Page 2 of Blood Beneath the Snow (Blood & Souls Duology #1)

2

By the time I felt a new set of eyes on me, carefully tracking my every movement, the early signs of a storm were blowing in.

I’d been wandering the streets for the last hour, fully aware the priests had been following me since they set me free. They didn’t blend in well in the lower side of the city, where the buildings were still constructed with dark wood from the trees growing in the forest to the west instead of the expensive gray stone the godtouched were able to build their homes from. The white robes made them look like haunting specters.

I could sense them itching to punish me, anxious to slice their scythes through my cloak and flesh until my blood pooled in the street. Swift revenge for undermining their power. If they did, I doubted anyone in my family would care, except maybe my brothers Frode and Jac. But the acolytes had a king to please, and since my mother had declared my punishment his choice, they wouldn’t make a move.

The decoy fabric was now wrapped around my neck as a scarf to shield me from the descending snowflakes, leaving my hands unfettered and protecting my battered face from the cold. It allowed my broken nose to peek out, and the freezing wind eased the pain a bit. My sword and knife were sheathed under my cloak, and I fidgeted with the hilts, wondering whether Freja had made it back to the Sharpened Axe—the tavern Halvar ran on the godforsaken side of town—with the infant. If she’d been caught, I’d never forgive myself.

On either side of the street, I watched godtouched women walk in and out of shops, gossiping with their friends about the newest army recruits and advancements. The few soldiers who were home for a month in between war calls glared at me from where they stood guard. All wore bright cloaks and makeup. Some were adorned with copious amounts of jewelry.

The energy in the market plaza was different than usual. The godforsaken ran businesses here, homes often built above the bottom level of each shop. Instead of the depressing, soul-sucking sadness that usually permeated every aspect of the streets, today there was a lightness in the air. Godforsaken smiled at each other and dealt with the snide comments from their godtouched customers with an ease I’d never seen before.

But with the aura of relief came backlash. The godtouched were in a foul mood, especially knowing I’d stolen away their sacrifice of blood and life. The priests would now pivot to teaching how the pantheon would retaliate in anger because of my actions. And because the godtouched couldn’t take their anger out on me, they would take it out on my people.

I allowed my thoughts to encompass me, wondering if there was any drastic measure I could take to turn the fury of the upper class to me while I was still here for another month before my fiancé arrived to whisk me away to another country. But my senses sharpened when the hair on the back of my neck stood up straight, my hand reaching automatically for the hilt of my sword.

I knew the feeling of unfriendly eyes chasing my movements as well as any godforsaken.

Turning in a slow circle, I observed the sights around me. Past the plaza and into the part of town where the other godforsaken lived, the cobblestone streets were fairly empty. Everyone was inside, preparing for the incoming storm. The inches of snow covering the road showed footprints treading back and forth with the occasional set from a stray cat or a horse alongside them. Priests stood watch every few houses, their scythes reflecting the lazy flakes making their way down from the sky. The shops and homes lining this stretch of road appeared the same as always. The priests who had been tailing me had finally seen fit to vanish back to their posts.

No one was paying me any attention.

But the nudge in my gut persisted, and I knew better than to ignore it. Warily, I continued forward, relaxing my stance and forcing myself to appear calm and unperturbed. Perhaps it was a godtouched trying to locate Freja by following me. Invisibility was a rare ability, but not unheard-of. Whoever this bastard was, I would find them.

Taking an unpredictable path was easy. I knew the godforsaken streets better than I knew the interior of the palace. Twisting and turning down abandoned back alleys filled with mud and refuse, I did my best to lure my follower out of the safety of their distant hiding spot. If they were truly intent on catching up with me, I would make them work for it.

When I knew they’d have to be sprinting to keep pace with me, I fell back into the doorframe of a shop. Dark clouds had descended as I wove my path, and the alleys were submerged in shadow. Now I had the advantage.

I waited, wondering who would dare pursue me so blatantly. Everyone knew I was the princess—the godforsaken royal, the shame of her family, the bargaining chip that would save us from starving before we could win the war. Who would dare seek me out and attempt to harm me before the alliance with Faste was finalized?

I ran through the options in my mind. The priests had already proven they couldn’t touch me, and I knew they would never go against my father. The godtouched hated me, but not as much as they wanted to eat a full meal again or overtake Kryllian. Perhaps one of my brothers was playing another nasty trick on me—but they were all still at the war front for another three days. I quietly pulled my knife from its sheath, my heart pounding a bruising rhythm against my ribcage.

Another moment passed before a dark shadow descended over my hiding place. I didn’t hesitate. I leapt out, brandishing my dagger, fully prepared to stab my pursuer…

But the alleyway was empty. My eyes caught the flash of a cloak disappearing around the corner of the shop.

Not just a pursuer, but a cowardly one. I growled and took off running after them, racing down the alley. I spared a half thought of gratitude for the winter wind in my face, keeping my broken nose from swelling too horribly. We raced past the back doors of shops and houses, and when we finally reached the end of the road, they stopped abruptly in the open, causing their hood to fall and expose the back of their head.

I froze at the sight. The person was wearing a dark mask that covered their entire head, obscuring their face. But I still knew exactly who it was. I would recognize that carved visage anywhere, as would anyone else in Bhorglid.

And him, being here? It was impossible.

Nonetheless, fear crept up my spine and I gasped, taking a swift step back—

“Revna!”

The call broke me from my reverie and I whirled to see Halvar leaning out the back door of the Sharpened Axe. “The hell are you doing? We’ve been waiting for you.”

“I…” I turned back around, expecting to see the masked figure waiting in the street, but they were gone. My pulse thudded in my veins. Surely there was no way I’d imagined seeing him . But I shook my head. “Right. Coming.”

Halvar held the door for me, but I still had to squeeze past his large frame to make my way into the back room of the tavern. Once I ensured no eyes lingered in the shadows of the room, I pulled open the trapdoor in the floor, revealing the ladder beneath it.

It took mere seconds to slide down the rungs and land gently with my feet on the floor. Freja sat in the closest corner, half immersed in darkness, rocking the rescued baby back and forth in her arms.

The child whimpered but didn’t scream. Good. The last thing we needed was to be found now, after we’d gotten so far.

Halvar slid down the ladder behind me, tugging on a rope until the trapdoor above closed with a thud. He struck a match and used it to light the few lamps in the vast hidden space with its stashes of weapons, then sat down with his back against the wall. I moved to sit next to him, bumping my shoulder against his. “We did it,” I said softly.

He offered me a small smile. “We did. You two did. The little one is safe for the time being.”

“The plan was yours,” I reminded him. “You take at least a third of the credit.”

Halvar chuckled and ran a hand through his graying beard. When he’d first taken me—a godforsaken princess who knew nothing of the world she belonged to—under his wing eleven years ago, his hair had been dark, and his energy had been endless. Now there were crow’s-feet around both his eyes and an air of exhaustion he couldn’t seem to shake. Bitterness rose in me when I considered how time was stealing away the only father figure in my life.

Freja shushed us and we both lowered our voices. “Were you caught?” she mouthed at me.

I nodded and smirked, sending a throb through my nose. “What gave it away?”

She raised an eyebrow and scrunched up her own nose. I chuckled and placed a gentle finger to mine, wincing when it made an ache bloom beneath the swollen flesh. “I’ll have to see if I can bribe the palace healer to work his magic on me.” I sighed at the thought of trying to convince the crotchety old man to use his godtouched gift on one so lowly as I.

“Ingrid and Anders are anxious to see their little girl again,” Halvar said, nodding to the infant. “How did the streets look? Still too many priests to sneak her to the edge of the city?”

I nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. I say we wait another few hours, as long as we can keep her fed until then. After things calm down, they should be able to leave the city without too much hassle.” I frowned, thinking of the person who’d followed me through the alley and led me on a chase. If he was who I thought he was, then perhaps there was need for even more caution.

“What happened?” Freja asked.

I glanced up, hating how obvious my thoughts were most of the time. “I was on my way here, but I felt someone watching me. Following me. I waited to try and ambush them, but then they fled before I got the chance. I ran after them, their hood fell off, and…” I shook my head. “I could have sworn I was looking at the Hellbringer.”

Freja and Halvar were both silent. Then the latter finally spoke. “The Hellbringer? The one fighting on the front lines of the war?”

I nodded, feeling slightly ridiculous. “Yes. He wore the mask all the soldiers talk about—the one carved to look like a wolf’s skull.”

They were quiet for a few heartbeats before my best friend spoke up again. “Anyone can wear a mask, Revna,” she said softly. “And besides, if the Hellbringer were here, the war front would be, too. Maybe it was someone trying to scare you. He would have used his godtouch to kill you instantly if it were really him.”

I mulled it over. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to take advantage of me with a scare tactic, but it was the first time anyone had bothered to disguise themselves as the culprit. The feeling of his hidden gaze following me as I walked the streets remained, and I pulled my shoulders back as if it would help.

“Maybe,” I conceded. “But you’re right. The whole city would be corpses in the streets if it really were him.”

The Hellbringer was known for his terrifying godtouch—the ability to kill anyone in sight with no more than a flick of his finger. He’d single-handedly turned the tide of the war in Kryllian’s favor. My father had been trying to capture him for almost seven years, to no avail. The general was a difficult man to find.

No one knew his true identity, despite his powerful magic. I thought again of the dark, blank eyes of the carved mask staring at me from the street. They’d bored into me, looking into the depths of my soul.

Halvar spoke up. “They’re saying he’s Aloisa-touched. That he might be Callum reincarnated.” He used his knife to clean the dirt from underneath his nails, nonchalant as ever.

I raised an eyebrow. Callum, the original Silencer. Legend had it he could take a person’s godtouch. Stop their ability to use magic with nothing more than a snap of his fingers. I didn’t put much stock in the stories, but the godtouched spoke of him in hushed, fearful voices when his name came up in temple worship or speeches by the priests. They told their children stories of Callum when they misbehaved.

While all the pantheon blessed the godtouched with gifts and supernatural abilities, Aloisa, the goddess of the soul, had never given a human any gift. Callum was the exception. A godtouch was innate, part of a person’s soul. Only her blessing could offer such a powerful ability.

Callum and his wife, Arraya, were also the first to claim they spoke to the gods. They had believed themselves superior to the godforsaken—to the extent that they’d coined the terms in the first place. They created the Holy Order of Priests and attempted to take over the Fjordlands. Only swift opposition from two rebel groups, now our neighboring countries, kept them from succeeding.

They’d been killed in the war soon after the Fjordlands were split into three. Only their demise had allowed an unsteady peace to reign.

“I haven’t heard that,” I said, unable to suppress a frown.

Halvar gave me a sympathetic look. “You haven’t heard about it because you don’t run in the lowest of the godforsaken circles. Not like we do.” He gestured to himself and Freja.

I nodded, acquiescing with a frown. He was right. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape my family’s influence, which meant none of the godforsaken truly trusted me with any confidential information. “If he’s Callum reincarnate, does that make Kryllian the rightful country to rule the Fjordlands?”

Freja looked thoughtful, the light flickering over her dark skin as she leaned back against the wall, still cradling the newborn. “Probably depends on who you ask. I’m sure there are others like us who believe the whole story is hogwash. Then there’s the group who believe we’re the ones who rightfully own the land—Callum’s worthiest ancestors.”

“Meaning all of the godtouched in Bhorglid,” I said.

She nodded. “And then there have to be some godforsaken who wonder if this means the priests have it wrong. Who wonder if maybe Kryllian is supposed to rule it all.”

I sighed and rubbed a hand over my forehead. The priests would undoubtedly twist the rumors to their advantage as soon as they could manage. My chest constricted at the thought of the godforsaken who believed everything the religious leaders taught. Many—like Freja, Halvar, and me—kept up with the facade of corrupt religion only to prevent drawing undue attention. But plenty of others truly believed they were lesser than their godtouched peers.

Halvar hummed, his brow furrowed. “Regardless, the three of us know the truth: Callum was just a man in history who had an incredible ability that he used to persecute those with less power than him. And now, society looks like this.” He gestured to the rest of the basement, where we hid with an infant born to godforsaken parents. If anything spoke to the cruelty of our world today, it was this. “The greedy godtouched bastards never feel like it’s enough, so they keep warring and warring and warring until one day someone wins for a time. And then it starts all over again.”

It was easy to hear the frustration in his voice. I placed a gentle hand on his knee and he sighed. “Sorry. I get fed up with it is all.”

“I know.” Not for the first time, my heart ached, wishing I could do more for Halvar and Freja. And if the rest of the godforsaken benefited, that wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.

He turned to meet my eyes with a half smile. “If we had a godforsaken queen, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

I moved my hand back to my lap and sighed. “It’s not possible. They’d never let me compete; you know that. And if they did, I wouldn’t win. Not against four men with incredibly powerful godtouches.”

“And even if she did win, the nearest priest would shoot her dead before she made her first move as queen,” Freja pointed out.

“Disrupting the rituals will have to be enough for our little rebellion.” I stood and stretched. “Regardless, you’re all right. There’s no way the Hellbringer is in the city. Whoever it was must have been playing a nasty trick.”

“Exactly,” Freja said. I watched her shoulders relax slightly. Had she been afraid? “Headed back home?”

“Yes. I’m late to meet Arne. He’ll kick my ass in training if I don’t get there soon.”

“And I’ll see you back here tonight, you hear?” Halvar ordered.

I grinned as I began to ascend the ladder leading to the trapdoor in the ceiling. “I wouldn’t miss it.”