Page 30 of Blood Beneath the Snow (Blood & Souls Duology #1)

30

My brothers and I were positioned far enough away from each other that as chants and jeers began to fall from the crowd, none of us moved.

Erik was studying Bjorn, who studied me. I drew Aloisa, the satisfying sound of metal sliding from its sheath like a balm against my ears. I wasn’t sure how to handle this, the very beginning of the battle. Did I hide and hope they killed each other first? Or did I plunge in and hope they didn’t team up on me?

My heart pounded beneath my ribs, and against my will my eyes darted to the stands—to S?ren, sitting right where I’d last seen him. Our eyes locked.

“This is your last chance, Revna.” Erik’s voice called out to me, bringing me back from my distraction. I narrowed my eyes at him as he twirled his greatsword, something akin to regret in his expression. “There is no possible way for you to win. I’ll be merciful if you’d like. I can kill you quickly.”

I was offended he would ask. But I was also sorely tempted.

Before I could reply, a lick of fire burst into being on the ground, tracing a path from Bjorn to Erik. My oldest brother leapt back, hissing as his shoes smoked.

But Bjorn wasn’t out to kill—not yet, at least. “How kind of you to offer her an easy out,” he spat. “But I want to play with my food.”

Erik and Bjorn circled each other like predators, my presence forgotten for a moment. A cold gust of wind sent goose bumps up my arms, and I gripped Aloisa’s hilt with all my strength. The crowd was divided—half cheering for Erik and the other half for Bjorn.

I scowled. This was nothing more than bloody sport to them. I took a step back from the impending battle, wondering what my best move was. Bjorn glanced my way for a half second, long enough to shoot me a feral grin. “Don’t worry, little sister. I’ll come for you once I’m done with him.”

Erik moved first. He lunged forward, swinging his sword in a long arc, but Bjorn brought his own weapon up to parry. The sound of metal on metal echoed over the roaring crowd.

Erik’s Lurae threw Bjorn back, but Bjorn twisted out of the way of a fatal blow and stretched out his hand to throw more flames at his attacker. Erik barely managed to drop to his knees and roll forward, swiping his weapon at Bjorn’s feet.

I couldn’t blink. If I did, I might miss the winning strike.

But my instincts screamed at me to hide, and I knew they were right.

I ran to the nearest boulder and began climbing as the fight continued behind me. The hiss of flame against the sand and Bjorn’s war cries filled my ears, but I forced myself to focus on the rock, quickly finding handholds until I was at the top, a few feet higher now than either of my brothers.

I took a shaky breath at the realization they were both much, much faster than me. If I had to fight Bjorn, I’d be ashes in moments. I watched Erik expertly dodge Bjorn’s blasts of fire, only possible because of his extensive years of military training.

As he leapt back and forth, trying to close the distance between himself and Bjorn, I gritted my teeth. If Erik didn’t win this duel, I was most certainly going to die today. I found myself wishing I’d made the Hellbringer teach me how to use a bow and arrow. A ranged weapon could have performed miracles from my vantage point. But I wasn’t willing to sacrifice one of my three daggers—not when I’d need them desperately when my remaining brother turned his attention to me.

Erik pulled out a knife he’d had hidden on his person and flung it at Bjorn. The fire wielder tried to dodge, but it had been an unexpected move, and the blade managed to slice his leg.

Bjorn hissed, his hand dropping to his wound, and Erik took his moment to dive. His greatsword came swinging toward Bjorn’s free arm, but Bjorn whipped around before it connected and blasted fire so hot that the blade melted.

The crowd was in an uproar. Erik looked stunned, and I wondered if anyone had known that Bjorn was so powerful.

Despite his shock, Erik barely missed a beat. He was up close, fighting Bjorn as tightly as possible so his younger brother wouldn’t have the chance to use his fire. Erik pulled his secondary weapon from its holster—a war hammer.

“Come on, Erik,” I muttered, clutching Aloisa’s hilt until my knuckles turned pale. “End him.”

The clamor of clashing metal echoed throughout the arena. The crowd was enjoying this.

I watched Bjorn grit his teeth, arms shuddering against Erik’s strength. Still, he managed to defend himself, though each clash of their weapons brought Bjorn’s arms lower and lower.

Finally, Erik forced Bjorn to his knees. My youngest brother let out a cry of fury and tried to push Erik away, but to no avail. Then Bjorn looked over and made eye contact with me. His face contorted into a smile and my stomach sank.

In a flurry of motion so fast I nearly missed it, Bjorn twisted on his knees out of the locked weapon position in which Erik had him cornered. Before Erik had the chance to turn and strike again, Bjorn summoned his magic.

Flames pulsed from his fingers and met flesh.

The crowd screamed, not in victory but in horror, and I screamed with them as I watched Erik’s body char under Bjorn’s hands until flesh melted away to reveal bone and his ashes drifted away in the wind.

The crowd quieted. I swallowed the sour taste of bile.

And Bjorn tilted his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed.

I dry heaved onto the boulder, but the battle didn’t stop. There was no silence to honor Erik’s short, misguided life. I hadn’t even recovered before the first hint of flame flashed in my peripheral vision and I stumbled out of the way.

All around me people screamed.

Bjorn’s hair shone bright fire red under the noon sun. Nausea roiled in my stomach, and I had to work to keep myself from vomiting right then and there.

He would kill me the same way he killed Erik. But with me, Bjorn would take his time. I tried to ignore my shaking hands, but as another pulse of fire forced me to dodge the other way, I turned, panic flaring in my chest.

There was no escape. There was no getting out of this.

I hefted Aloisa and the crowd exploded. If I had thought them loud before, this was a tsunami of sound barraging my ears.

I glanced toward the box where I knew Father sat, his face impassive. What must Mother think of me: a foolish twenty-one-year-old Nilurae, here to defeat her power-hungry brother? I couldn’t do this. I had to do this.

An image flashed through my mind of Bjorn wearing Father’s crown and seated on the throne, ordering us to conquer more countries until we dominated the world. Why wouldn’t a war-hungry nation want that?

But I didn’t. I wanted a choice. I wanted to see what it was like to live a different life than the one my father had organized so precisely for me and for this country.

I stepped toward the edge of the boulder, looked down at Bjorn’s smug face, and imagined life as Queen of Bhorglid. Not married to Volkan. Not subjected to my father’s prejudice. Not a slave to the priests’ broken ideals.

Bjorn grinned, his armor flashing as he took his stance. “I won’t lie to you, sister,” he called out. “I truly am looking forward to this.” His smile was blackened where the flame swallowing Erik whole had scorched it. I swallowed, pushing away the image of my oldest brother defenseless against Bjorn’s fire.

“And yet, you aren’t willing to fight me without your magic,” I said. With a shake of my head and a click of my tongue, I radiated my disapproval. “That only confirms I’m the better fighter.”

His eyes narrowed. “You want to duel without magic? Fine.” He extended his arms wide. “Be my guest. No godtouch from me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re lying.”

He laughed. “What reason would I have to lie? I have every confidence I can beat you, and so does Father. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be dead already, like our poor brothers.” He gestured toward Erik’s remains.

I clenched my teeth and slid carefully down to ground level. Then I got in position, sword at the ready. Maybe I would die.

But at least I would die fighting.

Bjorn drew his sword. People screamed their excitement. Couldn’t wait to see me butchered, then fried, I supposed.

My eyes were on Bjorn, watching him carefully as he adjusted his hold and took a few steps toward me, raising his sword to slice through my throat.

Easy enough.

Blood pounding through my veins, I threw my sword up to meet his blade, parrying the way the Hellbringer had taught me.

The connection of our blades jarred me more than I expected—Bjorn was strong and it showed. When our swords collided, my very bones vibrated. My gritted teeth clattered and sent pain running through my jaw. There was no glimmer of sympathy in my brother’s eyes as they bored into mine.

It sparked fresh anger in me. I escaped the hold and began to swing carefully, gaining a couple feet of ground.

Bjorn showed no sign of surprise. Did he know I would be such an equal match? His parries were swift and precise. No more movement than was absolutely necessary.

He watched carefully, deflecting every stroke before finally pushing back. Within a matter of seconds, I had given up twenty feet. The roar of the crowd’s approval whipped around me as a breeze caught my hair.

I swore internally, arms burning from the force necessary to keep Bjorn from slicing my head off. Even if I could push back, his arms were far longer than mine and he had been practicing the art of fighting for years.

Panic filled my lungs and I struggled to breathe as we exchanged blows back and forth, over and over. I used my speed, size, and dancer’s footwork to my advantage, jumping to dodge his blows where possible, moving quickly enough that he was forced to follow me.

I cannot die today.

The thought was desperate and nauseating. I forced myself to remain present, and the realization hit me:

I was going to lose. The competition and my life.

I could imagine Bjorn’s wicked grin as he took his time slicing me open, carefully lighting me on fire. Watching me burn to death. He would take pleasure in my screams; I knew that much.

Forcing myself back to the present, I moved in time to block an attempt to stab me in the abdomen. Fear laced my every movement. I was growing tired. It was only a matter of time now before Bjorn overpowered me.

Then, before I could move to block the arc of his sword, a searing pain echoed in a flash across my upper arm. A small cry escaped me, and I resisted the urge to cover the wound with my other hand. His sword had sliced my bicep. How had he broken through my defenses?

Warm blood trickled down my arm as I hefted Aloisa again, our blades clashing together. “Why don’t we turn up the heat?” Bjorn asked, his face wicked.

Flames erupted along his blade, reflecting in his dark eyes. I stumbled backward, losing my footing, hating myself for being Nilurae.

“You said no magic,” I snapped through gritted teeth.

He smirked. “You should have known better. I’ve never kept my promises.”

I couldn’t resist glancing up at the audience to where my father watched. He smiled, waiting for Bjorn to gut me so he could move on with his life. Without a disobedient daughter in his way.

An idea flashed through my mind, and without a second thought I turned and bolted, running as fast as I could away from Bjorn, dodging obstacles along the way.

The crowd’s noise overwhelmed my senses as I fled to the other side of the arena, breathing heavily. If I could get far enough away, maybe I could nail him with one of my daggers.

But I hadn’t counted on the strength of his Lurae. I felt the flames lick at my ankles as a path of fire formed behind me. My throat closed up. I pulled one of my daggers from my belt and turned, blindly hurling it in Bjorn’s direction. I missed, and the crowd laughed.

Exhaustion threatened to trip me, but I moved fast—until a wall of flame exploded in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. I turned to bolt the other way but was met by flames on all sides. Bjorn walked through the wall of fire, sword sheathed again. He held a single slim dagger, flipping it over and over in his hand. I threw one of my own in his direction. My aim was true, and it scraped across the side of his face, but he appeared not to notice it.

Blood dripped like tears down his cheek and he smiled. “Come, now, sister. Surely you never thought you could win this.”

Shame flooded my cheeks.

I had thought I could win. I’d counted on Bjorn’s arrogance being his downfall, but his Lurae overpowered me at every turn. There was no way out.

I drew my sword again, engaging him in battle once more. A step-ball-change kept the flesh of my leg safe from a more desperate strike of his. For a long moment it seemed I might be winning.

And then he disarmed me in a flash. His foot swept under my legs, and I couldn’t think fast enough to recover my balance. I stumbled, my palms colliding with the dirt. Rolling over was a mistake—within seconds, Bjorn had grabbed my wrists in one hand, and planting a knee on my rib cage, pinned me to the ground. A hiss made its way through my lips and Bjorn put his hand over my mouth.

“Shh,” he coaxed. “I have a gift for you.”

He held his dagger over my face and I closed my eyes, waiting for death, waiting to be incinerated, but instead a sharp pain pierced my cheek. I cried out as I felt the dagger draw a thin, sharp line across my face, right where my war paint decorated my cheeks and forehead. The X-shaped marking, so delicately drawn there that morning, now streamed blood.

I screamed and writhed under the knife, but Bjorn murmured, “Be quiet, little Revna,” as he carved my face like it was a piece of wood.

Eventually, he drew his arm back and admired his handiwork. He was kind enough to let me rub the blood from my eyes before he pinned my wrists in an iron grip once more. I sobbed, the incisions burning when my tears ran over the torn flesh.

Shame roiled in my stomach. Shame and fear. I was no warrior. No queen.

I hoped S?ren had left. That the man who had ruined my life—the man I might have loved—wasn’t watching my last moments.

“Please,” I whispered to Bjorn as he lowered his knife to the base of my throat.

He clicked his tongue softly. “It’s too late for that.”

I took a deep breath—one of my last—and gathered my courage. I might die, but let them not forget the first Nilurae to fight in their Trials.

That thought sparked anger inside of me, replacing my fear, and without thinking I spat the blood and saliva in my mouth into Bjorn’s face.

He reared back and I slipped my wrists from his hold, grabbed the last knife in my arm sheath, and shoved it upward with all my strength through the gap in Bjorn’s armor, directly into his heart.

My brother’s eyes went wide, and he gaped at the weapon lodged in his chest. Our eyes locked for a moment.

“You bitch ,” he whispered.

I pulled the knife from his body, and with a cough and a spurt of blood he fell forward on his face.

Dead.