Gods Beneath the Ice

1

Revna

I looked out at the crowd of exhausted soldiers, tense Nilurae, and scowling citizens and clenched my jaw as my thoughts told me again what I already knew to be true: every person here today hates you.

My eyes caught Freja's where she stood, just in front of the temple steps. Her foot tapped a steady, anxious rhythm against the cobblestones and she tried to muster a smile. It was a poor attempt-the result was far more grimace than anything else. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and tried not to think about how much more she would hate me tomorrow, when the treaty with Kryllian was officially signed and I told her the full truth of everything I'd been hiding.

The thought was another chip out of my carefully constructed, utterly porcelain armor. I winced as the slipup of my thoughts avalanched into something far worse.

Music.

My mother's lullaby was never far from the surface, but today, I'd shoved it down as far as possible. Now, of all times, was not an option for breaking. It was too late, though. The thud of my own heartbeat in my ears was now echoed by dozens, hundreds more as thin threads, invisible to everyone but me, stretched from my chest outward to latch my Lurae to everyone present.

Start the speech, I told myself, shuffling the papers in front of me on the podium we'd had carted down in front of the temple dais. My face itched, but I didn't scratch. The scars left by Björn three weeks ago were nearly healed now. That didn't keep them from pulling the skin of my cheekbones and forehead taut, leaving me constantly aware of the way my features were now mangled. Focus on the people. The Nilurae. You're here for them.

I opened my mouth. Words emerged, the product of nothing more than hours upon hours of rehearsing until I knew the speech better than I knew the foreign magic that was somehow a part of me now. But even as I spoke, the song of my Lurae crooned in my ears, and I heard none of what I said.

As I continued to read, more rote than anything else, I scanned the crowd again until I saw Volkan. My ex-fiancé stood at the back, arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed with concentration as he listened.

My thoughts hissed, unwanted. How long until he looks disappointed in you again? Or worse-afraid?

My hands gripped the edges of my notes hard enough to nearly crumple them. And still, I kept speaking, allowing the memorized words to flow from me. Platitudes about peace and community despite our differences, congratulations to the soldiers for their valiant efforts in the war against Kryllian. The latter rang false, I was sure of it. Volkan had insisted on putting them in.

And still, the familiar melody in my mind had hold of me. My Lurae crept over my skin with every shuddering breath, desperate to take hold of the threads gathered in front of me and pull until the bodies in the crowd were broken and lifeless and-

"As we readjust to life without a looming battle around every corner, only generosity and a willingness to see each other as equals will allow Bhorglid to become the blessed land it longs to be. Thank you."

The end of the speech was so rushed, I would be amazed if anyone could decipher it. But it was over. I stepped down, away from the podium, and into the shadow of the temple rubble. Behind me, I heard the murmurs of the crowd grow louder as everyone chatted and caught up with their friends and loved ones returned from the front.

The song quieted a bit, but it was an ever-present grip along my spine now. There was no ridding myself of it. I allowed myself to rub my fingertips softly over my scars, easing the itch slightly, and looked up at the towering statue before me.

Aloisa. She was the only remaining statue from the pantheon of gods our country worshiped at the command of the priests. Ironically, her statue had refused to fall when Halvar and the other rebels took hammers to them all.

Before the Trials, Aloisa was the only deity I related to at all. I'd wondered whether she was lonely, the only woman in a room full of men. Even my freshly forged sword, only a couple of months old, was named after her.

Now, though, I found myself looking to the statue for any small semblance of comfort more often. Loneliness didn't even begin to cover the gaping hole living inside of my chest, caving in more and more every day. Once, it had been filled with purpose, with anger, with my mind-reading older brother and his endless jokes.

"She's not real," I whispered to myself as the crowd continued to disperse behind me. I knew some of the Nilurae had set up shopping stalls around the courtyard, hoping to capitalize on the returning soldiers' hunger for familiar fresh-baked goods. Plenty of people would linger. I straightened my shoulders and shoved a new piece of porcelain over the spider-webbing crack forming in my fragile armor.

"Everything okay?"

I turned as Volkan approached, his face carefully unreadable, and offered him a tight smile. "Good enough for now."

He hummed, hands in his pockets, and a bit of a wry note took residence in his voice. "I'm sorry to break it to you, but there's no prize for giving the speech as fast as possible. Even if you likely broke your own personal record."

A huff of laughter escaped me. "Maybe we can race next time. Start the speech simultaneously and see who finishes first."

Freja joined us on the dais, far less amused. Next to her was a woman around our age-early twenties. Her dark black hair was cut just above her chin, and her eyes radiated wariness. She rubbed one of her hands against the opposite wrist, and I noticed the grooves dug into the skin there. Only years of being handcuffed frequently chafed in such a way.

I knew exactly who this woman was. My shoulders tensed and the song in my head perked up with awareness, eager to latch on to another instance of conflict between Freja and me. But I took a deep breath and forced my voice to remain calm when I turned to her, lowering my voice as I said, "We talked about this."

Freja crossed her arms. "No. I talked and you argued. How else are we going to get to the Kryllian palace in the morning? If we were going to travel on foot, we needed to leave three days ago. A teleporter is our only option now."

I clenched my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms. I reminded myself that the square was still full of people-all of whom wanted to watch me fail, all of whom were waiting for me to slip up. I was no longer magic-less enough for the Nilurae, the people I'd fought for. And my Lurae abilities manifesting so late marked me as an impostor to the pompous upper class of Bhorglid. My taut leash on my magic was stretching thin, and the melody of my mother's lullaby twisted on a sharp note that made my ears ring.

Freja waited until now to ambush you with this, my thoughts whispered. She knew you weren't going to agree otherwise, and this is her revenge for your decision to bring the army home despite her arguments against it.

"And," Freja continued, lowering her voice and stepping closer to me, "we can't afford to waste our time on logistics tomorrow. Not when we know Queen Anja wants something from us, but we aren't sure what it is."

I stiffened. "I'm well aware." It was all we'd talked about over the last three weeks: her, Volkan, and me running over the possibilities again and again, trying to parse what we had to offer Kryllian to persuade them a treaty was worth it. None of us understood why the queen had put so much effort into securing my spot on the throne.

Volkan stepped up next to me and smiled at the woman, who had said nothing but was studying us all intensely. He extended his hand. "My name is Volkan. You're Astrid, right? Freja has told us a lot about you."

Indeed she had. Freja had spent more than six weeks in prison while I trained with the Hellbringer in the northern wastes and my family continued fighting the war against Kryllian. But her time in a cell hadn't been lonely. She'd been released with new friends-namely Valen, a Seeing One, and Astrid, a Lurae woman locked away for refusing to fight in the war.

I hadn't realized until a few days ago just how close Freja and Astrid had grown. When I'd mentioned we probably needed to find a teleporter loyal to our cause to ferry us to the upcoming treaty negotiations, Freja had volunteered Astrid immediately.

Astrid shook Volkan's hand quickly, but pulled back. I waited for her to speak, but instead, her hands moved as she signed her response. Blinking, I attempted to follow what she was saying, but it had been years since Halvar had taught us the basics of sign language to communicate without alerting the priests to our plans. Over time, we'd stopped using it as consistently, but Freja and I had been nearly fluent for a while.

I managed to catch a few words. War. Lurae. Deaf. Loyal. Queen.

Desperate, I waved my hands and she paused. "Slow down?" I signed. "Please?"

A half smile and a nod as Astrid acquiesced. "The war was wrong. I did not want to fight. If I was a soldier, my needs would never have been accommodated. My Lurae peers made my childhood miserable. Prison was a luxury, one I accepted happily."

There was nothing disingenuous about her movements or her body language-it all spoke of sincerity.

Still, I was wary. After the Trials, after the betrayal, I had to be.

My Lurae hummed at the thought of my brother's body frozen in the snowy wastelands, the melody of my mother's lullaby dancing tantalizingly just out of reach. I imagined myself pulling it back, strangling it, squeezing the life out of the magic.

I could not afford a mistake. Not here. Even now, I felt eyes on me from all sides. People watching, waiting for me to show weakness.

I studied Astrid for a long moment. Her gaze remained sharply on mine, never wavering for a second to ogle my scars.

My gut instincts? They told me she was trustworthy. But my instincts had done irreparable damage to me recently-the sting of the Hellbringer's betrayal still flooded my mind every time I allowed my thoughts to wander. And with everyone in the country calling for my head on a pike, trusting a Lurae was not an easy task.

Trusting anyone was not an easy task.

But Freja and Volkan were right, as much as I wanted to deny it. The meeting to sign the treaty between our warring nations was tomorrow, in the Kryllian palace. We needed a teleporter to get there on time. I didn't want to bring another person into my small circle of trust. But there was no other option.

I signed, stumbling over my words, "You must be loyal. Sharing secrets . . . not allowed."

A smile cracked across her face, brightening her features. She nodded enthusiastically.

"The war is over," I continued. "We plan to make the Lurae and Nilurae equals. We need a teleporter to join our cause."

"I will do it." Her jaw set with determination, and a flicker of something like excitement grew behind her eyes. "Just tell me what-"

Her attention flickered past me, to the desecrated remains of the temple.

Astrid lunged for me, wrapped her arms around my middle, and threw me to the ground. I may have been suspicious of her, but I was fully unprepared for her to tackle me. The back of my head slammed against the ground, and black spots danced in front of my eyes. Astrid's entire body weight pressed me into the ground. Freja was screaming something unintelligible, and cries of shock echoed across the buildings, bouncing back and forth to twine with the song of my Lurae.

My magic woke with a vengeance, moving without my permission. It latched on to Astrid and tossed her off me. She landed heavily with a grunt and a groan but didn't move. I spared half a thought to feel guilty, but my head was spinning.

When I sat up, my dress was covered in blood. Wounded. I was wounded. Shit. I ran my palms down my front, searching for the open gash I couldn't feel. Was I in shock? There was no other explanation for why I couldn't-

Freja's voice solidified. "Volkan! Help her!"

My best friend knelt beside Astrid, whose hands clutched her abdomen on the right side. The hilt of a dagger peered out from them, and I realized suddenly that it had been meant for me. Astrid had seen the danger and attempted to push me out of the way.

I stood and the world swayed around me. An assassination attempt. I wanted to laugh, but my head throbbed so painfully I almost collapsed again. The perfect timing for a true test of Astrid's loyalty-one she'd passed with flying colors.

The song of my Lurae swelled, taking over until I could hear only the melody. It moved in tempo with my rushing heartbeat. I watched Volkan run over to Astrid, kneel beside her. The threads stretching from me yearned to move closer. There, there, where the blood is pooling on the ground-

I forced myself to my feet. I couldn't look out at the crowd of once-friendly Nilurae and returned Lurae soldiers, not when I already knew the variety of expressions that would face me. Instead, I focused on Freja's tear-strewn face, Volkan's concentrated expression as he ran his hands over the wound. He grimaced when he grabbed the blood-slick hilt and wrenched the dagger from Astrid's flesh. She groaned, the sound making its way straight to me.

Someone had tried to kill me. To remove me from the throne permanently. And in the process, they'd hurt an innocent person instead.

The song in my veins rose in a crescendo.