Chapter 16 Freya
I said little as I cooked, feeling Bjorn’s scrutiny as I worked even as he made conversation with his mother, who filled every heartbeat with chatter.
When I handed him a bowl, he asked, “Should I prepare myself?”
I shook my head, because the thought of tampering with his food hadn’t even occurred to me. All of my thoughts were too twisted up with what step I should take next.
“Do either of you intend to tell me what you discussed?” he asked, then took a mouthful and swallowed. “Or am I to be kept in the dark?”
Saga didn’t answer. Staring at the contents of my bowl, I said, “Your mother does not know if there is a way forward for me that will not end in many deaths. She has seen nothing that offers a solution.” Putting my bowl aside, I forced myself to meet Bjorn’s eyes. “She also told me how you came to be in Skaland. Of Snorri’s actions. I understand now why you have turned against him.”
Bjorn only stared at his stew as he chewed and then swallowed. Pushing his bowl away, he asked, “What do you wish to do, Born-in-Fire? Because my mother’s inability to see a better path does not mean one does not exist. You just need to choose what direction you wish to go.”
To run seemed the right choice. But could one outrun fate?
I didn’t know, so I didn’t answer, only finished the meal in silence.
“Bjorn will clean up,” Saga announced. “Freya, come. Let us rediscover your cheer.”
Pushing cups into my hand, she tucked a small cask under her arm and led me outside, where it had started snowing.
“It comes early up here,” she remarked. “And stays for longer. Though this will melt before midday tomorrow, I should think.”
One of the outbuildings was a sauna not dissimilar from the style we used in Skaland. Constructed with rough-hewn logs and a turf roof, it blended into the forest almost as though it had grown out of the earth. Saga entered to stoke the fire while I retrieved a bucket of water from the well, both wolves tracking me everywhere I went.
“The heat will help you think clearly.” Saga removed her garments and hung them on a hook outside the door. I did the same. It was hard not to look at her, for it seemed time had no more touched her body than her face, every inch of her taut and smooth. On the right side of her rib cage was Odin’s mark, a large crimson tattoo of a raven that throbbed to the beat of her heart. Just as did the tattoos that graced my hands. Tattoos given to me by Hlin. And by Hel.
Saga was so incredibly beautiful that it was easy to understand the actions of Snorri and Harald. Their desire to possess her. Yet here she was, free and living alone in the wilds with no one troubling her, which clearly suited her just fine.
I envied her.
Filling my cup and her own, Saga sat on a stool and leaned back against the wooden walls, steam rising as I poured water on the heated stones. “You feel hopeless, don’t you, Freya?”
I took a mouthful of the wine, then paused to look into the cup, for it had a finer taste than anything I’d had before.
“Harald keeps me well supplied.” Saga smiled. “Southern vintage made from grapes that grow in places winter never touches. It is my one vice.”
“I would like this to be my one vice.” I took another sip. “Though I expect it takes a king’s coffers to afford such a thing.”
Saga only took a small sip, watching me over the rim of her cup.
Sighing, I said, “Harald gave me little choice as to whether I would come to Nordeland or not.”
“I think you should be grateful it was my husband who captured you, not me, because I’d have instructed Skade to do what my son could not. But please, continue to complain about the choices made.”
The corner of my mouth turned up. It seemed Bjorn’s wit had come by way of his mother, for I’d never heard Snorri speak so. “After I learned you were alive, I became convinced that you would not only be a source of truth in a sea of lies, but also that you might help me understand the magic Hel’s blood has given me. I also hoped you could guide me as to how I might evade the future you have seen. Yet now I’ve spoken with you and know no more than before. So yes, I do feel hopeless.”
“What does Bjorn believe you should do? He’s not one to withhold his opinion, even if it is not asked for.”
“He believes I should run,” I responded.
“His suggestion holds a great deal of merit. It is difficult to be a plague upon a nation you are half a world away from. But I sense you aren’t inclined to walk that path. Why?”
“Every time I try to escape, something happens to stop me,” I said. “When I tried to jump off the cliff at Grindill to end the battle, the specter stopped me. When I tried to leave Skaland with Bjorn, Harald found us. I can’t seem to evade my fate, either through death or a different life.”
Saga fell still. “Specter?”
Taking another mouthful of wine, I nodded. “She has appeared to me many times and guided me on several occasions. A woman burned down to the bone, embers and ashes floating in her wake. Snorri believed that she was you, but obviously that is not the case, so I have no idea who she might be.”
Saga made a face. “He would believe that. No doubt he fears that I will reveal the truth of his murderous ways.”
I considered how Snorri had reacted in the ashes of Halsar after I’d met with the specter. He’d been overwhelmed, to be sure, but not afraid. If anything, he’d taken strength from the idea that Saga might be guiding me from another realm. Yet I kept that to myself and asked, “Do you know who she might be?”
“Perhaps someone sent by Hlin. A puzzle, to be sure. Have you seen her since Grindill?”
I shook my head, and Saga asked, “So you feel that if you try to run, you will be turned back?” Not waiting for me to answer, she added, “Is there some other reason you feel your freedom limited?”
My lips parted to tell her about the blood oath I’d sworn, only for my jaw to lock in place.
“Freya?” Saga leaned forward, green eyes full of concern. “What is wrong?”
All I could do was stare at her.
Saga sucked in an abrupt breath. “Gods, he’s bound you.” Her eyes narrowed. “ Ylva has bound you.”
I could do nothing but stare at her.
“I wish Harald had traveled with you,” she said. “This is his expertise, not mine, and he might understand better what has been done to you. For I can only speculate.”
Catching hold of my wrist, she lifted my cup to my mouth. “I’ll not ask you to answer questions, for I think that you cannot. But I would prefer you do something other than gape at me like a fish tossed upon a beach.”
As I took several long swallows, Saga sat back and tapped her lips with her index finger. “From your behavior, it is my belief that Snorri, via Ylva’s expertise with magic, has bound you to them with an oath that forces you to keep silent on the matter.” She tapped her lips again. “Yet you were able to at least attempt to pursue escape with Bjorn, which causes me to believe that you were bound not only to Harald but to his son.” She dropped her hand to rest it on her bare thigh. “To his blood, is my guess. Clever of Ylva, for it assured you were also bound to her son, Leif. That Bjorn was also included is likely something she could not easily figure her way around.”
Shock that she’d landed so close to the truth caused me to drain my cup, Saga absently refilling it as she thought.
“Bjorn might be the key to your escape,” she murmured, staring at the fire. “If you’ve been sworn to the blood, then Snorri’s hold over you is no stronger than Bjorn’s, nor indeed, Leif’s.” She turned her head so that our eyes were once again locked. “Though this might not be a welcome revelation given that you are at odds with my son.”
I could feel the wine buzzing in my skull, yet I still took another swig as I watched her think.
Excitement rose to Saga’s face and her eyes brightened. “Bjorn could order you to travel to the distant south. He could order you to never use Hel’s gift.” She dropped to her knees before me. “This could be the answer, Freya!”
My whole body began to tremble, and it suddenly felt very hard to breathe.
“Let my son take you away.” Saga’s eyes searched mine. “I will explain to Harald why it is necessary, and he will abide by my wishes.”
“It didn’t work before.” My skin felt like ice despite the heat radiating from the stove. “Why will it work now?”
“Perhaps you were not fully committed.” She rose and poured water on the hot stones, steam rising from them to haze the space between us. “Perhaps you sensed that you did not know the full truth. Felt something holding you back. Now that I’ve told you everything, that is no longer the case.”
It was true that I’d felt doubts when Bjorn and I had planned to run away, but the truth hadn’t vanquished them. If anything, they’d made them worse.
Saga made a noise of irritation and refilled her cup. “I feel your resistance, Freya, and I cannot help but shake my head at it. I understand your feelings were injured at learning of Bjorn’s lies, but are you really willing to risk thousands of lives because you are unwilling to forgive a handful of mistruths?”
My cheeks flushed and I looked away, shame flushing my skin.
“And not just the lives of others! Your stubbornness causes you to risk your own chance at happiness, and for what? What do you gain by digging in your heels and refusing to forgive?” Not giving me a chance to argue, Saga said, “You have the opportunity to travel somewhere warm and wed a man who loves you so much, he’d risk everything for you. To have beautiful babies and never again know the touch of violence. This life could be yours, and though you sit in silence, it is as though you scream in my face, ‘I refuse to forgive him for not being perfect.’?”
My eyes welled and I blinked rapidly to keep tears from falling. Said like that, all my actions seemed so terribly foolish. The actions of a girl, not a woman grown. I hunted for my anger, for my reasons for refusing to forgive, but all I felt were embarrassment and shame. “He should have waited until I knew the full truth before allowing us to be intimate.”
“Was it Bjorn who pushed you for intimacy, Freya?” Saga asked. “Or was it you who pushed him?”
My whole body was burning, although my hands still felt like ice as my mind replayed all those moments when I’d sought his touch. “Me.”
“He’s but a young man,” Saga said. “Hot-blooded and in his prime of life, and you are a beautiful woman. There was no hope of him resisting what you offered, so is it fair to blame him? He was only giving you what you wanted.”
It was all I could do not to cry, I felt like such a fool. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“Oh, sweet girl, do not weep.” Saga abandoned her cup and came to my side, pulling me against her. “It is a mistake of youth and inexperience to base your decisions on the emotions in your heart. All you can do is learn from your errors and press forward in such a manner that you do not make the same mistakes again. Let us abandon this topic for now. You’ve much to think on and you need to let it sit in your mind before making any decisions. You have time, sweet Freya, for you are safe here in the wilds.”
Breathe, I silently whispered. Just breathe until you find composure.
Except every breath felt too short, as though no air reached my lungs. Saga was right to chastise me. All the nasty things I’d said and done to Bjorn repeated in my head. Yet despite all of that, he was here at my side. I did not deserve his loyalty.
“You already have his forgiveness,” Saga murmured, filling my cup again. “You never needed it, because he is consumed by guilt at having wronged you. Let this strife between you two go. You are both unfated, and together, I have faith that the Norns will bend and the future will be yours to choose.”
Blinking, I drank again. “Thank you for your wisdom, Saga.”
“I am not always so wise,” she said with a shrug. “And my calm temper has come with age. Let me tell you the story of the first time I learned that Harald was sleeping with other women back in Nordeland.”
It was a relief to set aside my own failings and listen to Saga regale me with stories of her youth, including an instance where she chased Harald while throwing eggs at the back of his head. Story after story, until I was so deep in my cups I could barely sit straight on my stool and my whole body ached from too much laughter.
“I must find my bed,” Saga finally declared. “For I will surely regret my indulgence come morning.”
Arm in arm with our dresses held against our chests, we staggered through the ankle-deep snow back to the cabin where Bjorn sat out front.
“Are you both drunk?” he demanded. “You are supposed to be here for wisdom, Freya, and you, Mother, to impart it, and this is how you behave?”
“There is much truth to be found in wine,” Saga snickered, then stumbled over the threshold, weaving her way to her bed. Flopping onto a pile of furs, she pulled one over the top of her. “Sleep where you will,” she slurred. “I have no more wisdom left in me tonight.”
Bjorn had set out my bedroll and pack, and I extracted a nightdress and pulled it over my head. My eyes kept going to the door, waiting for Bjorn to come inside, but the latch never stirred.
Saga was snoring softly now, and in the absence of her stories, the more serious aspects of our conversation moved back to fill my head. Most especially my growing sense that I was in the wrong for being angry with Bjorn and that I needed to make things right. I silently rehearsed an apology over and over as I waited for him to return, but he never came. So I picked up a lamp and stepped outside, marking his larger tracks heading to the sauna we’d just abandoned, his clothing hanging on a hook outside.
“Go to bed, Freya,” I muttered. “You are drunk.”
But not that drunk.
And if I didn’t get my apology out of my mouth tonight, I feared that with morning and sobriety, I’d lose my nerve.
Not allowing logic any more chance to talk me out of it, I scampered barefoot through the snow. I flung open the door, stumbled inside, then slammed it behindme.
Bjorn sat on the stool I’d vacated, shoulders resting against the wall, the heavy steam not enough to conceal his nakedness. My heart skipped as I took in the hard lines of his body, the tattoos and scars I had traced my fingers over what now felt like a lifetime ago.
“Forget your cup?” He nudged the cup I’d used earlier, which lay on its side against the wall.
“No. I want to talk to you.”
“It can’t wait until morning?”
I shook my head. “Your mother told me everything.”
“Wonderful.” Bjorn shifted his weight on the stool, the tattoos on his body seeming to move in the steamy light. “Unfortunately, you are so drunk that you’ll likely have forgotten half of it come morning and still won’t believe anything that comes from my lips.”
“Maybe. But right now, I have been made to understand why you lied to me. That you had no choice.”
“I had a choice.”
“Not a good one,” I replied, ignoring the part of me, deep down, that screamed in defiance. “You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do, so I have no right to be so angry. Especially given you are potentially the only person who can help me.”
Bjorn’s brow furrowed. “Exactly what did my mother say to you, Born-in-Fire? Because you do not sound like yourself.”
I believed that, because for many long days, every word that I’d said had been nasty, selfish, and spiteful. And what had it earned me besides more misery? The chance at a good life was hanging before me and instead of reaching for it, I’d spat on it for the sake of my pride. My eyes prickled because I felt so empty. So alone.
“I didn’t just swear an oath to serve Snorri,” I confessed. “I swore to his blood, which means I also swore to you. That’s why I can speak to you about it, because I also swore to silence.”
“What all did you promise?” he asked. “When we were in Grindill, after Steinunn’s performance, you said that you and Ylva had made a deal that Snorri would never touch you.”
“Not to serve anyone else.” I frowned. “Allegiance. Protection. Silence.”
“What was the exact phrasing?” When I didn’t answer, he added, “Well?”
“I’m thinking.” But I’d been nearly as drunk when I’d sworn the oaths as I was now.
Bjorn exhaled an aggrieved breath. “Freya, a blood oath is something you should remember the details of!”
My cheeks burned. “I do remember the details. Give me a moment to recall the phrasing.”
Staring at the floorboards of the sauna, I dragged myself back into that awful moment in Snorri’s bedroom. The basin with our blood smeared into runes around the edge. “I vow to serve no man not of this blood. I vow allegiance to him who is of this blood,” I whispered softly. “I vow to protect, at all cost, him who is of this blood. I vow to speak no word of this bargain except to him who is of this blood.”
Bjorn drew in a shaky breath.
I bit my bottom lip but then forced myself to finish. “Snorri thought that a child would create the same form of loyalty, and I would have promised anything to avoid that.” Laughing because the alternative was to cry, I added, “I also really did not want to have sex with Snorri.”
“I’m sorry.” Bjorn leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, pressing his fingers to his temples. “I didn’t want you to go with him. Wanted so desperately just to kill him that night and be done with it, but I had promised my mother I wouldn’t. Still, I hated myself for letting him take you. Was so angry I could barely see straight, which was why I left the great hall.”
I wondered if everything would have changed if he’d decided differently. If he’d flipped me over his shoulder and stolen me away.
Except that I knew I wouldn’t have gone easily. That I’d have fought him out of fear for what would happen to my family. Bjorn hadn’t allowed me to walk into that room with Snorri and Ylva. I’d chosen to do so myself.
I crossed the small space between us. I didn’t want to feel this way, miserable and angry. What I wanted was to go back to the moment when Bjorn had held me in his arms and I’d been so happy. And the only thing preventing that was me.
Bjorn looked up, the light from the fire casting shadows across his face, but I could see the want in his gaze, and it stirred the embers of my own desire. I trailed a finger down the side of his face, the scrape of stubble against my skin making my core tighten as I cupped my hand around his cheek.
He leaned into my touch, eyes closing. “I want you so badly.” His voice was quiet, and I wasn’t certain whether he spoke to me or himself. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to win you back.”
I felt unsteady, wanting this but also not ready to want this. Not ready to let go of my hurt. What do you gain by digging in your heels and refusing to forgive? Saga’s voice whispered in my head, and wanting to drive away the shame her words made me feel, I lifted my nightdress and cast it aside.
Bjorn’s eyes drifted over my naked form, but instead of claiming me, he whispered, “Freya, this isn’t what you want.”
I straddled his legs, silencing his protests with a kiss. The touch of his lips to mine was a bolt of lightning through my body. My bare toes curled against the wooden floor and a flood of desire filled my core. I slid my hands over the slick skin of his shoulders, tasting him even as I unknotted the tie holding back his hair, burying my fingers in the silken strands.
He was already hard, his cock pressed against my sex, and a whimper tore from my lips. Every part of my body wanted him. Needed him. But my heart felt like it was trembling inside my chest as I whispered, “I want you to fuck me.”
“Because you’re drunk.” His teeth caught my bottom lip, even as his hands gripped my hips, moving me along his length. “You’re still angry with me.”
I was. But my justification for my rage was so badly eroded that it was ready to collapse. And I was so desperately afraid of how I’d feel without it. “I don’t want to feel like this.” Moisture dripped down my cheeks. Not steam but tears. “Make me not feel like this.”
Instead of driving into me and filling the void, Bjorn’s lips pulled away from my throat, his hands stilling. “No. Not like this.”
The hurt of his rejection was a battering ram to my stomach. Rather than allowing it to drown me, I fed it to my rage. “You’ve taken away so much from me and you won’t even give me this?”
The ground trembled.
Hissing softly between his teeth, Bjorn slid his hand up my throat and caught hold of my chin. He forced my face sideways until the lamp illuminated my eyes. With a snarl, he flipped me over his shoulder and carried me out of the sauna.
“What are you doing?” I got my answer a heartbeat later when he set me down, arse first, into the snow.
I shrieked as the cold pressed against my overheated core and tried to get to my feet, but he held me down.
“I love you, Freya.” His knees were on either side of my body, the cold not seeming to touch him. “And there is little I want more than to fuck you until you forget everything but my name. But not like this. Not while you’re so angry it turns your eyes to flame.”
“My anger is a part of me!” I shouted. “You can’t love only half of me, Bjorn, because that means you don’t love me at all!”
“I love the whole of you!” he shouted back. “Even when you are as mean as a feral cat and say things that break my heart, I still love you! But no matter what my mother has convinced you of, you don’t want this right now. So neither doI.”
He let go of me and climbed to his feet.
The truth of his words rushed through me, but it only caused me to snarl, “You brought me here because you thought the truth would erase the damage and that I’d forgive you. You got what you wanted, because it has become clear to me that my anger isn’t just. Yet when I try to give you my forgiveness, you throw it in my face!”
“I brought you here because you wanted to learn the truth about yourself, not because I thought it would change the way you feel. And right now, it feels like a mistake bringing you here at all.” He gave a sharp shake of his head, nothing more than a shadow in the night. “As for your forgiveness, Freya, you haven’t given it because I don’t deserve it. The only way I will ever have it is by earning it.”
Without another word, he strode through the snow and back into the sauna, slamming the door behind him.