Page 31 of Blood Beneath the Snow (Blood & Souls Duology #1)

31

Silence descended like a blanket over the arena—but only for a heartbeat.

Snow began to fall from the sky as a raging war cry echoed from the stands.

I looked up just in time to see Halvar slit the throat of the priest sitting nearest him. In slow motion the body tumbled, white cloth stained red, through the crowd. With a sickening thud, it flipped over the edge of the stands and landed in the trench carved along the sides of the arena floor.

I pushed Bjorn’s deadweight off me and stood. Every muscle in my body trembled, and blood was still coursing freely down my face. But I raised Aloisa into the air, blade pointed high as cries began to echo through the crowd. “For the godforsaken!” I screamed, hoping someone—anyone—could hear me.

Chaos erupted and the arena became a stampede. Priests descended from their seats and clambered onto the sand, drawing scythes and rushing for me. The silencers were still in their positions, looking confused, and I was grateful. Their presence would significantly decrease the amount of damage the priests could do from a distance.

My traitorous eyes looked for the Hellbringer. He smiled smugly, sitting with one leg crossed over the other, leaning back as if the swarming crowd didn’t bother him. For the briefest moment I considered ignoring the priests, clawing my way over the edge of the stands, and lunging for him, forcing my blade through his stomach. The idea thrilled me.

But before I could move, Mira emerged into existence beside him. She raised an eyebrow at me before grabbing his wrist. In less than a heartbeat, the two of them were gone.

Good. A distraction was the last thing I needed.

Only half looking, I swung Aloisa up to crack against the blade of a scythe, then swiftly sliced the wooden handle in half. The priest holding it stumbled and I kicked him in the stomach, sending him falling backward. One of the others rushing at me tripped over him.

They may have attended the military academy, but many of these religious figures hadn’t used their weapons for battle in more than a decade. I had the clear advantage now. I whirled and parried, blinking blood from my eyes. Seriously, fuck Bjorn. He had to give me such an inconvenient injury before he died, making my vision blurry when it really mattered.

Adrenaline surged in my veins, the only thing keeping me upright through my exhaustion. The sounds of battle echoed from the stands, and I spared half a thought to hope Halvar was safe.

The next priest to lunge for me was not as lucky as the others before him. My training kicked in, muscle memory fresh from weeks in the abandoned prison, and the moment he faltered, I shoved my blade through his gut.

The sagging weight of him threatened to pull Aloisa from my hands, but I swiftly tugged my sword back, targeting the next priest with the blood-slick metal.

The rhythm of war was interrupted by scorching heat at my back. The priest in front of me retreated, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the others doing the same. The flames that followed their departure didn’t touch me, and I straightened my shoulders, exhaling sharply before I turned to face him.

My father.

“I won,” I called out. “Tell the priests to stop fighting and I’ll call off the Nilurae.”

He laughed, genuine mirth on his face. “You are not my successor. You’re an impostor, a feeble excuse for a daughter. At least after today, we will be rid of you for good.”

“This is only the beginning.” My voice rose with every word. “We will never be content to be abused by you and your regime. You’re already fighting one war; don’t succumb to another.”

“You think this will ever be a war? Look around you. The godforsaken are already falling at the hands of the priests.”

I didn’t move my gaze from him, knowing that the instant I did, he would strike. But I did listen more closely to the cacophony around me. Beneath the clashing of swords and grunts of exertion, there were screams. And without looking I had no way of knowing whether they were coming from the Nilurae or our enemies.

“You will die for your insolence,” Father spat. He raised a flaming hand high, aimed at my face. Dodging his death blow would be impossible.

At that moment, the world slowed, and I heard singing.

What is that?

The familiar tune wound around my father. My mother’s old lullaby. I’d heard this song when first blood was shed on the snow of the canyon pass, when Frode’s broken nose poured blood, in my unconscious dreams after the Hellbringer injured me. The humming was quiet and calm but excited. It moved with purpose, its pitch calling to my soul. And then I realized: the sound came from under Father’s skin. His flesh sang to me. The tune lifted and carried to the beat of his heart. Thud, thud, thud.

I tilted my head to study him. Above me, I saw his mouth wide-open, screaming, preparing to kill me, but he was worlds away. A line connected my mind to the life housed under the skin covering him. An invisible string of sorts. I knew no one else saw it.

Curiosity and awe overwhelmed logic. I knew I should be panicking, fighting back, but why would I when this beautiful singing wound through every vein and artery beneath my father’s skin?

Vaguely, I saw his hand move but I didn’t care. Instead, I raised my palm and closed it around the mental string before giving it a sharp, experimental tug.

Without warning, my father flew across the arena, slamming into the wall closest to me. His flames disappeared in the same heartbeat.

Time snapped back into place and I blinked. The fighting continued around me, and no one except for a few priests seemed to notice the strange events that were unfolding. But none of those white-robed figures moved, even to help their king.

I pulled on the string again, hand curling into a fist with the movement, and Father’s arm bent at an unnatural angle until it snapped. He screamed, the sound blurring with the others.

The singing grew louder, took over my ears until it told me what I needed to do to make him hurt. Force him to pay for all the faded burn scars strewn about my skin. I stretched my hands out in front of me and strode across the arena. With the dripping blood coating my face, I must have looked like something from the pits of hell.

I tugged the connection again and my father screamed. Whatever I pulled at, whatever listened to my commands, was breaking him—killing him.

And I liked it.

I watched him attempt to pull a flame from his fingers, but it sputtered and died.

He struggled against the force holding him back. He didn’t speak, only clenched his teeth from his place against the wall. My next pull was upward and I noticed blood flushed his face. He grabbed his head and screamed in pain.

His blood. I was controlling his blood. It sang to me.

It was as if I had done this a million times before. I crossed my arms so my wrists were in line and then pulled my elbows back with one sharp motion.

The crack of my father’s neck breaking echoed through the arena.

Mother screamed. It echoed from the platform where she stood, safe from the battle, protected by the royal contingent of priests who stood guard around her. The sound seemed to break through the chaos somehow, and heads turned to see the king lying dead on the arena floor, his body one of many now.

In death, he was nothing more than a man.

The former queen pointed to the priests standing on either side of her. “Seize her!”

But they didn’t move. Two in the front glanced at each other before slowly shaking their heads.

My hands shook. Why? Why weren’t they moving?

Loyalty to their new queen?

Or were they afraid of me?

My eyes widened as it all hit me.

I was Lurae.

My mother sent a sharp spear of ice straight toward me. No part of my body felt like my own anymore; it was as if someone else controlled my every move as I stepped out of the way, then reached out until I felt my fingers connect with something no one could see.

The singing began again, low and beautiful.

I closed my hand, making a fist. Without warning, Mother’s arm shattered, just like Father’s had moments ago.

She screamed, bone breaking through the skin, blood flowing over her arm.

Waddell didn’t move from his place with my father’s guard. His face was pale, wan.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. When I looked around, Halvar was staring at me.

Battles continued around us, but they seemed to fall quiet. His face, often gruff but always filled with love, was twisted in an expression I’d never seen him turn on me before. But I recognized it from a lifetime of living with people who despised me.

Disgust.

There was another layer too, one I wasn’t as familiar with: fear.

The emotions warred on his face, which was now pale. Blood was spattered across his visage, and I moved to take a step toward him.

He took a matching step back.

“Halvar?” I muttered, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear me over the distance.

“Retreat!” The cry shook me from my stupor and I turned to find who was yelling. My eyes lit on one of the priests in the royal retinue, voice magnified by what had to be magic. “Holy Order, retreat!”

As one, the priests began to flee, rushing for the exit.

I turned back, but Halvar was gone. I heard him over the stampede, yelling at the other Nilurae to pursue the escapees, to capture but not kill. The silencers had fled, but I knew they must still be close, otherwise the priests would be fighting back with a vengeance. I wasn’t sure where they were going, but they’d more than likely find a place to regroup and return to wreak more havoc.

I grabbed the arm of a Nilurae woman jogging past me. “Tell Halvar to burn the temples,” I instructed. “By order of the queen.”

Emotions warred on her face: awe, trust, and fear. Only as she stepped away with a nod did I realize I’d left a bloody handprint on her sleeve.

My mother was screaming curses at me, so I stalked over to her. When I was close enough, I bent down where she had fallen and placed a finger over her lips. “Quiet,” I commanded, tugging on her strings, softly this time—enough to keep her jaw closed. She couldn’t open it even if she wanted to. “Your rule is over. A new era is beginning.”

One of a few Nilurae who remained in the arena stepped up to me. “My queen. We can take her to the prison.”

I glanced sideways at them. They were scrawny, underfed, and without magic. Even with a broken arm, I had no doubt my mother would overpower them. This was not a task for them.

A wave of exhaustion swept over me. It was all I could do to remain standing, to not fall on my knees and sob after the events of the day. This was all her fault. Hers and my father’s. They could have been better than those who came before them; they could have nurtured us and not started the war, come to a truce while there was still time. Instead, they chose to be vindictive and warmongering. Instead, they forced me onto the arena sands with their every decision.

And now that same arena was littered with the dead and injured.

I took a deep breath and told the Nilurae, “There will be no need.”

With a single movement of my hand, I stilled my mother’s heart. She collapsed, lifeless in the sand.

I didn’t look back.

Volkan was stepping carefully through the mess of bodies, occasionally kneeling down to heal someone. Checking pulses, offering comforting words while he did his work.

He hadn’t been in league with the Hellbringer, I decided. Not when gentleness touched his every movement. Volkan was many things, but not a soldier. Not a killer.

I strode over to him, not caring about the eyes I felt following me. Not caring about the heaviness beginning to settle on my shoulders, in the space between my ribs, in my stomach. My knees shook slightly with every step. Hesitation radiated from the Nilurae I’d left behind me.

Why are they afraid? My thoughts felt like mud, so slowly did they slide through my mind. Isn’t this what they wanted?

The Fastian Prince noticed my approach and frowned. He’d been closing the eyes of a Nilurae man, one I recognized from nights at the Sharpened Axe but whose name I didn’t know. He stood now and asked, “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” I hadn’t meant the words to be harsh, but when they snapped out of me, I didn’t take them back. The blood weeping from the wounds Bjorn had inflicted on me was now congealed, but with every facial expression I felt it crack and stretch. Did I look human anymore?

He spoke gently, the way people spoke to animals they were afraid of startling. “I think you’re injured. I think you’re losing a lot of blood. And I think you’re probably in shock from what has happened.” His eyes were full of concern, but I couldn’t muster the energy to feel grateful for him.

The Hellbringer was gone, spirited away as soon as my win was confirmed. My brothers were all dead by various hands. My parents, killed by my own.

They deserved it, I told myself as heaviness bore down on me. I was drowning in exhaustion, drowning in the last hour, drowning in blood.

The pain in my head grew until I could barely get the words out, throbbing in time with my heartbeat. “I’m fine.”

Volkan reached out to grab my arm, hoisting me upright. I blinked. I hadn’t realized I was falling.

“We need to get you home.” He threw my arm over his shoulder and wrapped his own around my waist.

My vision faded in and out. “Wait,” I gasped. “I can’t leave them.” Not like they left Frode.

Volkan glanced at the myriad of corpses behind us. The arena was littered with them, but somehow he knew exactly who I was talking about. “I’ll send someone back for Bjorn’s body and Erik’s ashes.”

I relaxed, and the culmination of the morning landed on me like a heavy weight. I sank into darkness and stars and nothingness.

I woke up in my bed.

My headache was mostly gone. A full glass of water waited for me on my bedside table. I grabbed for it, pushing myself up halfway, and downed the whole thing as fast as I could.

Everything ached. I let out a small groan as I tested my range of movement. Nothing felt broken, but nothing felt completely right either.

There was something on my face. I reached up to touch it and recognized the softness of bandages, placed over the cuts Bjorn had carved on my face. I frowned and immediately regretted it. The movement sent pain lancing through the wounds.

“I’m not sure if you remember, but you asked me not to touch those,” a wry voice said.

I looked up. Volkan sat in a chair at the foot of my bed, holding a book. He raised an eyebrow at me and grinned. “Glad to see you rejoin the land of the living.”

My hand brushed the bandages again. “I don’t remember.”

He chuckled. “No, I imagine not. You were slightly delusional at best. Having your Lurae manifest so powerfully drained all your energy. You said something about remembering.”

The vague memory came back to me. Volkan reaching for my forehead, and stopping him with my Lurae.

I’d meant, I need them to remember .

Never again would the Lurae look at me as the young, godforsaken princess who caused nothing but trouble. No. Now everyone who looked at me would be forced to remember exactly how I had earned my power.

“How long was I out?” I asked.

“Only a few hours,” he said. “I haven’t been here long. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. I meant it. As flashes of memory flowed through my mind, I took a shuddering breath.

It was all over. Erik and Bjorn were dead. My parents were dead.

And I was queen.

“Are people still fighting? What’s going on out there?” I pushed up on my elbows, trying to peer out the window. On the clearest days, I could see out into the city from here.

“The temples are burning. A few more priests have been killed, but most of them have fled. I don’t think Halvar has given any orders to pursue them.”

I relaxed slightly. I’d worried there would be more of a fight ahead of us, but it was as we’d suspected. Once the seat of power was filled with a Nilurae, the priests saw no reason to do anything but save their own skins.

Though…perhaps the seat of power was no longer filled by a true Nilurae.

“How often has this happened before?” I said, stomach twisting. “How often does a person manifest a Lurae only as an adult?”

I watched Volkan’s grin turn into a frown. “I don’t know,” he said with a shake of his head. “I can’t think of a single instance I’ve heard of. Were you declared Nilurae by the priests when you turned nine?”

“Yes.”

The prince shrugged. “Nine is supposed to be the age your magic manifests,” he said. “I’ve never heard of anyone else finding theirs afterward. Your case might be entirely unique. I don’t know if anyone has studied Lurae magic in people under duress. Perhaps stress is what caused it.”

“The Hellbringer wanted to know what my Lurae was when he held me captive,” I recalled. “He kept asking me why I had been hiding it for so long. I didn’t know what he was talking about. He was looking for me even before then.” I shook my head. “He said the Queen of Kryllian had reliable sources that claimed I was Lurae. How could either of them have known? Especially before I did?”

Volkan rubbed his temples. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe they have a seer who foresaw you winning the Trials but didn’t know you were declared Nilurae. That’s the only thing I can think of.”

“She only wanted me on the throne because she thought I was Lurae,” I muttered, trying to work through it aloud.

“The Queen of Kryllian?” Volkan’s confusion was plain on his face. “She wanted you on the throne?”

I hurriedly explained my deal with the Hellbringer. “At first I worried she was looking to put a Nilurae on the throne so she’d have an advantage if she tried to take over. But when the Hellbringer tried to make me admit I had a secret Lurae, then the whole arrangement made much more sense.”

Before Volkan could respond, Freja, freshly bathed and clothed in finery I could only assume she’d stolen from my mother, burst through the door, launching herself into my arms.

“You won, you won,” she whispered.

I clutched her as tightly as I could, squeezing my eyes shut to keep my tears from leaking out. I would do it all over again for her to be free.

Volkan smiled and excused himself. Freja sat back and traced a finger lightly over my bandages. “Why didn’t he heal these?” she demanded. “Do I need to get him?”

I laughed. “No. I asked him not to. I want people to remember I earned my place on the throne.”

“Speaking of your victory, I need to hear everything that happened,” she said. “No one would tell me what was going on when they released me. Was it on your orders?”

“I think Volkan must have stepped in on my behalf.”

She grinned. “Tell me everything.”

My breath hitched in my throat. Freja didn’t know. She didn’t know I had a Lurae.

For a moment I considered lying. Could I bear to watch the light in her eyes turn to distrust? Betrayal?

Maybe not, but she would find out soon enough.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and started talking. As I spoke, the scene flashed through my mind again: Erik’s flesh melting away from bone, Bjorn’s hushes while he carved my face, and the beautiful, ethereal singing that accompanied my new magic.

It swirled in my stomach, whispered in my ears, begged to be used. I ignored it.

“Bloodsinger.” Freja’s voice was breathless.

I opened my eyes. “What did you say?”

Her eyes were wide. “That’s what Valen called you when I was released. ‘Tell the Bloodsinger Queen I said congratulations.’ I didn’t understand. But Valen knew.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Valen had known I was Lurae.

A knock sounded at the door and Volkan poked his head in. “Freja, Revna needs to rest. Why don’t we let her sleep?”

Freja stood to go. The window she walked by showed a glimpse of the pink and purple skies scarred by smoke, the sun setting in the distance.

“Wait,” I called. They both turned back to face me. “Before I sleep, there’s something I need your help with.”

Valen sat across the small table from me in what used to be my father’s office. I wasn’t sure what to expect from this conversation, but an immediate comment on my face wasn’t it.

“I always wondered where the scars came from,” they said, gesturing to the bandages on my face.

Without consciously deciding to, I brushed a hand against the wrappings. They were starting to get annoying, blocking out enough of my vision to exacerbate my headache.

“When did you plan on explaining you’ve been having visions of me?” I asked, hands folded in my lap. The chair I sat in, intended for a person of my father’s stature, was far too big, and I made an extra effort to keep my posture straight and regal. This was my first act as queen, after all.

Valen chuckled. “I planned to tell you from the moment I met you. Unfortunately, said meeting is occurring now and not twenty-one years ago.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” I settled back and gestured for Valen to do the same. “I’d like to hear the whole story.”

The Seeing One settled in, rubbing their wrists. “Considering your predecessor, I take it I’m the only Seeing One you’ve had the pleasure of knowing.” When I nodded, they continued. “Seeing is unlike other gifts. Most Lurae are fairly standard, operating on a principle of magic wound into your deepest biology. It’s an imprecise science—the worst kind. But when you have the Seeing Lurae, it can take a number of forms. Some Seeing Ones have no more knowledge than what will happen at a random location in the next two minutes. Others detail great prophecies of events to happen hundreds of years in the future. There are some who cannot function or lead normal lives because they are constantly stuck in the future while their physical forms remain here.”

The Seeing One sighed, their wrinkled hands finding their place on the armrests of the chair. “And then you have me. My Lurae is focused on one person in particular: you.”

My brows shot up. “Me? What exactly have you seen?”

“Only bits and pieces,” they confessed. “When my Lurae presented my first true vision, it was of you winning the Bloodshed Trials. As Seeing Ones, we have a responsibility to share our visions with the appropriate parties, so I traveled here to see your father despite knowing of his hatred toward my kind. When I told him I came bearing a prophecy about the child his wife was carrying, he sent me to your prison without hearing anything I had to say. His prejudice overwhelmed his interest in knowing your fate.”

I gaped. “That’s horrible.”

They laughed. “It was what I expected. I’ve been in that cell ever since—for over twenty-one years. But imagine my surprise when you showed up to see your friend and I realized you were Nilurae.” Shaking their head, Valen said, “In my vision, you had clearly used your Lurae to kill your father. I thought perhaps I was wrong, but when I caught a glimpse of you, I knew it would happen. You would compete and somehow magic would flow through your veins like it never had before.”

“Why?” I choked on the word. “Why do I suddenly have a Lurae?”

Valen sighed. “I’m not sure. I’ve seen other snippets of your future, but they are few and far between. I do know this, though: you will fulfill the prophecy of the first Seeing One. They were called Tam, a contemporary of Callum and Arraya who fought against their rule and formed our band of Seeing Ones.”

“Fulfill the first prophecy?” I tried not to show how stunned I was. “What was the prophecy, then?”

Valen’s eyes turned grave. “No one living knows the answer to your question, unfortunately. Tam was incredibly secretive about the prophecy, and the other Seeing Ones respected their decision. But then they were taken captive by Arraya during the attempted revolution of the Fjordlands. Arraya forced Tam to be her personal Seeing One, torturing them when they wouldn’t confess the prophecy.”

I was surprised to see Valen’s eyes brimming with tears. Tam had lived hundreds of years ago…Surely they hadn’t known each other. Were all the Seeing Ones so emotionally close?

“What happened then?” I asked, afraid to know the answer.

Valen sighed. “Tam held on as long as they could. Eventually, they recited the prophecy to Arraya, and then she struck her killing blow. As far as the records show, Arraya never shared the prophecy with anyone else, including her husband, before she was killed.”

“And yet you know I’m going to fulfill it?” I tried not to let panic overwhelm me. It stretched its maw wide, threatening to swallow me whole. “I don’t understand.”

“I wish I knew more, but my visions have been surprisingly limited.” Valen’s face slumped into exhaustion, a feeling I understood far too well. “Rest assured, if I see anything else regarding your future, you will be the first to know.”

The Seeing One rose and moved to the door. “Where will you go?” I asked. “Now that you’ve been released, will you rejoin the other Seeing Ones?”

They smiled. “Yes. But first, I’m stopping by your kitchens for a proper meal. You should get some rest.”

I stood and the world spun around me. “You’re probably right.”

“Oh,” they said, hand on the door. “I failed to mention one part. You will not fulfill the original prophecy alone.”

Breathing deeply, trying to clear the black spots from my vision, I asked, “Who else, then?”

“A young man whose true name I do not know.” Valen shook their head. “I believe you call him the Hellbringer.”

The world vanished into darkness.

When I woke, in my bed again, night had fallen. A few flickering lamps were lit, and I groaned, pressing a hand to my head. Would the ache there never retreat?

“Volkan?” I called out. My vision was blurry, but he was sitting in the same armchair as earlier, a book open on his lap. “I have a horrible headache. Can you heal it, or is it from the cuts on my face?”

There was a long sigh, and then a dark voice murmured, “Not Volkan, Princess.”

I whipped my head around, ignoring the flash of pain. The Hellbringer was sitting in my room, his wolf skull mask even more intimidating than usual in the flickering light. He wore his full suit of armor, the lantern’s wavering flame reflected there.

There was no fear crawling beneath my sternum, not like I’d expected there to be. He could end me in a moment, sure. But he wouldn’t—not when his queen had realized she was right and I did have power.

I, on the other hand, could kill him as slowly and painfully as I had killed my father.

I scowled, baring teeth I hoped were still bloodstained. “It’s queen now.”

He chuckled and closed the book before placing it on the armrest. He had one leg slung over the other, ankle balanced atop knee. “Don’t I know it. Congratulations.”

“You’re here to gloat, then.” I reached for the water on my nightstand, downing the glass. He didn’t respond, so I asked, “Did Volkan let you in?”

“No. I let myself in.”

“Did you consider knocking?” I demanded. “It’s rude to watch someone sleep.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Would you say that’s more or less rude than killing your lover’s favorite brother?”

I inhaled sharply, eyes widening.

“This is probably the lesser of two evils,” he mused, tapping his gloved fingers against the arm of the chair. “But I’ve done it all. So who knows?”

The fury building beneath my skin was red-hot. Had Bjorn and my father crawled into my body after they died? Had the god Hjalmar branded me for daring to kill them? Was I going to combust now, burst into flames from the anger?

The song from the arena began to play in my head again. It was louder this time. The notes, so soft and pleasant the first time around, jarred now. The tempo was faster and I could barely hear myself think.

The string that tied me to the Hellbringer, though…it was clearly visible. It trembled, far more taut than the one that had tied me to my father or my mother.

I didn’t let myself think. I tugged it softly.

The Hellbringer hissed, arching his back and curling his hands into claws. Veins stood out in his neck, which was visible when he had his head tilted so far toward the ceiling. “The fuck are you doing, Revna?”

“If you’re evil, don’t you deserve to be punished?” I forced my voice to remain calm, even though the simmering anger hadn’t faded. Instead of allowing it to explode out of me, I twisted his earlier words, tossing them back at him. “What’s the greater sin: loving a monster or being one?”

He was silent, breathing through clenched teeth to mitigate the painful position I’d put him in. That was all it was; as much as I craved to tear him limb from limb, something stopped me. Instead, I held him frozen. Vulnerable. A state he likely knew little of.

With a sigh, I released him. He fell back into the armchair and I rolled over, facing away from him as I curled up under the blankets again. “Because I think I’ve done both now.”

I heard a different pair of feet land on the floor, evidence of Mira’s arrival. When they both left an instant later, the rage thrumming through my blood turned to gray melancholy.