’d never seen before pulled his horse up to ride next to mine and I jumped at the sight. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place the big nose turned up at the end and the brown hair with a white streak through it. “You ready for this?” he asked.

My expression clearly showed everything going through my head. The man laughed and shook his head until his hair transformed to red, facial features familiar again. Jac had already taken another form to prepare for battle. “Makes me less conspicuous,” he explained. “Be ready for anything; it’s only a matter of time before we run into some Kryllians. They’ll see you as easy prey if they recognize you.”

Another explosion echoed through the canyon pass and the mountains themselves shuddered, snow threatening to topple intoan avalanche at any moment. I set my jaw and dragged my sword from its sheath. Would there be time to dismount and get my feet under me before I was forced to parry an inevitable blow? I’d never regretted more not mastering a ranged weapon.

My father, brothers, and the rest of our group slid helmets over their faces. I copied them, wishing mine didn’t block out my peripheral vision.

“Ready your—”

Before my father could finish his sentence, someone let out a wild cry. Figures cloaked in black emerged from ahead on the trail, brandishing weapons I’d never seen before. Cruel blades curved and glimmered in the snowy sunlight.

Crouched in the middle of the canyon pass was a masked figure I recognized. A carved wooden helmet covered his whole head. The leering smile of a predator’s skull unearthed a feeling I’d never had before, even when I’d seen him in the streets of the city. There, he’d been frightening but out of place, like a boy dressed as a monster. Now, there was no doubt in my mind what he would do to achieve his goals.

This is what it feels like to be prey.

As the thought struck me, I remembered the Hellbringer’s promise from this morning, before the dawn broke.

Fear overtook each of my limbs and I went stiff. Was this it? Was he finally going to strike me down? Were we going to die before we reached the front lines?

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