Page 6 of Blood Beneath the Snow (Blood & Souls Duology #1)

6

My parents had invited the Fastian royalty to accompany us to our temple ceremonies, but it was a formality more than anything else. Fastians worshiped no gods, their people choosing to eschew the idea of religion after Callum and Arraya’s initial attempt at taking power over the Fjordlands.

I didn’t blame the king and queen for refusing the invitation. If staying home wouldn’t incur the wrath of my mother, I would have done it in a heartbeat. Volkan, however, had chosen to come along. “Out of respect for my soon-to-be bride,” he’d explained.

I’d nearly vomited at the word bride being used to describe me but accepted his generosity without comment. If he wanted to watch the priests berate me for my very existence, that was his choice.

The eight of us rode through a dusting of snow to the southern outskirts of the city, where a small temple had been built for our family. It looked nearly identical to the one in the square I’d been at yesterday morning. The only difference was the size. Where the temple in the square could host hundreds of people, our family’s personal temple was only big enough for ten worshipers.

Despite its small size, the structure remained tall. If you climbed on top of it, you’d be tall enough to see the southern sea stretching between Bhorglid and Kryllian. I knew because I tried it when I was twelve. It took a priest with the godtouch of flying to get me back to ground level.

As the structure came into view, I leaned over to Volkan, who rode next to me. “You’re godtouched, right?”

He frowned. “Godtouched?”

“Uh.” I fumbled for the word his parents had used earlier, the one Frode had explained the rest of the world used to signify the godtouched. “Do you have magic?”

“Oh. Yes. Why do you ask?”

I sat back in my saddle with a breath of relief. “Because the priests would not treat you well otherwise.”

After a few moments of silence, his tentative voice broke my concentration. “If those with magic are called godtouched, then how are those without magic referred to?”

“You didn’t pick it up during the talk at the castle?” I asked. “We’re godforsaken. Abandoned by the pantheon long ago.”

I held my breath, uncertain if he already knew I was without magic. This moment might sear itself forever in my mind as the one where Volkan’s budding regard for me turned to disgust.

I waited for the scathing look and its accompanying words. Instead, he simply said, “That feels dramatic.”

The laugh escaped me without permission. Volkan’s expression brightened at the sound. “Dramatic is certainly an accurate way to describe it.”

“Your people don’t half-ass anything,” he mused. “Is it true the heirs to the throne fight to the death to see who will be the next ruler?”

“Ah, you’ve heard of the Bloodshed Trials.”

“But you won’t be competing, right? Since we’re to be married.”

My rising mood fell just as abruptly. “I am not permitted to compete because I am godforsaken. If I wasn’t worthy of magic, why would I be worthy to take the throne?”

“But you are worthy to be used as a bargaining chip.” Volkan ran a hand through his hair. “That’s incredibly unfair.”

I’d expected to hate Volkan. He represented everything about my life that I despised. It was stranger to realize I’d be disappointed if he was as cruel and callous as the godtouched I knew.

“It’s nowhere near the same, but my family was disappointed when I came into my magic. I’m a healer. My father’s magic bonds him with water and my mother can conjure lightning on a cloudless day.” He smiled to himself and shook his head. “And here was their only son, with the most common Lurae of all.”

I said nothing, but Volkan didn’t push the matter. As we rode in silence, I studied him. I’d wondered what my future husband might be like for months, ever since I’d first been informed of the engagement. Never had it occurred to me that he might be a stalwart ally.

Were the godtouched and the godforsaken treated equally in Faste? If they were, I’d need to bring him to meet Halvar before we left for his homeland. Perhaps the two could discuss politics, make a plan in case the next generation of rebels had the power and capability of making a move against the priests and the royal family.

A priest waited outside the temple for us. The red eye on his forehead stared at me as our horses approached, looking like blood. Part of me expected it to start dripping, trailing over the clean fabric. Not for the first time, I wondered whether it was true they could see through the sewn-on markings. It was said their devotion to the gods was so high the priests were given the gift of sight in their minds as an additional ability when they swore their oaths to the Holy Order. They were certainly able to chase me through the streets with deadly accuracy yesterday. But part of me always thought it was just a trick—that the fabric must be thin enough for them to see through.

Even if they couldn’t see me, I glared anyway. They all deserved to feel my ire. Especially as the memory of Freja’s arrest continued to play in the back of my mind, fresh as a bleeding wound.

The priest bowed to my father and then Bjorn as we approached, ignoring the rest of us. They had taken my volatile brother under their wings years ago, encouraging him to become more bloodthirsty as time passed. Now Bjorn was filled with an appreciation for the gods and the desire to do what they wished—in as violent a way as possible.

I glanced at Frode. I want to go home.

My brother shot me a look telling me to be quiet. He had a fierce hangover from his drunken escapades in the sitting room earlier.

Peeking over the foothills of the mountains in the west was the top of the prison, with its tall watchtowers. I glanced at my family. Would they notice if I left? Not to break her out—only see her. Tell her I was working on it. I could take Volkan with me, save him from the priests’ boring speeches and rituals.

“Don’t be stupid,” Frode muttered.

My father was the first to dismount from his horse and greet the priest. We followed suit, lining up behind him. I stayed as far back as possible, directly next to Volkan.

“Thank you for having us today.” Father’s voice was quiet but managed to echo through the stone pillars holding up the temple.

I crossed my arms to protect them from the cold. We were still in our finery, and while this dress was pretty, it was not intended for warmth. The chill seeped through my heavy cloak. My mother glared at me until I rolled my eyes and stepped forward, in line with my brothers.

The priest’s voice was muffled through the fabric. “Thank you for being here, Your Majesty.” He turned to look at me—I thought. The embroidered eye appeared to stare straight through me. “I see your daughter and her fiancé decided to join us.”

My father frowned. “She didn’t have a choice.”

I stared at my shoes, boots pressing deep prints into the snow covering the cobblestones. On a normal day, I’d exhaust my best excuses to get out of going to temple. But I knew better than to make a scene in front of other royalty. Father would never hesitate to discipline me in private and then send Waddell to seal the wounds. If it didn’t leave scars, then to him it was fair game.

With healers at our disposal, not much was capable of leaving a permanent scar.

“Well, we are delighted to have her.” The priest tilted his head and the white fabric covering his face shifted to the side a bit. I clenched my teeth and didn’t look up. His voice was strange, and I wondered, not for the first time, if there was something inhuman under the cloth. “And you as well, Your Highness.”

Volkan inclined his head slightly. “Thank you for allowing me to witness your ceremonies.”

I wondered what he would think of our ceremonies by the time we were finished.

The priest led the way through the wooden doors of the temple. My parents followed and then the rest of us ascended the stairs. I hesitated on the bottom step.

Erik put a hand on my back and pushed me gently but firmly toward the door. Reluctantly, I allowed him to move me forward. Father would say it was my duty, and Erik would doubtlessly agree.

Once I left for Faste, I wouldn’t have to attend temple again. The thought managed to comfort me.

At least the inside of the temple was warmer. On my left, several acolytes warmed their hands by a burning hearth. The acolytes, still in training to the Holy Order, were almost more eerie than their superiors. Their uniforms were the same, but they had not taken their vows yet, and therefore had no eyes embroidered on their veils.

The acolytes turned at our entrance and bowed, pressing their palms together in front of their chests. “Rise,” my father commanded. They obeyed silently.

Nine chairs were arranged in a circle in front of us and along the wall were seven closed doors. They led to individual prayer rooms for each of the gods in the pantheon.

The priest sat at the head of the circle of chairs. My parents sat on either side of him and then my brothers took the chairs closest, leaving me and Volkan to sit directly across from the priest.

I stifled a groan. This was my absolute least favorite spot for temple and my brothers knew it. When I was young, I would beg them to trade chairs with me so I didn’t have to stare straight at the priest the entire time.

Bjorn smirked at me from his seat next to my mother. I took a deep breath and settled into the hard wooden chair.

“Let us begin,” the priest said. The acolytes moved from their places by the fire to sit on the ground behind the priest. I grimaced at the sight of all of them. They couldn’t be older than I was, and yet they’d given their lives and free will to the Order.

In one fluid motion, each member of my family reached out to grasp the hands of the two people on either side of them. Together, we formed one huge circle. I reached out for Frode’s hand on my left. Volkan, understanding the expectations, took my right. The sooner we started, the sooner it would be over.

The priest began the calling of the gods. “Aloisa, goddess of the soul, bless us with your presence. Aksel, god of air, bless us with your presence. Hjalmar, god of fire, bless us with your presence. Viggo, god of water…” The chant continued until all the gods had been mentioned by name.

I laid no claim to the gods, but if I had, Aloisa would be my favorite. She was the only woman in a household of men, overlooked by those meant to be her subjects. They rarely spoke of her despite her abilities being incredibly sought-after. Whether or not she was real, I knew how she felt.

When the priest finished, he reached into his pocket and scattered a handful of ash onto the dirt in front of us. It was burnt grass, but it always made me cringe regardless. It represented the final state of bodily decay, indicating our powerlessness before the gods who watched over us and decided when it was time for a person to die.

“Tell me the troubles of this country,” the priest murmured.

That was my father’s cue. We released our hands and he began to speak.

“We seek a blessing on the union of Bhorglid and Faste, to be sealed with marriage,” he began. “We seek guidance in our war efforts, to know how we may win the holy battle against the Kryllian nation. We seek strength for my sons as they prepare to compete for the throne.”

The priest tilted his head back as if listening for something. I used every ounce of self-control not to roll my eyes.

After a moment he spoke. “The gods tell me the future of your kingdom hangs in the balance,” the priest said. He knelt and drew a line through the scattered ash with his finger. “Your daughter and her friend sabotaged the new year ritual. This does not bode well for the coming year. The gods are angry.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek and folded my hands in my lap. Everyone in my family looked at me. Mother, Father, and Bjorn glared. Erik and Jac were more concerned than anything else, and Frode…well, his eyes gazed in my direction, but they were both unfocused. Volkan, on the other hand, appeared curious.

The priest needed to shut his mouth before he got me in serious trouble.

“Do not fear. There is hope yet. Under the guidance of your youngest son, the kingdom will thrive. But the alliance with Faste is necessary to win the war.” He looked up so the embroidered eye gazed at me again.

The priests had started this war in the first place, whispering in Father’s ear how we “deserved” what was rightfully Kryllian’s; they would take any opportunity to blame it on me when things started going wrong.

The priest turned to my father. “Continue to fight the holy war,” he said. “The gods desire for your bloodline to lead Kryllian. The next ruler must listen carefully to the words the gods have to offer them.”

Bjorn straightened his back and tilted his chin up. The priest was clearly addressing him, though no one was bold enough to say it.

I saw Erik cast a glance in Bjorn’s direction, taking in our brother’s haughty expression. Erik didn’t look thrilled. What was he thinking? Did he lust for the throne the way Bjorn did? And what did Jac think?

My father bowed his head slightly. “Thank you.”

I closed my eyes and dug my fingernails into my palms. More war meant Arne’s death. The preaching about Bhorglid’s fate hanging in the balance practically guaranteed Freja would be stuck in prison until I left. My father would hold her over me for the remainder of my time here.

I rubbed my hand across my forehead, my headache returning in full force.

At least the first ritual was over. The priest stood and dusted the ash from his hands. Acolytes scrambled off to continue doing their chores or warming their hands. My family all stood, and I stretched my arms over my head. Volkan moved to examine the symbols on the doors of each prayer room, leaving me alone with the head priest.

The priest moved to stand beside me. “Be careful with your choices,” he murmured. “You may hold more than your own fate in your hands.”

“This is coming from the person who conscripted one of my friends and arrested the other yesterday,” I said with a saccharine smile. “Forgive me if I don’t trust your intuition.”

He chuckled, shoulders shaking. “I pity the Fastian Prince. He doesn’t know what he’s in for, does he?”

My vision clouded with red, but as my hands tightened, another wrapped around my arm and pulled me away from the conflict. Frode—hungover but managing to look out for me regardless. I huffed and shook my wrist from his grasp, wishing the priest’s words didn’t follow me.

But as I watched Jac, Bjorn, and my mother move to enter individual prayer rooms, a hand fell on my shoulder, fingers digging in just shy of too tight. Erik stepped up beside me. “Do not anger the gods,” he warned. “There is far more at stake here than your personal vendetta. Bhorglid is the land of the gods’ true will. If we anger them, they may choose to lend their favor to more faithful worshipers.”

I stifled a groan. Of course Erik was most concerned about the gods—they were all he cared about. Before I had the chance to think of a retort, he sauntered off to a prayer room, leaving me behind.

Frode sat backward in his chair. He rested his arms across the top of the wooden backing. When I leaned closer, I heard him humming the same lilting melody from this morning. The lullaby Mother used to sing us.

I patted Frode gently on the shoulder. He didn’t acknowledge it. I hoped his brain rested in blissful silence.

My father stood by the entrance, arms crossed over his chest. He towered over the tallest acolyte, and his build was large enough to be frightening—to me, at least.

Before I let myself think it through, I moved across the room to stand in front of him.

“Father,” I said, bowing my head slightly. Asking a favor meant remembering my manners.

He stared over my head, but I saw annoyance cloud his eyes. His red hair brushed against his shoulders when he sighed. “What?”

I took a shaky breath and lowered my voice. “What happened yesterday was my fault and it was a mistake. I didn’t realize it was going to cause so many problems for so many people.” Lie. “Please, let Freja go. This wasn’t her fault; I dragged her along”— another lie —“and she shouldn’t be held responsible for what I did. Please.”

I felt eyes on me and turned to see the acolytes sightlessly staring at us. I ignored them, trying to think of anything but the heat rushing to my face.

Father put his hand on my shoulder, and I winced. To any casual observer, it appeared he was being kind, but I knew better. His hand was trembling with how tightly he held me, and heat from his Lurae surged through his palm. Any hotter and he would singe my dress. I bit my lip to keep from letting out a whimper.

He leaned forward. “What makes you think you deserve another chance?” he growled. He kept his voice quiet, and I was grateful. “You heard the priest. If our kingdom falls, it is because of you and your ignorance. You have been nothing but disrespectful since the day you learned to speak and you’re lucky I haven’t had you thrown out of our household for insubordination. Freja will not be released. Ever. The only reason you’re not in a cell is because this alliance will secure our fates.”

He released his grip, and I stumbled back. The joint throbbed and I knew there would be dark bruises there when I changed that night.

Hot tears filled my eyes and I glanced toward the acolytes—all staring.

I glared at my father, wishing I could channel all my rage and fury into fire, like he and Bjorn could. Then he would know what I truly thought of him.

But no magic flowed through my veins. So instead, I stormed out the door.

The priest who led the ceremony tried to grab my wrist and pull me back. “Princess, you’re forgetting the end ceremony—”

I threw off his grasp. “Don’t touch me.” If I spent another moment in the temple, I’d begin tearing it down brick by brick.

My mother appeared in the doorway as I fled and mounted my horse. “Revna!” she shouted. Fury coated her features. “Get back in here!”

With a click of my heels, we were off. Only the wind in my face kept me from screaming.

The prison was settled in the low foothills to the west of the city. Behind it rested the mountain range, which continued far north into the wastelands. The peaks were covered in thick snow, and white flakes fell from dark skies, dampening my hair.

I rode hard, the fury within me building and burning as the tall, dark structure grew closer. I wished it would break like a wave reaching its peak. The longer it twisted, the more hopelessness climbed to meet it. Soon my anger would morph to despair.

Tears stung my eyes, and I chose to believe they were from the wind whipping against my face. I had to keep fighting, keep trying to come up with a way to help Freja escape, to keep Arne alive.

But how, when I was being rapidly stripped of all my autonomy?

The thundering of my horse’s hooves against the path was matched by another rider, gaining speed until they pulled aside me. I took a moment to steady myself before I looked up. Who had followed me from the temple? My mother, keen to give me another lecture on how useless I was?

When I finally turned my head to the side, my eyes were met with a dark mask.

Startled, I sat up straighter in the saddle, continuing to urge my horse on at a steady pace. The Hellbringer—gods above, that was really him—stared at me when I pulled my sword from the sheath buckled at my waist.

My heart thundered. Was he here to kill me?

I had no experience fighting on horseback. My first swipe with my blade was too wide, and he only had to lean slightly to avoid it. Wrist shaking from the effort of fighting one-handed, I readjusted my grip and swung again.

Another sorry attempt.

Anger had festered beneath my rib cage all morning, but now it erupted to a boil. “I hate you!” I screamed over the wind, knowing he was close enough to hear me. “Get it over with and kill me already!”

The dead-eyed mask only stared back at me, his mount keeping pace with mine. I pulled on the reins, bringing my horse to a sudden halt.

The Hellbringer continued on, his cloak billowing behind him, revealing the dark plated armor covering every part of his body. He didn’t slow or even glance back at me.

My nails dug into my palms, and I let out a scream, the only way I knew to release the emotions mounting in me. I panted as I watched him grow smaller in the distance, turning slightly north. No interest in going to the prison, then. So why had he been on the same path as me in the first place? Why dare show himself when he knew I would try to kill him?

More thundering hooves echoed from behind me and I whirled, sword still drawn, to see Volkan ride into view. When he arrived at my side, he was gasping for air. “Was that you screaming? Are you all right?”

I shook my head. “I’m fine. I saw—”

When I turned to point out the Hellbringer, he was gone. Vanished as if he’d never been there. I frowned. He hadn’t been riding nearly fast enough to make it past one of the other foothills and out of sight.

“What did you see?” Volkan’s voice was concerned.

“Nothing, I guess.” I turned and proceeded on my ride to the prison. No matter what, I would see Freja today. Only death would stop me, and it seemed the Hellbringer had no interest in killing me for now.

Assuming I hadn’t hallucinated him, of course.

I clenched my jaw. Impossible.

Your entire life is turning upside down, my thoughts whispered. Maybe you did imagine it. And if you didn’t, who would believe you?

When I arrived at the prison, tying my horse’s reins to the post out front, Volkan was still with me.

“You can go back,” I told him.

He shrugged and climbed down effortlessly. “I wasn’t attending the temple ceremony to appease your family. I was trying to get to know you better. If you’d rather be here, then I’ll join you.”

I regarded him for a long, silent moment, all too aware of the guards’ curious stares burning holes in my back. I took a step closer to him until there were mere inches between us and lowered my voice. “What is this?”

His eyes flicked to the guards, then back to me. “What do you mean?”

I wanted to shove him. “We aren’t in love. We’re getting married to fulfill a contract, nothing more. Stop pretending to care about me.”

Volkan studied me, crossing his arms as he did. “Revna. We might not love each other, but we’ll be spending the rest of our lives together. Doesn’t it sound better to be friends? I’m here because I don’t want my wife to be a stranger. Even if she’s my wife only in name.”

Anyone else I would have doubted. But everything about Volkan screamed genuine . Each movement he made, every word he spoke, was with the intent to heal wherever he could. I clenched my teeth. I didn’t want to believe him, not when my experience with the godtouched told me at most they were capable of indifference.

He chuckled at my silence, placing a hand on my shoulder. I tensed under his touch and he sighed, letting his arm fall at his side.

Was he raised to be like this—kind to a fault? Or was he the exception to a rule?

The question burst from me without warning. “Are the godtouched and the godforsaken equal in your country?”

Volkan raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Mostly, yes. Those with Lurae—magical abilities—are given jobs where they can use their gifts to better the world around them. We’re an agricultural nation, I’m sure you know. You don’t need a Lurae to farm.” He shrugged. “There are occasional skirmishes. But there are also no gods—and no religious leaders to insist our abilities mean something about our worth.”

Equal enough. Far more than here, at least.

I nodded firmly. He wasn’t trying to get under my skin, worm his way into my trust until I caved. Godforsaken and godtouched were the same where he came from. He was unlike the rest of us, predisposed to our prejudices by the priests.

Freja would want to meet him. And despite my general attitude toward the godtouched, I trusted him. “Then come with me.”

He followed obediently when I approached the guards. “I’m here to see someone,” I told them. The prison’s location was so isolated, their jobs required little effort. Any escapees would struggle to make it out of the valley quickly enough to avoid capture.

The first guard tilted his head. “Leave your weapons. And make it quick.”

They unlocked the door, pushing it open enough for me and Volkan to squeeze through. We stepped into the darkness and the entrance closed behind us, leaving us to let our eyes adjust.

“Only two guards?” Volkan asked, looking back over his shoulder. The whites of his eyes shone in the dim light. I didn’t miss his hands curling tightly in the fabric of his shirt.

“Silencers,” I explained as we began our trek. The layout of the prison was simple, with a single winding hallway making up each floor. My ancestors designed the layout purposefully, with only one way in and out. I beckoned for Volkan to continue following me and we walked through the first level, lit dimly by lamps. Guards stood watch every so often. I nodded to the first one I saw, but he ignored me completely. “That’s what we call them, at least.”

Volkan hummed. “We call them silencers, too. I’ve always thought it was strange that some people were given the magic to…well, prevent magic from being used.”

My eyes adjusted slowly. Cell after cell lined the walls and a horrid groaning floated through the tunnel, the sound of something inhuman crying out in pain.

I walked a little faster. Volkan’s footsteps sped up behind me.

“Maybe the gods were trying to even the playing field,” I suggested. My voice dropped to barely a whisper. I peered briefly into each of the lower cells looking for Freja. The winding hallway went on forever before we reached the staircase. Part of me wanted to call out her name, but the silence of the prison felt too reverent to break. In other ways, it was suffocating, as if any speech would be drowned out under the weight of it.

“You do believe in the gods, then?” Volkan’s voice was tinged with curiosity.

The staircase spiraled and I focused on watching every step. “No. Even if they are real, for them to create a world like this would be horribly cruel, don’t you think?”

He didn’t answer. I had the sense he agreed but was lost in thought.

Iron bars stretched to the ceiling, only a couple of inches apart. The dirt floor was rough beneath my boots. We were almost all the way down the hall when I finally spotted her, crouched in the corner of a tiny cell as if huddling against herself might provide enough warmth to be comfortable.

“Freja.” I slid to my knees in front of the metal bars, wishing I had a godtouch that would let me bend the metal to reach her.

She crawled forward, a flicker of hope lighting her face. “Revna? Is that you?”

I reached my hand through the gap in the bars and she took it, our palms pressed together. Only when she squeezed my hand did I realize it trembled.

“Volkan is here, too.” My fiancé stepped forward into the dim light, nodding at Freja.

She gasped, clutching a hand to her chest and glaring at me. “The Prince of Faste! Why would you bring him here? This is not how I wanted to meet my best friend’s future husband for the first time.”

He chuckled and sat cross-legged beside me. “I wasn’t invited, don’t worry. I tagged along against Revna’s will.”

Her smile was exhausted but genuine. “I bet she loved that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Enough about us. How are you?” My voice remained low; I didn’t know who else was in the nearby cells and I didn’t want to find out.

I took in her now limp curls, the shadows taking residence under her dark eyes. Her clothes were covered in a layer of dirt. “Alive.”

It was the first time I’d ever heard Freja speak without a spark of laughter in the back of her throat. Something inside me wilted and shriveled in on itself.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—release her hand. “This is my fault and I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Did you talk to your father?”

“He won’t help.”

She let out a sigh and tried to tuck her hair behind her ear, to no avail. “I figured. We’ve done our fair share of mischief over the years, but stepping in to stop a ritual…I can’t say I blame him.”

I rubbed a hand over my pounding forehead. “We’ll figure something out. There are a few days before the wedding. I’ll make sure you’re free before then.”

“You can’t actually think your father would let me go.”

“He won’t. But I’ll get you out.”

“To do what?” she scoffed. “Leave Bhorglid? Leave my mother behind? Never see my brother again? I’d rather be here than separated from my family.”

Bitterness welled within me. She would turn down her freedom—not just from this prison but from her life as a godforsaken. I wanted to take my own offer, run and be free without ever having to see my family again. It took all my discipline to swallow the anger.

“How is Arne?” she asked, breaking the silence. Her tone was too stiff, too forced. She’d always been able to read my moods.

I shrugged, thinking of his expression at the Sharpened Axe last night when I’d mentioned the early arrival of the Fastians. Stony and cold. “I haven’t seen him at all today. But I don’t think he’s happy.” A pang echoed through my chest. “What I wouldn’t give for things to go back to normal.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she said. “I agreed to help. I was the one who planned it all. I wouldn’t have gotten involved if it wasn’t a cause I believed in. In the end, we just sped up the timeline a bit.”

We fidgeted in silence, Volkan’s presence keeping us from divulging all our feelings. He didn’t know about my history with Arne, and I didn’t want to tell him before I knew what he would think.

Freja and I wholeheartedly believed in our cause. But believing it and accepting the consequences for it looked different for the two of us.

“You were never supposed to end up in prison,” I finally protested. “I’m sorry, Freja. I shouldn’t have asked you to be a part of this.”

For a moment, her eyes lit with fire. “Stop apologizing. We did the right thing. I’ve been willing to accept my fate since we started this. You should be, too.”

“Willing to accept my fate?”

“No. Willing to accept mine.”

“You want me to leave you here?” My voice broke. “I won’t.”

She reached through the bars, her face set, and grabbed the collar of my dress. Her voice lowered to a raspy whisper. “No. You’ll ruin everything. Just because I have to rot in a prison cell doesn’t mean you need to martyr yourself. You have a future to think about.”

Lowering my voice to match hers, I didn’t hesitate to let my anger show through. “I’m not going to leave you here. I’d never forgive myself.”

She frowned and released me, crawling back to the dark corner of the cell. “You should go.”

I stood and Volkan followed suit. My fingernails dug into my palms, and I struggled to keep my voice steady. “I would do anything to get you out of here, Freja. I will do anything. I hope you know that.”

She nodded, expression sour. “I know.”

Exiting the prison felt like walking to the gallows.

The scenery around the isolated building was unchanged from when we entered—flakes of snow drifted down around us, pure against the background of scattered pines that dotted the hillside.

Just before I lost myself in the sorrow of accepting my fate, Volkan placed a hand on my shoulder. “Revna,” he said slowly, “I think I have an idea.”