Page 62 of Blood Beneath the Snow

After returning to my place on the bed, I cursed myself in the silence. I’d begun to let my guard down as I eased into routine with him. He’d been warm, inviting, even friendly at times. I had started thinking of him as human. I shook my head. That was a mistake. I was a captive here.

You are in a prison with a madman and no one is coming for you.

This time the words did not come unwillingly but as a reminder.

I ran them through my head over and over again until dinner was cleaned up and the Hellbringer ordered me to run laps around the space.

Sparring was quickly becoming myleast favorite part of the day.

Frustration wrapped its strangling hand around my throat—again—and I forced myself to breathe deeply in an attempt to sate it. My limbs shook with a dangerous combination of exhaustion and anger. When the Hellbringer readjusted his stance and ordered, “Again,” I shook my head.

“No.” The word tasted like bile. “I won’t. I’m done with this.”

I laid Aloisa down—after the lecture he’d given me two days before about throwing my brand-new sword on the unforgiving metal floor, I was begrudgingly gentler with the weapon—and moved to begin kicking the toe of my boot against the wall. It was nothing like the way I’d ravaged my hand back home before my last night at Halvar’s. This was a softer motion, because even if I was done, even if I did demand the Hellbringer take me back to Bhorglid that very minute, I still had to compete in the Trials. And I had my suspicions that no gift would be enough for Waddell now that I was a contender for the throne.

Still, the repetitive motion and the sensation of impact on my foot soothed me. My thoughts, a deep spiral unafraid to dive further into darkness, settled slightly. I swallowed the lump in my throat at the thought of Frode, who would wrap me in an embrace whenever he sensed my thoughts turning morbid.

Gods, I missed him. And Jac, too.

A rustling pulled me back to the present and I turned to see the Hellbringer discarding his cloak against the wall. “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice far softer than I wanted it to be.

He sighed, and I could sense his reluctance before he spoke. “Teach me the dance.”

For a long moment we stared at each other. “What?”

“I said teach me the dance. The one you were doing in the tavern that night when they took your friend to prison.” Through the distortion of his voice, I could tell he was gritting his teeth as he spoke. He waved a hand dismissively, as if it would make the request any less absurd. “Show me how to do it.”

I leaned my forehead against the wall. “You’re making fun of me.”

He snorted, and it sounded strange through the mask’s voice distortion. “If I was going to make fun of you, Princess, there are far easier ways to do it. Most of which don’t involve humiliating myself. So, no, I’m not teasing. I’m trying to show you this doesn’t have to be entirely miserable.”

I stood and faced him, arms crossed. “How does dancing have anything to do with my training?”

“It keeps you nimble, quick on your feet. Gets your blood pumping. You’ll have to dodge plenty of attacks during the Trials. This will help.” He moved a hand in the direction of the mask before it twitched and returned to his side, a motion I’d begun noticing over the past few days. If I ever managed to see his face, I bet he’d run that same hand through his hair whenever he was nervous—which,apparently, he was now. “Think about your brothers—the ones you’ll be fighting. Their methods of fighting will be the same because they learned from all the same people. But you? Your background in swordsmanship comes from entirely different sources. And as a dancer, you have a sense of movement few others possess.”

I looked at my feet, unwilling to answer him. Then the Hellbringer, Kryllian’s most feared general and possibly the most powerful man to ever live, extended a hand to me. His voice was soft around the edges when he said, “Please?”

In a trancelike state, I reached back. I stared at our hands, clasped together the way Arne’s and mine had been that night, and decided to untangle the strange cacophony of emotions whirling around in my head later.

I focused in on his request. The Hellbringer wanted to dance? Then we would dance.

I cleared my throat and focused on my feet, wishing for my dancing shoes. The line dance he’d watched was fairly simple, and it started with a classic step, one that wasn’t too difficult. I’d begin there. “Have you ever heard of a grapevine?”

“The plant? Sure.”

He was…entirely serious. My mouth fell open slightly, and for a moment I wondered whether to laugh. Instead, I forced myself to shake my head. “Different kind of grapevine. We’ll start there. Stand behind me and copy what I do.”

The Hellbringer was a painstakingly precise teacher, unwilling to accept anything less than perfection, unfailingly diligent in correcting any small mistakes I made. As I instructed him how to step to the side, then behind, then to the side again, it became clear he was listening closely to every word I said, determined to get it right.

“And then when you step together again, you bring your hands up and clap,” I said.

I didn’t need to see his face to know he was rolling his eyes. He brought his hands up and together so lightly, it didn’t make a sound.

I smirked. “I don’t think so. You don’t get to half-ass this, not when it’s my turn.”

He exhaled slowly. “You’re right.” His next attempt was loud enough to echo in the wide space.

“Excellent. After the two grapevines, partners turn to face each other.” He obliged, and I tried not to look into the gruesome eyes of the mask, gaping and empty. Focusing on his chest was easier.

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