Page 8 of Blood Beneath the Snow (Blood & Souls Duology #1)

8

I knelt on the damp grass in despair until my bones felt frozen enough to crumble under a single touch. My teeth chattered, but the events of the night wouldn’t stop repeating in my mind over and over.

The guests had finished departing long ago. Now the courtyard was empty aside from the few priests who watched me warily from their guard posts.

“This would be so much easier if Freja were here,” I muttered. I’d expected to cry until my tears froze to my cheeks, but instead I was numb all over. The stars were out in their full glory, and I gazed at them, wishing they could help me disappear. Wondering if I’d made a mistake in agreeing to the Trials.

No, I reminded myself. Even sacrificing your own life wouldn’t be enough to repay Freja for all she’s done for you.

“Revna?” I turned and spotted a lone figure moving toward me in the dark. From a distance, all I recognized was the pressed military uniform. But the only person who would call me by my name instead of my title tonight was…

“Arne?” I straightened.

He moved closer and I nearly gasped; the black fabric of his formal coat stretched across his shoulders, gold buttons shining on the collar and the wrists. A red sash draped from his left shoulder to his right hip.

He looked handsome. Regal. Like a prince himself.

“You look…” My voice trailed off as I pushed to my feet. For a moment the despair sitting in my chest vanished, distracted by the unexpected visitor. “I’m amazed they gave you a formal uniform.”

“I didn’t think they would either,” he said, fingers fidgeting with the buttons on his sleeves. “They seemed unsure, but I’m the first godforsaken they’ve enlisted, so there’s no rule in place.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the two white-robed priests standing guard at the top of the mountain path. Arne’s conscription had elevated him enough for the priests to let him in the gates. Odd that the very thing meant to punish him—punish me —had raised his status. Their embroidered eyes kept careful watch on the two of us, waiting to report back to my father.

Suppressing a shiver, I studied him as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Are you ready?”

“To try and survive?” He shrugged. “Ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve trained as much as I was able. I said goodbye to my dads before I came over.”

My mind was drowning with the events of the past two days. Volkan, so much kinder and far more trustworthy than I’d anticipated; Freja, asking me to leave her in prison; Arne, ready to go to war; me, putting my life on the line for my friends. “When do you report?”

“First thing in the morning. Are you…” He glanced at his feet, cleared his throat. A tinge of red brushed his cheeks. “How was the engagement ceremony? What are you doing out here so late?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again wordlessly. My thoughts swarmed like insects. Arne didn’t know I had turned down the proposal and secured a place in the Trials; when it had come time to formulate the plan, including him hadn’t crossed my mind. He was leaving, after all. There was nothing he could do from the front.

There was nothing I would be able to do from the front either.

The words were on the tip of my tongue, but at the last moment I held them back. I didn’t want him to know. I wanted him to treat me the same for a moment. Especially when I knew he would never forgive me for my decision. Where Volkan, Halvar, and Frode were proud of me for standing up to Father, for making a change that would benefit the godforsaken, Arne would only be upset.

“I was…trying to clear my head. Take everything in.” The words weren’t even a lie.

He pulled me into a hug. I pressed my face into the wool coat, inhaling the scent of new fabric, trying to hold back tears. Arne and Freja were the only good things I had. And in the morning, they would both be gone forever unless I managed to win the Trials.

Memories bombarded me. Arne and me stargazing in our secret clearing while he whispered his fears to me; how his fathers loved him but he wasn’t sure why they should if his birth parents gave him up willingly; clutching each other a little tighter after my own father had beaten me particularly badly; the very first time we met, when we were both eleven and his big, dark eyes had taken me in with curiosity and not the disgust I was used to. His departure marked the end of whatever flame had flickered between us. It was hard to feel grateful while I feared for his life.

His breath ghosted over the shell of my ear and I shivered. “What if we ran?” he whispered. “What if we left—right now? Stole two horses and disappeared.”

I stiffened, pulling back. “We can’t leave.”

Arne blinked. “But we could be together. Don’t you want that?” His next words shone on his face before he said them. “Revna, I love you.”

My mouth went dry.

My worst fear was confirmed. His love was like a flame against the pure snow covering Bhorglid all year: bright and hot and impossible to deny. He’d shown it in every dance, every brush of hands, every kiss, every moment of intimacy we’d shared. And yet I’d clung to him selfishly, only wishing for something to keep for myself, someone to be safe with while I waited to meet my inevitable fate.

A chasm opened in my chest, threatening to swallow me whole. Arne stood reaching for me on the other side, but no matter how desperately I attempted to bridge the gap, I knew futility when I saw it. I longed to wrench my heart in his direction, force it to obey. I wanted to want him. Why couldn’t I? Who gave my foolish heart the right to deny him and me what we both deserved?

It certainly wasn’t me.

Arne swallowed. “Do you love me?”

The words took their time coming. Telling him the truth…could mean losing him forever. A loss more permanent than physical separation: bitterness. The end of our friendship. I pulled my hands from his warm grasp, unable to meet his eyes.

Silence fell like an ocean between us.

As the seconds ticked by, something changed in his face. Was it the excitement blinking out of his eyes? The subtle hardening of his mouth? The way his next exhale made him shudder, like the cold was seeping through his coat?

“I can’t leave,” I protested. “Not when Freja is still here. Not when my father would kill her if I disappeared.”

He took a step back. “I understand.” There was a hollow note in his voice.

I reached out a hand. “Arne, please—”

“No.” His bright blue eyes were like daggers. “No. It’s better if this is the end. I know what you’re doing. I know you’re trying to spare me the pain.”

I wanted to groan, wanted to shake his shoulders until he understood. Arne deserved a woman who’d drive a blade through the heart of all who threatened him. Not me, unable to give him everything when my heart still rested in other places—Freja’s safety, the freedom of the godforsaken, and the Trials were barriers I couldn’t tear down even if I wanted to.

But instead of arguing, I used my hands on his shoulders to pull him in for a blistering kiss.

Our mouths collided and it wasn’t sweet or gentle, not the way it had been every other time before. Yet it was so incredibly Arne—exposing the depths of his emotions that he would always say but never express.

We kissed and kissed and I waited, hoping desperately for some spark. Some proof that maybe I did love him after all.

It never came.

But what did was the familiar press of him, hard against me through his pants and my dress. His hands shook slightly as he pushed my hair away from my neck to press his lips there. “One last night?” Arne’s voice was hesitant, his eyes pleading when they met mine.

After all the firsts we’d fumbled through together, he was an intrinsic part of me. I might not feel the same way about him, but his soft-spoken words still made me long for him.

I wanted to say yes. Wanted to welcome him into my bed and my body one more time before we were separated forever. But I didn’t want to lead him on. I knew I didn’t love him. I knew we’d been growing distant as the looming presence of my engagement encroached upon our peaceful hiding place.

Except we both wanted one last night together. And if it meant different things to each of us, then so be it. After tonight, he would be off to the front lines of the holy war and I would be a dead woman walking. He would be the only person I’d ever shared so much of myself with—even if only as a friend. If after my death he thought I’d loved him back, surely there would be no harm. Surely it would be better to leave his memories of me intact, rose-colored with love instead of the bitterness that would surge if he knew his affections weren’t reciprocated.

I grabbed his hand and pulled him with me into the castle. We ascended the stairs quickly and I let myself think of it as an escape from the torturous night I’d had. At least I could forget everything that had happened when we sank into the heat of our bodies together.

Before I opened my door, Arne pulled me back, his face nervous. “You’re not…” He scratched at the back of his neck. “The Fastian Prince isn’t in there?”

I blinked. “Why in the world would I have brought you up if that was going to be a problem?”

Even in the darkness I knew he was turning bright red. “Right. Right, yeah.”

He pushed the door open himself, and when I shut it behind me, twisting the knob on the lamp to light the room, he unceremoniously stripped until he was bare. In the past, I’d always taken a moment to drink him in with my eyes. I might not have loved him, but I knew how to recognize beauty when I saw it. Arne’s tall frame, lean muscle, and dark hair were the picture of perfection.

But tonight, hands shaking, I turned around. “Help me with my dress?” I asked.

Arne, ever the gentle lover, obliged, his fingers soft against my back as they undid each button with care. He bent to press the occasional kiss to my spine as he worked, and I was grateful my wandering thoughts and rising guilt didn’t prevent the shiver that raced through me at his touch.

Finished with his task, he pushed the dress lightly so the sleeves fell off of my arms. I stepped out of the skirt and my underthings and turned to face him once more.

His eyes raked over me darkly. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

It was the only time besides the first that I’d ever felt nervous under his watchful gaze. Then he pulled me closer, and we kissed once more. Our lips danced as he pushed me back onto the bed, falling over top of me and hiking my leg up and around his hip without preamble.

Gods, why couldn’t I relax?

I clamped my eyes shut in a desperate attempt to focus on everything I was feeling—Arne’s hot breath in my ear, the way he sucked on my collarbone and pressed his fingers between my thighs—but it was to no avail. Instead, the memory of Freja’s arrest formed beneath my eyelids as vividly as if I were seeing it for the first time again. My father’s feral scream when I refused the engagement echoed in my ears.

My panting breaths had nothing to do with pleasure. “I can’t do this,” I gasped, pushing Arne off me and moving to the bathroom. I dunked my face into the bucket of clean, cold water I kept there. The shock to my system was enough to drag me back to reality, despite my shaking limbs.

He was there behind me in an instant. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

I choked out a bitter laugh. “No, that’s not—that’s not it, I just—I can’t do this.”

Silence sat so heavily in the room, it was almost like a third person was there. After a moment, I felt him retreat and the rustling of fabric informed me he was dressing again. It was easy to sense what he wanted—but asking him to stay felt beyond my scope of capability, especially knowing I’d spend the evening staring at his closed eyes and pushing myself to feel something— anything —more for him.

It took everything I had to shutter my wild thoughts behind closed doors. When I could breathe once more, I dried my face on a towel and went back into the room. My hands still shook, trembles I couldn’t force away echoing through my fingers.

Arne was lacing his boots, his new uniform now wrinkled from its time spent on my floor. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It isn’t you, I swear.”

He nodded, standing, and pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. “I’ll go home,” he said. “You’re right. It would be torture to say goodbye tomorrow. This will be farewell, Revna. I hope to see you again someday.”

Tears shone in his eyes, and I cried too as he turned and made his way out of the room. Not for our love—or, rather, his love for me—but for the last look at our inseparable friendship. The three of us, Arne, Freja, and I, would never be in the same room again.