Chapter 21 Freya
The rising sun glowed over Hrafnheim as we came within sight of the fortress, which was silent and imposing. Both of the drawbridges were raised and I noted that the battlements were heavily patrolled. Light gleamed off the warriors’ weapons, their breath visible in the cool morning air.
“How much do you want to tell him?” Bjorn asked, the first words we’d shared since our argument the prior night.
“Everything he needs to mount a defense,” I said. “Getting close enough to Snorri to take his soul will be no easy thing, and I’ve no desire to give Hel any more souls than his. Which means the defense of Nordeland’s shores needs to fall upon Harald’s shoulders. Besides, I can only assume your mother will somehow tell him everything she’s learned.”
“Maybe,” Bjorn grumbled. “I’m not sure they are communicating as much as they used to. But either way, he’ll want you to be part of the defense, Born-in-Fire.”
“Explain to him that I cannot serve him.” I rolled my shoulders, my back stiff from being so long in the saddle. “You say he is an expert in runic magic, so he may have answers. He has been accommodating so far, and…we have a common enemy in Snorri.”
“Be wary of setting Harald on a pedestal,” Bjorn muttered. “He likes to have his way, and those who deny him what he wishes usually regret the choice.”
I turned my head, something about his tone making my hackles rise. “You call him Father and yet all I’ve seen from you since we stepped onto Nordeland’s shores is the most reluctant of loyalty. Why? Did he do something to you in the past that caused a breach between you?”
“No,” Bjorn answered. “But it’s been years since I left, and things have changed. He’s withheld information from me. And I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
Gooseflesh rose on my skin. “How does he look at me?”
“Like a child looking at a new plaything.” Bjorn lifted his chin, eyes on the battlements. “Last chance to run, Freya. After we enter those walls, I think it will be a fight for you to ever escape.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks, no part of me disregarding the threat. Yet the threat of Snorri to thousands of innocents was also very real, and I wouldn’t turn back now. “I’m not running.”
Bjorn made an aggrieved noise but then muttered Tyr’s name. His axe flamed into being, and the sight of it caused shouts of recognition. More shouts still as the sun reflected off the silvery metal of my shield. Soon after, the chains clanked and the thick wooden bridge began to descend, fully flush with the shore by the time we reached the river’s banks. Handing off our horses to a waiting man, we shouldered our bags and crossed the frothing river.
Hrafnheim was already awake as we weaved through the narrow streets. A blacksmith’s hammer rang out and women retrieved water from rain barrels. It smelled of hearth smoke and porridge and humanity—a familiar scene of families breaking their fasts just as they would be in Skaland. Pots clanging and people talking, children squabbling and babies crying. Part of me hated that. How similar it was. I wanted them to be different and strange and off-putting, but instead all I could think of was that an army intent on their blood was potentially crossing the strait. An army that sailed in my name, and Hrafnheim was far from the first place that Snorri would strike. Visions of all the villages and hamlets we passed sailing up the Rimstrom filled my head, only to be replaced with the remains of Steinunn’s home. Nothing but the charred debris of lives that had been reclaimed by the earth.
Servants had already begun their days in Harald’s great hall as we entered, and so, I swiftly discovered, had the king himself. He sat at a table with significant company, including Tora, Skade, and Steinunn.
Skade called out, “The favored son returns so soon. Did your mother have no time for your venom-tongued woman, Bjorn?”
Bjorn didn’t respond, but Harald said, “Be silent, Skade.” He rose, and I noticed dark shadows beneath his eyes, as though he’d slept as little as Bjorn andme.
“The gate guards sent word you’d been spotted, but your return is unexpected.” He pulled Bjorn close and pounded him on the back. Then he held him at arm’s length, shadowed eyes scrutinizing him. “What has happened? Is Saga well?”
“She’s fine,” Bjorn answered, then gestured to me. “This is your plan. Lead the way.”
I bit back sharp words and took a deep breath. “Odin gave her a vision of the future,” I said as Harald’s eyes fixed on me. “?‘A son of Skaland, a false king, sails forth on a wave of darkness. Lies unite the clans, their banners a harbinger of death, their battle cries heard in the realms of gods and men. All tangled in the shield maiden’s thread. All drawn by her call. And in their wake, they will leave weeping widows, orphaned children, and a feast for the carrion crows, their fates certain unless the shield maiden cuts her thread free of the false king’s control and weaves her new destiny.’?”
Harald grimaced and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Kaja may have reached Skaland by now, but she won’t have had time to return to Guthrum with news. Did Saga indicate when this is set to occur?”
Bjorn shook his head. “You know she never does. Tomorrow. Ten years from now. Who can say?”
Irritation flashed across Harald’s face, and he cursed under his breath. “Even if she did, it would not matter. I’ve not the power to change the future she foresaw. I’m nothing but a thread the rest of you manipulate.”
As he spoke, he gestured at the table behind him. My skin prickled, and I looked more closely at the table full of men and women. Some I knew—Tora, Skade, Steinunn—but most were strangers. Seemingly from all walks of life, warriors, craftsmen, farmers, and others whose vocations were unclear from their garments. And yet some instinctual part of me knew what I was looking at even before I picked out the edges of crimson tattoos. Children of the gods. Every last person at the table was unfated.
I’d known he had many in his service. Known Guthrum had been instrumental in bringing many of them to Harald. Yet not in my wildest imagination had I envisioned so many.
It was as though he’d collected all the Unfated in Nordeland and brought them to one place.
“Might we speak to you alone, Father?” Bjorn asked, and I set aside the question of how he’d collected so many Unfated for later contemplation as I followed them behind the dais.
“Is there a way to break a blood oath?” Bjorn began without preamble.
Harald shrugged. “Of course. Kill the volva whose magic bound the words.” His brow furrowed. “Why? What did you promise?”
“Not me.” Bjorn jerked his chin in my direction. “She can’t speak of it to anyone not of Snorri’s bloodline, so my explanation will have to suffice.” In terse words, he swiftly laid out my oaths, though I noted that he left out our speculation of the oath’s limitations, as well as my desire for him to call me to arms against Snorri.
“Ylva knows her runes.” Harald looked me up and down before turning back to Bjorn. “Yet this is precisely why I forbid such oaths in my company. They never bind individuals entirely but do force them to seek creative ways around them. It is better to earn the loyalty of those in your service because then they are bound by their own hearts.”
There was undeniable logic to that, and I found myself nodding in agreement.
Harald began to pace, expression grave and pale gray eyes seeming to see nothing around him, so lost was he in thought. Finally, he stopped before me. “What do you wish to do, Freya? For it is clear to me that you must lead us through this ordeal if there is to be any chance of success.”
Shock rippled through me, freezing my tongue as surely as my oath ever had. Bjorn seemed equally stunned, though he recovered more swiftly. “Have you been struck on the head, Father? The jarls will not follow a Skalander.”
“They followed you,” Harald said. “Bent the knee to you in this very room as my son and heir.”
“That’s different,” Bjorn snapped. “I’d been here most of my life. And I’ma—”
“Man?” Harald interjected, then shot me an amused smile as though we shared some inside joke. “You were but a boy of seventeen at the time, as I recall. Whereas Freya is a woman grown and possessed of the blood of two goddesses, making her the most powerful Unfated to ever live. As close to a god as a mortal can be.”
My mouth turned sour, no part of me feeling good at being so elevated, for I already felt less than human.
“Father—”
Harald waved him to silence. “It makes sense. Ylva’s runes ensure that Freya cannot serve any man not of Snorri’s blood: I vow to serve no man not of this blood. ”
He laughed and clapped his hands, and I tensed with the expectation that he’d point out that Bjorn could control me. Instead, Harald said, “But Freya is no man, so she can serve herself, correct?”
Not waiting for a response, he added, “And Saga’s words were: ‘Their fates certain unless the shield maiden cuts her thread free of the false king’s control and weaves her new destiny.’ To me this says that the dark future is unchangeable unless Freya acts, unless Freya leads. It must be she who frees herself of the false king’s control. And the only way for her to do that is to kill Snorri.”
“Or Ylva.”
Harald made a face and shook his head. “I do not believe that killing Ylva will change anything. Freya has already made Snorri king and he uses her name to hold the allegiance of all of Skaland. But you and I arguing will achieve nothing. Freya must lead, and you and I must bite our tongues and listen.”
This reaction was so distant from what I’d expected that I didn’t know quite what to say. I’d been prepared to buck against Harald’s control, not for him to hand me all the might of Nordeland to achieve my ends. “You would willingly give up to me, a woman who was until recently a fishwife who’d never been more than a few hours from her village, control over your warriors, your jarls, your people?”
“If that is what it takes to save them.”
My hands balled into fists. “But I don’t know anything about leading.”
“You know what you wish to achieve,” Harald answered. “And I am a tool in your arsenal. My knowledge is yours, Freya.”
“Doesn’t it bother you to be reduced to a tool?” I asked. “To be so…so…powerless?”
“I’m not powerless,” Harald countered. “It is only that what I will do with my power is already known. Except that I am surrounded by Unfated. Which means you can cause me to act differently. You can snip my thread early or weave it into another pattern, and I relish that uncertainty. That chaos!”
Both his wild grin and his words struck me as strange but I only said, “Is that why you collect the children of the gods around you? Why you created a cabal of people with magic?”
“This is no collection, Freya. No cabal. This”—he gestured to the distant table full of people—“is my family. To have a child of one’s own blood is a blessing from the goddess Freyja, but it has been my privilege to provide a home for so many children of the gods.”
“Which you do entirely out of the goodness of your heart?” I tried to keep the scowl from my face because I did not truly believe he was willing to give me total control. “Not at all because it allowed you to use their powers to rise to rule. To control a kingdom. To make yourself wealthy above anyone else.”
“Nearly all that I do is try to aid my family in achieving their own goals,” Harald said. “Or to protect them. Power allows me to do both these things, which is where I gain my true joy. Ask Bjorn.” Harald abruptly laughed. “Actually, do not. You’ll believe not a word he says, nor, I think, a word that comes from my lips. So ask others. Ask whoever you like, Freya. I can’t force you to trust me. That is something to be earned, not demanded. But while I earn it, have faith in the certainty that our goals are the same: to tear asunder the dark future my wife so deeply fears.”
I didn’t trust him. But what was less clear was whether my distrust was because I refused to see him as anything other than the villain I’d been raised to think him or because he was a villain in truth.
“What is to be our first course of action?” he asked. “Saga has given us some insight, but we are woefully lacking in facts.”
The insides of my cheeks were raw from how often I had bitten them, my mouth tasting of blood as I forced myself to think. “We need to hear from Guthrum. Discover what Snorri is doing. Right now, we hold the advantage Saga’s vision has given us, for Snorri believes us ignorant to his intent. But if we begin to marshal our defenses too obviously, we will give ourselves away to his spies.”
“Agreed,” Harald said. “I will send a messenger to seek out Guthrum.”
“How swiftly can the jarls come to your call?” I asked.
“They will have the advantage of having just set sail on the prospects of war. They can sail within a day or two of receiving word. Astrid can be dispatched to deliver messages at speed.”
“She’s a child of Hermod,” Bjorn muttered. “She’s fleet of foot.”
It struck me how dangerous Nordeland was for no reason other than that they were united. But Skaland was larger and more populous, which meant if Snorri had achieved such a union, my people were now also a force to be reckoned with.
“I’ll arrange for Astrid to find Guthrum first, then?” At my nod, Harald walked swiftly from the great hall, leaving me alone with Bjorn.
Who stood with his arms crossed and a glare on his face, clearly displeased.
“What?” I demanded. “Do you take issue with my plan?”
“It is not your plan, Born-in-Fire.” He gave an angry shake of his head. “Don’t you see? You only repeated back to him the very ideas he supplied. You are not leading anyone—you are being led.”
My cheeks warmed, half in embarrassment and half in anger. “I’d be a fool not to take advice from him. What do I know of rule? What do I know of his resources? Or how quickly he can gather his jarls? To pretend as though I know more about leading Nordeland into battle than the king of fucking Nordeland would make me an idiot.”
“You’re a puppet being used by two men who have desired to make war against each other for nearly as long as you’ve been alive,” Bjorn snapped. “Harald hates Snorri for what he did to my mother. Do not let the veneer of civility he wears fool you otherwise. Death is not enough. He wants Snorri destroyed in such a way that the stain of it follows him into the next realm. Until now, he believed killing you would achieve that end, but now I think he sees that he can use you to truly destroy Snorri’s chances at Valhalla, because you can send him to Helheim and deny him the last battle.”
A chill ran through me, because though I’d not been unaware of Harald’s fixations, Bjorn’s words made them feel so much darker. “What would you have me do? What solution do you have to my circumstances that has not been voiced?”
“Run,” he said softly. “Leave all of this behind. That is my solution.”
“Except it is no solution.” My hands balled into fists. “Whether I am here or not, war is coming in my name. Running will not stop it. Falling on my own fucking sword will not stop it. And I refuse to leave thousands to die just to save my own skin.”
“It may not come to that,” he said between clenched teeth. “Nordeland and Skaland have always warred. Just as both have always warred with Islund, and with the nations beyond. The north wars. Nothing you do will change that.”
“Not wars like your mother has foreseen.” I felt sick, my own imagination supplying visions of the carnage. “You heard her. Unless you do not believe visions gifted by Odin to a seer who is your own mother, you have to know the threat is greater than ever before.”
Bjorn looked away, jaw tight.
“It was not so very long ago that my days were spent gutting fish,” I said quietly, an ache forming in my chest. “I knew everything about keeping a home and living a quiet life. Knew the gossip of Selvegr and the stories of our people. Then in a single moment, I was cast into circumstances I had not prepared for. Surrounded by others with more skill and knowledge, all of whom desired to use the magic in my blood to achieve their own ambitions. I know my limitations, Bjorn. I know that I’m out of my depth. But I am trying to do the right thing.”
My voice broke and I took a steadying breath, knowing I was on the verge of tears. “All my life I dreamed of being a warrior. Of sailing on a jarl’s drakkar and making a reputation for myself. Now I’ve seen what such a life brings. The stink of open bowels and beaches full of flies crawling on corpses. Sacks of bloodstained gold and rings cut from dead men’s beards. Children with empty eyes, their whole worlds torn away from them in a moment. Who dreams of being the cause of such things? Why did I dream of it?” Tears started to pour down my cheeks no matter how rapidly I blinked. “I don’t care if the whole world calls me naive. An idiot. A fool. At least I know in my heart that I am doing all that I can to prevent that nightmare from becoming an even worse reality.”
“Freya—”
I held up a hand to silence him. “You say you will fight at my side through all of this. Yet the truth is that I am surrounded by warriors who will do the same. Unfated such as Skade and Tora, who are just as deadly as you. Yet the one thing you can do to ensure my victory and see this nightmare averted is the one thing you refuse to do. So who is the real fool here?”
Wiping tears from my cheeks, I walked away from him and sat down blindly at the table full of Harald’s cabal.
A few glanced my way, but most carried on in their conversations, eating and drinking from the excesses piled on the tables. Only Steinunn sat apart, sipping from a cup and listening, just as she had in Snorri’s hall. She had not quite belonged in Halsar, and did not belong here, either. She’d come into Harald’s service only after the death of her family, and in fairly short order had traveled to Skaland to aid in the efforts of findingme.
“How is your sword treating you?”
I twitched, then realized that I’d sat next to the smith, Gyda. “Very well. I killed a huldra with it.”
“Oh ho!” She slammed her hand down on the table with a laugh, and all the others turned their heads. “A huldra! Lured by our Bjorn, no doubt.” Resting her elbow on the table, she leaned closer and said in a loud whisper, “That is the third time they’ve tried to take him. I told him to grow a proper beard to hide his good looks, but he’s either too vain or too stupid to listen.”
I wiped at my cheeks, remembering how he’d resisted the creature’s power. I only want her. Only Freya.
A sudden wave of guilt caused me to look over my shoulder, but Bjorn had left the great hall. Sighing, I broke off a piece of bread from a loaf on the table, eating more for something to keep my mouth busy than out of hunger. “How long have you known Harald?”
“Since we were children,” Gyda answered around a mouth of stew. “His father was jarl. He and Harald never saw eye to eye, and the old man had a heavy hand that he used often and regularly. I suspect it was because of him that Harald abandoned Nordeland to travel in the south for many years. He’d become a man by the time he returned and challenged his father. Killed him in the square and, with his face splattered with his father’s blood, swore to rule in a different way.”
“Has he?”
Gyda shrugged. “Mostly.”
“So he didn’t save you?”
She made a face, then refilled her cup from a large pitcher. “I was a woman grown when he became jarl, and I had no need of saving. Harald pays me, and whenever I threaten to take my skills elsewhere, he bends and pays me more. You want to hear of salvation, talk to the young pups surrounding you.”
I scanned the Unfated seated at the table and saw what she meant about young. None appeared older than thirty and a handful were years younger than I was. “Why does he save them if not for power?”
A question I’d intended for myself, but Gyda shrugged. “Perhaps because no one saved him.” Then she pounded the table again. “Shut your gobs, the lot of you. Freya here wishes to hear how you all came to serve Harald so that she might judge his worth.”
Then she winked at me. “That is the reason, isn’t it?”
My cheeks burned. “Yes.”
“Fair enough.” She slammed the table one more time. “Troels, you go first. Tell Freya about what your brother Aksel did to you. Steinunn, pay attention, because these stories would be much more entertaining as a song.”