Page 7 of Blood Beneath the Snow (Blood & Souls Duology #1)

7

Volkan paced back and forth across Halvar’s secret basement room, anxiety radiating off him in waves.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I griped, not for the first time. “Or are we going to continue like this?”

After having what he claimed was a brilliant idea, Volkan had asked if there was a safe place we could go to discuss it. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure anywhere but here counted as safe—not when there were godtouched everywhere who wouldn’t hesitate to take any overheard information back to the king. Halvar may have given me a strange look when we showed up but he hadn’t turned us away.

“I’m just—” He sighed, ran a hand roughly through his hair. “I need to make sure I’ve thought of everything. And I don’t know if I have.”

The hatch in the ceiling thudded open and closed again, and Halvar descended the ladder. He glared at me. “You brought a godtouched here?”

“He’s trustworthy,” I promised.

Halvar glanced at Volkan. My fiancé looked at me. “You need to compete in the Bloodshed Trials,” Volkan said without preamble.

I blinked, then sighed. “ That’s your plan? Halvar and I have been over this a million times. Even if I could convince them to let me compete, I would never win.”

“And that’s where I think you’re wrong.” Volkan’s face was alight with fervor. “Especially because you don’t have to win. At least, not in the traditional sense.”

Halvar hummed. “What do you mean, boy?”

“Your brother thinks you would be a good queen.” Volkan looked at me and I conceded with a nod. “Why does everyone have to die? If the two of you team up to compete together, you can choose to stop the fighting when you’re the last ones left. Then Frode could hand over the crown to you.”

I opened my mouth to protest. There were so many holes in the idea, so many places for things to go horribly wrong. And saying you thought someone would make a good ruler didn’t mean you’d kill your brothers to prove it.

But before I could speak, Halvar chimed in. “Think of the chaos, Rev,” he muttered. “The perfect opportunity. The priests would be utterly defenseless, and if we got all of the godforsaken willing to fight to be there, they could—”

“No.”

They both fell quiet and I stood from my chair to glare at Halvar. “You would lose lives. You understand that, right? And if we failed, then they would kill us all. There would be no going back.

“Besides”—I turned to Volkan now—“if you think my father would let me compete in the Trials, then you’re delusional. This alliance keeps the war going. It keeps us from losing. If we don’t follow through with it, if your parents back out, we will be starved and then overrun by Kryllian in a matter of weeks.”

My thoughts swirled like a storm, and I wished they would stop. I closed my eyes, the reality of the situation overwhelming. Why did my father get to have so much power over me? Over my life?

When would I have the chance to take back the power?

Freja’s smile and Arne’s laugh pranced through my head. A lump settled in my throat. The words from dinner last night echoed through my skull, reverberating like the beat of a drum. We are losing the war, losing the war, losing the war.

The alliance before us, the marriage behind it—my father desperately needed both to keep our people alive. If I didn’t marry Volkan, Faste would pull their food shares. The Hellbringer would wreak havoc on our weakened armies, decimating Bhorglid’s godtouched population beyond repair. And with the majority of our stores going to the front, any soldiers who managed to return would find nothing and no one left.

The silence in the basement room seemed to echo, tension stretched tight between the three of us. I didn’t want to look at either of their faces, didn’t want to be persuaded.

“Revna.” Halvar’s voice was gentle. “Think about what would happen if the alliance didn’t go through. Who would suffer?”

“Everyone,” I protested. “We would all starve.”

“Yes,” he conceded, “unless the war ended before we could starve.”

“Impossible. Bjorn will continue the war when he becomes king—it won’t end anytime soon. We could be dying in the streets of hunger and they wouldn’t stop their march against Kryllian.”

“Bjorn would continue the war,” Volkan said. “But would you?”

My head snapped up at the thought, the realization hitting me hard. Father needed me. Needed the alliance with Faste in order to keep fighting, needed the marriage to secure the deal. Otherwise the plan unraveled at the seams, the war lost before a victor ever stepped off the battlefield.

For the first time, my father needed the pawn to make his final move.

For the first time, I had the advantage.

I could save Freja. Save Arne.

You would make a great queen.

The fate of my country lay on my back. The power to damn our nation rested in my palms.

But if I can take the throne, I mused, then perhaps our salvation lies in my hands instead.

I would have to compete in the Bloodshed Trials.

It would be nearly impossible. A death sentence. But wasn’t walking into this marriage the same thing? The only difference was whether my soul would wither away slowly or my throat would be slashed open by my brother, ending my life in an instant.

I knew which I preferred.

Seized with a sudden rush of confidence, I looked at Volkan. My heart pounded against my rib cage, measuring the seconds as they vanished into silence. Could I do it? Could I destroy the fragile strings keeping me tied to my father, my brothers?

You would make a great queen.

Volkan had been watching, waiting for something in my expression to change. I knew he’d seen it when he stepped closer to me, determined. “If they don’t have food, morale on the front lines will decline. The king will lose the favor of the citizens, the soldiers. He will be utterly desperate—and it will make him sloppy. Without the alliance, Bhorglid is nothing. And the alliance depends on us . If we refuse to go through with the marriage, then we hold the upper hand.”

I hesitated. “What about the people here? Won’t they starve before the soldiers?”

“No,” Halvar reassured me. “Food stores are low, but we have enough to last us through the Trials. Win the throne, pull the soldiers back home; if we’re not sending everything to the front lines, we’ll have plenty.”

I bit my lip, still not reassured. “So we do what? Tell them we won’t get married unless I’m allowed to compete?”

“Yes.” Volkan was growing excited again. “You tell your father you won’t marry me unless you get a chance, just like your brothers. If you lose or forfeit, then they can send you home with me. Otherwise, you won’t do it.”

I chewed my lip. “It might work. But we need input from some other parties first.”

The early glaze of snow on the roads was disturbed only by my footprints. Was it possible to both relish in my triumph and languish at the idea of my impending death? Because unless one of the gods themselves dropped from the sky, I was as good as dead.

Halvar, Volkan, and I had decided to meet up the following morning to discuss more details of our plan. It had potential; even I could admit that. But I didn’t want to commit unless we had Frode fully on board. Especially with how difficult his godtouch could make combat. If he was unwilling, then I wouldn’t move forward.

Besides, it was one thing to say I’d make a good queen; it was an entirely different beast to put your words into action.

As I took a less conspicuous route to the Sharpened Axe, I considered the thoughts that plagued me the night before. Thoughts of my own likely imminent death.

Forcing my father to let me compete would be difficult, but Volkan’s reasoning made sense. Even if I managed it, though, I would still have to stay alive in the arena. And I had the suspicion that if my other brothers discovered Frode and I had teamed up, they wouldn’t hesitate to do the same.

When Bjorn’s feet touched the sand of the arena, I had no doubt he would send his fire straight for me.

As the huge, expensively made homes of the godtouched slowly gave way to the ramshackle houses the godforsaken occupied, I wondered whether I would see the Hellbringer again today. Something in my stomach swooped dangerously at the thought of drawing my weapon to face off against him, the fierce hand of the Kryllian Queen. Despite all the stories about him, curiosity overwhelmed me at the thought of his godtouch.

Better a swift death at his hand than a long, drawn-out one at Bjorn’s.

I shook the thought from my head and pretended I wasn’t disappointed the streets were emptier than ever as I slipped through the back door to the Sharpened Axe, grabbing a lantern from its post as I lifted the hatch leading belowground. Descending the ladder was second nature, and I was in the secret training room within seconds.

The flickering light illuminated the space, and an unexpected wave of sorrow rushed through me.

Arne and Freja should be here. We should be celebrating whoever’s birthday had passed most recently with drinks and a knife-throwing contest Freja would undoubtedly win. Making jokes about the priests and planning how to disrupt the next ritual.

Instead, I stood alone, shadows my only companions.

I forced myself to move, to set up one of the straw targets for throwing knives or a bow and arrow while I waited for the rest of the party to arrive. Instead of losing myself in the what-ifs, I worked at honing my skills. Something about practicing until sweat soaked my clothes kept me pieced together. Kept me from slamming my fist into walls or breaking glass decorations at the castle.

It could have been minutes or hours when I heard another person descending the ladder behind me. I’d given up on lobbing knives at the target. Despite my strength, they missed the bull’s-eye too many times to ease my frustration. Instead, I’d taken to punching a bag filled with straw.

I whirled on my intruder, unsheathing the sword at my waist and pointing it at them as I stepped swiftly forward.

Halvar stood there, dark circles beneath his eyes, his hands raised in surrender. I lowered and sheathed my weapon, nodding at him.

“The others should be here soon,” he said, taking a seat on one of the benches. “So long as they’re punctual.”

I sat down across from him, waiting for my heartbeat to return to normal. “You think he’ll show up?”

Halvar shrugged, twisting the cigar in his hands. “You would know better than I would. How did Frode seem to take it when you asked him?”

My thoughts drifted back to the evening before and I rubbed my wrists. The burns there had healed, but it would take another day or so for the fresh scarring to fade with the rest. Father had been furious when I returned from the prison, not hesitating to take his punishment out on me the moment Volkan had returned to his rooms. I hadn’t had the chance to catch Frode alone before we were all assembled at dinner.

Frode, seated on my right side, had given me a strange look. I knew my thoughts were chaotic. I’d glanced at him, wondering how much to reveal about our plan in that moment, then decided to make things simple.

Can you meet me at Halvar’s tomorrow morning at dawn?

He’d replied with a raised eyebrow and a nod. The rest of dinner had continued without a hitch.

“Frode will be here,” I told Halvar. “I’m hoping Volkan hasn’t backed out.”

“He seemed the most motivated between the three of us, if we’re being honest,” Halvar said with a chuckle. “That boy really does not want to marry you.”

I smacked him on the shoulder, then burst into laughter. “I wonder if he has someone waiting for him back home.”

The trapdoor squeaked on its hinges and another person descended into the space as Halvar griped about oiling the metal parts of the hatch again. When Frode stepped into the light, followed closely by Volkan, my shoulders sank with relief.

“Who’s going to tell me what’s happening here?” Frode asked without preamble. He sauntered through the room, hands in his pockets, observing the weaponry stacked carefully on all sides. He glanced at Halvar curiously. “Is this an assassination attempt?”

“What?” I asked as Halvar sputtered. “Why would I have asked you here to assassinate you?”

Frode shrugged and gestured to the weapons. “You’ve been incredibly vague about this, even in your thoughts, so I made an assumption based on all of these swords and knives.”

Volkan snorted and took a seat across from me on the other bench. “You seem to be the only decent member of your family besides Revna. I’d hate to kill you.”

“If you think I wouldn’t at least try to eliminate Bjorn first, then you clearly don’t know me as well as you thought you did,” I added.

Frode was examining the knife selection Halvar had displayed on the wall. My brother’s own long, curved knives were sheathed at either hip. “Excellent. Well, since we’ve established that no one is being murdered today, give me one moment.” Frode walked back to the ladder, clambering to the top and knocking three times on the hatch. The rest of us frowned.

Then the trapdoor opened again and Jac hopped down, boots sending a cloud of dust into the air from where they hit the ground.

Halvar stood. “Why is he here?”

Jac adjusted his cloak, pulling down the hood and moving to sit next to a surprised Volkan. “Because I followed a very suspicious-looking Frode.”

I glared at Frode, who shrugged. “I’ve never been good at secrecy; you know that. He demanded to know where I was going, so I told him.”

With a heavy sigh, I pressed two fingers to the bridge of my nose. Having Jac here complicated things. Frode could be trusted, but Jac—quiet, soft-spoken Jac—was far more of an enigma.

Frode put a hand on my shoulder. “Jac is trustworthy. Whatever you’re planning, he’ll keep your secrets from Father.”

I took a steadying breath. “Well, then…how do the two of you feel about having a godforsaken queen?”

Most girls would swoon over the thought of attending their own engagement party. Instead, I stared at the wooden doors leading to the ballroom, dread and anxiety creating a noxious mix in my stomach.

My dress swept across the floor, silk the color of emeralds winding around my arms. It hugged my torso, flattering my curves, and fell straight along my sides to brush against my ankles. My dark hair was pulled into braids, loose curls from the long ends of the braids falling around my shoulders.

I never had reason to look this nice, and on the one night I did, I couldn’t enjoy it. I huffed at the inconvenience.

I chewed my red-painted lips and ignored the curious glances of the servants posted at each door. I’d arrived late on purpose, worried my anxiety about the plan Volkan and I had concocted would be utterly obvious on my face. Would Father sense it the instant I walked through the doors? Or would I be able to hide the deception beneath my made-over appearance?

Music drifted through the hall and I took a shuddering inhale. Was walking toward your engagement supposed to feel like walking toward inevitable death?

One of the doormen raised an eyebrow at me and reached for the door handle, but I held up a hand to stop him.

“Not yet,” I said. Someone tapped on my shoulder, pulling me back to the present, and I turned to see Jac standing just behind me. I was so lost in my own thoughts I hadn’t heard him approach.

He looked impassive as ever, but the red of his formal military uniform added another level of stoicism to him.

Jac held out his arm to me. “May I escort you in?”

If I didn’t move, I was going to puke. I nodded and took a deep breath, winding my arm through Jac’s. This time the servants opened the doors to the ballroom without hesitation.

And I stared into a room full of godtouched who hated me.

Partygoers waltzed across the dance floor; others watched from the sidelines. Guests were dressed in long gowns, necks adorned with precious gems. Some wore dark suits with red sashes marking them as military. There were banquet tables set up around the perimeter, filled with more food than I’d seen in months. Had the Fastian royals brought it with them? The Fastian colors were draped across every available surface, emerald green creating a sea of color around the room.

When the audience saw me, hushed murmurs spread across the room, winding their way through every nook and cranny. I fought every instinct and tilted my chin high. I might be out of my element in this ballroom, but the pantheon would fall before the godtouched saw me cower.

My father sat on his favorite throne, adorned to look like gold. As a child, I found him most intimidating there. Now I only saw his insatiable lust for power, his desperation to seize control however he could—over Kryllian, over the godforsaken, over me.

Loathing crept through me at the sight of him. Tonight I would take the upper hand.

The rest of the royalty were no less imposing. On my father’s left was my mother, seated on a smaller, black throne. On his right, the Fastian King and Queen had each been offered white thrones, both smaller than my mother’s. The white accented their emerald green finery and dark skin. They were easily the most beautiful people in the room. Jac kept me pressed tight to his side as we were announced, then began a winding path through the room.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

My brother’s expression didn’t change. “As far away from Father as possible. If we have to be here, the least we can do is avoid the formality of it all for as long as we can.”

I raised an eyebrow, smiling. I’d never been as close to Jac as I was Frode, but he had surprised me today.

“Thank you.”

He frowned, steering me away from an aristocrat who eyed us with too much interest. “For what?”

I shrugged. “For supporting me. For agreeing to this scheme.”

Jac chuckled under his breath. “The war has kept us apart. If I’d known you were doing more than performing petty acts of rebellion, I would have joined you in your endeavors long ago. The efforts to overtake Kryllian have continued for far too long.”

I smiled, grateful he’d snuck his way into our plans.

With so many unknown godtouched surrounding us, we kept our conversation generalized. Curious eyes followed our every movement, and I had no doubt ears were fine-tuned to listen in on our exchange. Still, Jac steered me clear of sycophantic conversations with those who sought to belittle me. I was under no impression that any guest was here to offer their blessings on my impending nuptials.

We turned our conversation to the war. “Do you fight with a bow and arrow on the front?” I asked, realizing for the first time I didn’t know the answer. “Or do you use your godtouch and transform into a beast?”

“Depends on the day,” he said. “If it’s a larger battle, I’ll use my godtouch. For little skirmishes, though, a bow and arrow do fine.”

“Tell me about the Hellbringer.” It had been over twenty-four hours since I thought I saw the masked Kryllian general outside the prison, but he haunted my thoughts. I wondered if he watched me from hidden places—if he knew what we were planning to do tonight.

If he was even real. It was entirely possible I was losing my hold on reality.

“What is there to say?” Jac’s voice was gruff. “He’s a terror in a mask. A monster in human skin. It’s hard to believe people see him and live to tell the tale.”

The description warred with the glamour of the ballroom around us, just as the beauty of the party warred with the unsubtle glances and vicious stares of the attendees. The Hellbringer was a monster in human skin and I was a privileged royal daughter dressed in finery I didn’t deserve. A pawn in a ballgown.

Though if everything went right tonight, that wouldn’t be the case for much longer.

Frode approached us, parting the crowd like a wave. The godtouched were disgusted by me, but they didn’t love Frode either. He had a reputation as a drunkard, a shameful addition to the royal family. The two of us originally bonded over our shared notoriety, black sheep left to their own devices.

Tonight he looked royal as ever in his finery. “It’s time,” he told me. I couldn’t read minds, but it was easy to see the nervousness on his face. He smiled slightly when he heard that thought. “I’m not as nervous as Volkan. Though I’m not sure what he has to be nervous about—you’re the one who will suffer if this doesn’t work.”

I glanced around, grateful none of the partygoers seemed to be paying us much attention. I released Jac’s arm and took Frode’s instead, the older brother guiding me to the dais where the thrones awaited.

Volkan waited for me on the dais and I stepped up to stand beside him. Frode gave me an encouraging nod before stepping down to stand in line next to the thrones with my mother and other brothers.

When my fiancé took my hand in his, I was surprised but not ungrateful. There was a gentleness about Volkan I appreciated. It bolstered my strength.

I bowed low to my father. He smiled, but I knew not a soul in the room fell for it. Each person in attendance tonight was godtouched. They each had their own magic. And they’d all whispered to each other on the day I turned nine what a disgrace it must be to father a godforsaken child when magic supposedly ran so strongly in one’s bloodline.

I wondered what they said now. Anger burned in my blood.

My father placed a hand on my shoulder. I kept a straight face, even as he hissed under his breath, “Be on your best behavior.” Heat flared from his palm. I tightened my jaw, pulling away from his grasp.

“It is time for the engagement ceremony to begin.” My father’s voice boomed over the crowd, which immediately fell silent. “Revna.”

My thoughts swirled like a storm, and I wished they would stop. The crowd stared me as if I had a contagious disease. The golden buttons on my father’s long red coat glinted in the light. All attention was on us.

“Tonight,” he bellowed, “we are here to celebrate the union of two nations.”

I closed my eyes. This was going to work. I was going to take back my power. My father had made a mistake when he decided to use me as a pawn, and this would prove it.

“My daughter is to be engaged to the Prince of Faste,” he continued.

“No.”

My voice echoed through the silent room, and for a long moment time stood still. Then the whispers began in a flurry, gasps bursting through the crowd. The satisfaction flowing freely through my veins felt better than when I’d slammed my fist against a wall two nights ago. It was a high unlike any I’d experienced before. I turned to face my father.

His face was the same shade of dark red as his hair. “Revna,” he growled, “you will do what you promised.”

I dug my nails into my palms, a wicked smile slashing its mark across my features. “I didn’t promise anything. You did. You tried to steal my life to fight a war we don’t deserve to win. But you made a mistake when you chose to stake your plans on me. I have the upper hand now. And I will not marry Volkan.”

Without any warning, my mother collapsed. Erik stepped forward in time to catch her and place her down gently, unconscious. Against the light stone floor, she looked like a ghost, her hair fanning out in stark contrast.

The King and Queen of Faste grabbed Volkan by the arms to pull him away from me. He kept his eyes on me, his face carefully neutral.

“You’ve caused too much trouble,” my father hissed, and the blade of a knife gleamed, hidden in his closed fist. He would kill me for this—he truly would.

But I raised a hand and he stopped. “Kill me and there is no alliance,” I reminded him. Hesitation gleamed like fire in his eyes. “Here’s my offer: let me compete for the throne in the Bloodshed Trials. If I yield, then I lose, and I will marry Volkan. But if I win…” I shrugged. “The crown will be mine.”

The crowd was eerily silent for a heartbeat.

My father erupted. “ Out! ” he screamed, and the crowd jumped. “ Everyone out! ”

People forced their way toward the exit in a giant mass. I stood on the dais surrounded by my family but completely alone as the crowd departed.

When the giant doors swung closed, my father turned to me again. “You,” he hissed. “How dare you question my authority. How dare you presume you have the power to break an alliance. You are nothing and you will do as I say.”

The King of Faste interrupted. “You dare slight us this way, girl?” His voice was cold as he turned to my father. “We agreed to take your daughter and feed your people despite her being Nilurae and your war being nothing but a petty religious crusade. Our son is not a beggar to be spurned. He is a prince.”

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat, the panic tightening in my chest. No alliance meant no leverage against my father. It meant if I didn’t win the Trials, then Kryllian would win the war.

Frode shot me a look, and I wished I knew what he was thinking. I pretended I did, inserting the words I wanted to hear: No alliance is a good thing. It will work in our favor. Press your advantage while you have it.

The King of Faste continued. “If you wish to continue our alliance, then renegotiations are in order. Swiftly, too. I will not keep feeding a nation that offers us nothing.”

“Father,” Volkan muttered, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s fine. We need their troops, remember?”

“It’s not fine,” his mother snapped. “We need protection, yes. What’s to keep us from forming an alliance with our eastern neighbors instead? Surely they have more to offer than an ungrateful brat for our son.” She glared at my father. “We will return in the morning for renegotiations. You better have something of greater value to offer us than this farce of a marriage deal.” The queen inclined her head at me, then turned, her dress fanning out behind her. She and her husband dragged their son off the dais.

Volkan managed to glance back at me as he was pulled away. The determination in his eyes was clear as day—the closest he could get to wishing me luck.

We waited in silence until the ballroom doors slammed shut behind the retreating royals, the sound echoing through the room.

My father let out a guttural scream and lunged, his hands aimed at my throat.

I tried to run, scrambling not to trip in my dress. My feet tangled in it regardless, and I stumbled off the dais, falling face-first toward the ground.

The shock of my weight landing on my palms sent a jolt through my forearms, but nothing seemed damaged. My father scrambled to try to get around Jac, who had transformed into a huge wolf covered in fur and sporting teeth sharp enough to slice through bone.

Erik went to my father, who thrashed attempting to get past Jac, and took his arm. Despite his natural strength, my father was no match for Erik. As the king continued to spit curses at me, my oldest brother attempted to defuse the situation. “Calm yourself, Father. What will the people say if they know a godforsaken has managed to derail your plans so easily? There must be a way to recover from this.”

The beast slowly shrank back into Jac once more, but Erik’s words had accomplished little. My father might not be reaching for me anymore, but he still looked like he wanted to throttle me. He continued to scream, spittle flying from his mouth.

From one of the Fastian thrones Bjorn studied me, twirling a dagger between his fingers while he lounged. “Father, perhaps this is an opportunity for us.”

Panting, my father grew quiet. His fine clothing smoked along the edges. I was amazed the entire room wasn’t on fire.

“If the Fastians are disappointed with little Revvy this quick, an alliance with her as the glue wouldn’t have lasted long anyway. Besides, it’s easy to see how much they fear Kryllian. They’re desperate for protection, and while they might claim to have allies in the east, it’s unlikely another country will have interest in entering our conflict. I have no doubt we’ll manage to secure their cooperation when we renegotiate tomorrow.”

Bjorn leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he studied me, his gaze like a predator’s. “But now we have a chance to get rid of the pesky blot on our family tree once and for all. And all we have to do is let her compete like she asked.” Bjorn’s grin was feral.

I forced myself to think of Freja as dread filled my stomach like lead.

My father’s breathing began to slow. Jac and Frode moved to stand on either side of me, offering silent support.

Then my father began to laugh, the sound coming from deep in his throat. It echoed through the empty ballroom, a chorus of nightmares, before he finally stopped to breathe.

“Yes,” he said, pointing at me. “You think you have the upper hand? You’re godforsaken. The pantheon looks down on you, and they will show it.

“You may compete. Yielding in the Bloodshed Trials is forbidden. Either you win or you die.” He paused. “And for the sake of the gods and the future of Bhorglid, you’ll perish a horrible, painful death.”

I forced my mouth to stay shut, pushing away my snarky retort. I’d won. They were going to let me compete.

“Tomorrow morning you will report to the war front with the rest of your brothers,” he continued. I felt the blood drain from my face. “That’s right. You want to compete? Then you must prove yourself capable of leading our armies, fighting our battles. I suspect you will not have what it takes. We will see whether you are fit to be a queen.

“Now get out of my sight.” My father waved his hand with a disgusted look, then turned to lift my mother.

There was nothing left in me to speak, to acknowledge my victory, to do anything but leave the way the rest of the crowd had gone until I was once again alone under the stars.

What the hell had I done?