Page 29 of Blood Beneath the Snow (Blood & Souls Duology #1)

29

Dawn found me awake, dressed in my leathers and triple-checking the straps on my armor. My hair was pulled back into a single long braid I wrapped around itself and pinned at the nape of my neck.

The castle was eerily silent. I’d expected bustling halls, servants arranging everything for the coronation tomorrow morning, but it was so quiet, I wondered if the place was empty.

My thoughts turned to Jac. Had he made it out of the city without being caught? Considering his Lurae, I would have been surprised if he hadn’t. The only one who might have turned on him was Volkan. I didn’t want to entertain the idea of such a betrayal, but I had been blind to the Hellbringer’s true motives. I wouldn’t discount the possibility of Volkan’s true loyalty lying elsewhere.

There was an hour or so until the Trials were to begin. I glanced at myself in the mirror, wishing I looked a little less plain—less Nilurae somehow. But I shook my head. No. I needed to look like my people as much as possible today. Even if today meant my death.

I turned to leave my room, hands twitching, when my eyes caught on something resting on a shelf. A jar of bright red paint, the same kind the priests used at their rituals. The only use I’d ever had for it was to highlight my lips. Today I had another idea.

I grabbed the jar and a brush, then turned back to the mirror, where I carefully painted a large X on my face, the lines intersecting across the bridge of my nose.

The symbol of Aloisa.

I raised my chin. She had dared to claim me once and I had escaped her grasp. Why not tempt fate another time?

Plus, my father and brothers would hate it.

There was a light rapping on the open door, and I turned to see Volkan dressed in his finery. “There you are,” he said. “I worried when I didn’t see you at all yesterday. Your father said you were out, but I wasn’t sure whether to believe him.”

“I was busy,” I said, facing my reflection once more. “And I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

Our gazes met in the corner of the mirror. He nodded and sighed, running a hand over his hair. “I heard what happened to Frode,” he said. “I came to offer my condolences.”

Condolences meant nothing. My pulse was erratic. Before I registered the motion, my shaking hand had pulled a knife from my belt and turned to him.

Volkan’s eyes widened and he held up his hands. His throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously. “Let’s be civil about this.”

I stepped closer to him. “Did you know?” My voice trembled. “That he would turn on me?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear, Revna. I didn’t know anything. The only time I saw either of you was when I came to heal you. That was it.”

I relaxed my stance but didn’t put the knife away. “He killed Frode. Instead of me. I don’t know why.”

Volkan shook his head, lips pursed in bitterness. “I don’t know if his intention was ever to kill you. Maybe it was an intimidation tactic, a way to convince your father and brothers of your innocence. After all, the queen wants you to win, doesn’t she?”

Yes , I wanted to scream, she does, but it isn’t enough to excuse him from murdering my brother.

He must have seen something frightening in my expression because he took a half step back. “That was stupid of me to say. Please forgive me. I can’t say I knew what he was thinking when he killed Frode. And you have every right to feel betrayed. And lied to. Because that’s what he did.” He sighed. “And if I had known, I would have stopped him. No matter what it took.”

There was truth in his eyes. As he stood between the stone blocks making up my doorframe, my anger cooled for a moment. I slid my knife back into its sheath. “We were both fools,” I said, grabbing my sword. I took one long last look at the bedroom. Would I ever be back?

As I walked to the stairwell, I heard Volkan murmur from behind me, “Yes. We were.”

Located beyond the edge of the city, the arena’s giant steel walls were taller than the castle. The Bhorglid flag waved in the breeze from its post at the top of the structure. Dark clouds swirled overhead, and I grimaced as I viewed it from where I sat on my horse.

The arena’s appearance was as cold and unforgiving as the occasions it hosted. Here, my father had competed to win the throne decades ago, slaughtering his two brothers without a second thought. It was where traitors were executed for their crimes. I swallowed hard as I rode nearer, staring over one of the rolling hills at the massive expanse of metal before me.

Realizing the freezing sandy floor of the arena might be where I took my last breath made me stiffen. My blood might stain the sand permanently.

There was no time to back out now. Though every part of me screamed to turn around, I clicked my heels gently on my horse’s sides and rode to the arena.

By the time I made it to the bottom of the hill, it was swarming with people. Travelers from all over the country had arrived to watch the Trials and learn who would be their next ruler. They were wrapped in fur blankets to shield them against the harsh wind. Even the priests had come from cities far and wide to honor the sacred ritual sacrifice of heirs.

I realized suddenly all of this had started with a disrupted ritual sacrifice. Perhaps the gods had a twisted sense of humor; perhaps by saving one intended sacrifice, they balanced the scales by putting me in her place.

As I rode through the crowd, excited shouts turned to whispers at the sight of my face, covered in war paint.

I wondered what they thought. Were they as angry as my parents? Disgusted that a Nilurae would try for the throne?

Were there any who believed in me? Any who wanted me to win, like Jac and Frode did?

I resisted the urge to cower beneath their stares, holding my head high.

Let them see me. Let them whisper. Let them tell their stories and spread their rumors. What did it matter? By the end of the day, I would be queen or I would be dead. Either way, their opinions wouldn’t matter.

I left my horse at the stables east of the arena and made my way toward the entrance. As I approached, I kept a steady grip on the hilt of my sword, my other hand hanging freely at my side. I didn’t bother to meet anyone’s stare.

The king and queen, both dressed in finery, waited at the edge of the arena, greeting people as they entered. Father’s crown was perched on his head, a golden circlet with elegant twisting knots etched on every side. The peaks along the front of the metal were adorned with bloodred rubies. Next to my parents stood a priest. I made sure to glare at him as I passed.

This would all be over soon enough.

Father’s lips curled into a snarl when he saw the paint on my face. Mother didn’t spare me a glance. Her white gown and pale skin stood out against her black hair.

My father moved to the side so the entrance was blocked. I glowered at him. Murmurs flew through the crowd behind me.

“You dishonor our family by competing today,” he said, his voice rough.

“Good,” I said, meeting his gaze with my own. I hoped he could see the fire there, the hatred for his cowardice. “I compete for myself, not for this family.” My smile was deadly as I leaned in to whisper, “No matter how today ends, I will never have to see you again.”

I pushed past him, walking between him and my mother into the arena. The crowd parted for me, but I heard my name hissed over and over.

A few turns later, I arrived in a waiting area. My brothers and I would stay there until the Trials began. Erik and Bjorn were already there, sitting on benches haphazardly propped up in the dirt. At the sight of me, Bjorn sneered, and I shot him a glare that I hoped would silence him for the time being.

I stepped up to the wrought iron gate preventing us from entering the fighting pit before the competition was to begin. The bars were cold against my palms. While I looked at the arena before me, I kept half an eye on Bjorn. The last thing I needed was to be knifed before the Trials even began.

Above us, the sound of footsteps clanging against the metal stairs echoed along with the murmurings of the crowd. The seats ascending around the battleground filled steadily, mostly with citizens. Some visitors observed as well.

I shuddered, then turned my gaze to the more important part of the scene before me: the arena itself.

It had been changed for the Trials. What was usually an empty pit—a stone floor covered in a layer of sand to make blood from executions easier to clean up—was now a study in obstacles. There were large boulders scattered around to offer cover. There were also a few tall wooden poles erected in strategic places. They had no hand- or footholds, but were available for us to climb and perch on.

I’d gained a lot of muscle in my time with the Hellbringer, but I wasn’t sure if I would be able to climb the poles. I pushed the thought from my head for now, deciding to come back to that option later.

Most concerning was the large trench carved into the ground around the arena. One good push and any of us could be sent tumbling ten feet down, unable to scramble back to level ground. I’d be a sitting duck if I fell, especially as I was the shortest of the three of us.

I moved away from the gate and sat across from my brothers, leaning back against the wall. The vibrations of footfalls through the metal echoed in my head. In a few hours this would all be over and we could move on with our lives. One of us, at least.

For the first time, the thought of dying didn’t scare me. Maybe I would lose to Bjorn or Erik. But I wouldn’t be shackled to someone else’s will. Perhaps dying would prove to be peaceful in the end.

The footsteps continued to reverberate, pounding like a drum. How many Nilurae were here? Halvar and I had discussed our options the day before, locked in the cellar by candlelight before visiting Freja. He didn’t know Jac had run, but the moment we entered the fighting ring, it would become clear. If I won—by some miracle—then our plan would move forward. Nilurae would rush for the priests, and we would do what we could to win control of our kingdom.

If I lost…well, they would try anyway. And probably be annihilated in the process.

I imagined my body lying on the ground, half of the crowd rushing to the king’s seat, armed only with steel weapons and the element of surprise. No magic to be found.

It would be easier if I could win it all.

“Where is Jac?” Erik asked, peering out toward the arena’s entrance, craning his neck to search for him. The flood of people entering had slowed, only a few stragglers still arriving. Two acolytes manned the entrance. It was the lowest of jobs; they wouldn’t even get to watch us kill each other.

I shrugged, feigning ignorance. “I haven’t seen him all morning. I thought he came down with you two.”

Erik’s frown was deep. “No, I haven’t seen him either.”

Bjorn huffed a laugh. “I didn’t take Jac for a deserter. I suppose, now that Frode is gone, someone had to be the coward between us.”

I clenched my hands and raised an eyebrow. It took all my fortitude to ignore the jab, but I managed. “Jac, a deserter? Not likely.”

“I don’t think so either,” Erik said, shaking his head. The creases in his brow were pronounced. For the first time I noticed dark circles under his eyes. Had he been sleeping poorly despite the gods’ reassurances that even his death would be holy? “I hope he’s all right.”

Part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the statement. The hypocrisy was stark, like blood against snow—kindness until it required change, care for only those who were already gods-blessed.

From inside the arena a trumpet sounded, quieting the crowd. My heart raced, and I tugged on the loose edges of my armor, waiting for my father to start the competition.

Father’s voice echoed through the chamber from outside. “Welcome to the thirteenth Bloodshed Trials,” he announced. The crowd cheered and I shivered as a cold wind blew through the metal tunnel. “Here you will see my children compete for the throne. They will all enter the arena—but only one will leave. The gods have blessed this ritual sacrifice of heirs, and he who triumphs will be blessed.”

Whispers of anticipation crawled through the crowd. I scowled at the use of he in reference to the winner. There was no acknowledgment that I was even competing. For the first time, though, I realized being here would have destroyed Frode. He would have tried to fight, but with so many people crowded around us, he would have gone out of his mind. Unable to make a difference. Erik and Bjorn would have killed him slowly and painfully.

Perhaps it was for the best that I was here alone.

The iron gate creaked open and Erik stood, straightening his shoulders, double-checking his armor and his weapons. He cracked his knuckles. There was no glance back as he strode into the arena, waving at the cheering crowd. Bjorn waited for the cries to die down before he walked out, too. The roars that greeted his entrance were significantly louder.

I swallowed, lightly touching the hilt of my sword and each throwing knife, one strapped to each bicep. A shaky breath wasn’t enough to calm my racing heart, especially as Bjorn turned and offered me a smile with a tinge of bloodlust in the shine of his teeth.

I was going to die.

When I stepped into the arena, there was no cheering—only a chorus of boos, which I ignored. I scanned the crowd, catching the occasional glimpse of priestly white scattered among the citizens.

I took courage knowing Halvar was somewhere in the stands, the Nilurae organized and ready to fight when the time came. The fact that the priests were scattered would hopefully give the godforsaken a slight advantage.

When I brought my gaze back down to the bottom of the stands, a familiar visage stared back at me. My heart stopped in my chest.

S?ren. He was here, his face lined with tension, eyes serious. The black cloak—the same one I’d slept under and admired—covered his shoulders. The rest of his clothing was all black, but it was strange to see him without his armor.

It was all too easy to imagine him standing next to me again, directing me to stand tall. His Hellbringer mask was nowhere to be seen, but still I wondered how Bhorglid’s biggest enemy could sit with its citizens unnoticed. Couldn’t they feel it emanating from him? The animosity, the calculated coldness of stolen lives? The sight of him made my heart stutter, and I resisted the urge to take a step back. We stared at each other, and I curbed my snarl.

He’d come to watch me die.

Disappointed you didn’t get to do it yourself? I wished he could hear my thoughts, hoped he could see them clearly on my face. Here to make sure I scream before I perish?

When no one followed me into the pit, the crowd’s cheers morphed into whispers. They started from the top of the audience and trickled down, much like the way Jac’s shape-shifting took over his body. His disappearance had not gone unnoticed. My eyes flicked away from S?ren and the distracting way his appearance made me dizzy.

I took a deep breath. Jac was gone now, far away, safe from the wrath of our father and brothers. Frode was dead, hopefully somewhere better than this. I didn’t need to worry about either of them anymore.

And I could ignore the Hellbringer. Ignore Frode’s murderer, here to see me make a spectacle of myself.

Bjorn crossed his arms over his chest, smirking. Erik strode to the west side of the arena, studying the obstacles around him with a keen eye. I looked up at the royal platform, where the king and queen sat with their retinue of priests. I spotted Volkan there too, looking uneasy.

Four priests made up the last of the royal designation. They stared into the pit, and Erik and Bjorn didn’t so much as flinch at their veiled gazes. Standing in front of the crowd at assigned checkpoints were the few silencers my father employed. Their magic allowed them to keep the crowd from interfering with their Lurae, if any dared.

“It appears my third son has done the dishonor of running from his fate,” my father drawled. The audience listened in hushed silence. “When we find him, he will be executed on sight.”

The Lurae on all sides cheered at this declaration. My lip curled, and I made no attempt to hide my disgust.

“The audience may not interfere with the battle,” the king continued. “There are no other rules except that only one of my children may leave alive. Let the Bloodshed Trials begin.”