Chapter 23 Freya
It hadn’t been perhaps the best use of my time to spend the day listening to stories, but it had been better than hours of dwelling on my own situation. Each of the members of Harald’s so-called family had shared how they’d come to be in his service. Not all of them were as dramatic as what had happened to Bjorn and Saga, but all of them had been delivered from the misuse of others by Nordeland’s king. Most were from Nordeland itself, but some hailed from Skaland and Islund, as well as the smaller island nations of the north. Children born of all different members of our pantheon, their magics more often than not unclear tome.
Their stories were all different, but there was no denying the loyalty they shared for their king. It made me remember how Harald had told me that the sentiment could not be forced by an oath—that it had to be earned. He had surely done that, for I had every confidence that everyone in his cabal would fight to the bitter end for the man who’d liberated them from their darkest moments.
It also made me wonder if I might one day feel the same way.
After the cabal had finished their stories, they’d dispersed and the servants had begun preparations for a feast in the great hall. I was given a dress to wear, over which I belted my father’s sword and Gyda’s seax, though I left my shield in the room given to me. Then I let myself drift through the great hall under Tora’s watchful eye, meeting more Nordelanders and learning of their lives and customs.
Not once did I see Bjorn, and unease clawed at my insides that perhaps I’d pushed him too far. That I’d stepped over the line and he’d left Hrafnheim withoutme.
So it was relief that filled my chest when he arrived in the great hall, Harald’s words of introduction for Steinunn barely reaching my ears, my focus all for watching Bjorn in my periphery.
“Do you wish to hear her sing?” Tora asked me. “I’ve never cared for skald magic, myself.”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t certain of my precise reasons for remaining in the hall to listen to Steinunn’s song. My prior experiences with her magic had not been moments I’d enjoyed. I told myself it was because Harald would, much as Snorri had, use the skald to manipulate his people, and it was important for me to understand the information he wished them to know. Yet in my heart, I knew that it was because I desired to see myself in the throes of using Hel’s magic. To see if I could identify some good in it to ease the dread in my heart of using it against Snorri.
If I even could.
With Bjorn’s refusal to take control of my oaths, I had doubts whether I could face Snorri and not be forced to bend to his will. Frustration burned in my chest at Bjorn’s reticence, for while I could understand it, this rare lack of pragmatism was not helpful. To do this one thing might allow me to change all our fates to something better, yet Bjorn showed no signs that he might bend.
It was not that I desired his control. I didn’t desire to be under any man’s control. But I did not see another way to go to war against Snorri and destroy him. Or at least, not another way that I was willing to pursue. Ylva and I had our conflicts, but it was not lost on me that I had willingly accepted my oaths over the alternative. She did not deserve to die for my choices.
I was drawn from my thoughts as Steinunn lifted her drum. Next to me, Tora had pulled pieces of wool from a pocket and was in the process of stuffing her ears.
“I cannot watch over you if I am caught in Steinunn’s visions,” she explained. It was strange to accept protection from one who’d once tried to kill me, but there was a quiet sadness about Tora that made me inclined to trust her at her word. She absently touched the scars on her face, a soft sigh exiting her lips as though part of her hoped to find the burn marks miraculously healed and endured disappointment each time she discovered they were not.
Steinunn began to sing, wordless at first and then the story unfolded, beginning with a vision of the walls of Grindill. I drew in a steadying breath as I stared upon my own miserable face, Snorri shrieking defiance, and then it shifted to me leaping over the wall and racing toward the cliff. I blinked, pulled from the moment, because Steinunn had skipped over the part where Tora had shot bolts of lightning at the walls that had rebounded off my magic and into the villagers outside. Skipped over the smoking corpses and Harald’s demands, so it appeared as though I’d fled because I’d wantedto.
I stuck my fingers in my ears to muffle Steinunn’s singing and the visions disappeared. As they did, I elbowed Tora so that she looked at me. “She’s skipping pieces,” I mouthed, and the child of Thor’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile suggesting that omissions did not surprise her.
Unplugging my ears, I watched and listened, my discomfort building because Steinunn made it seem as though I had wanted to come to Nordeland. As though Harald had aided me rather than kidnapped me. And when it came to the battle against the Islunders, she showed none of my defiance, only me fighting alone on the beach against the helmeted warrior. Me, falling to my knees and cursing the Islunders, and then the bodies floating on the sea. Not the hollow expressions of terror on the children as the drakkar had been dragged back to the beach but of them being folded into the arms of the villagers.
I had always been told that a skald’s song showed only the truth, but now it was clear to me that partial truths could amount to a significant lie.
The last notes of her voice drifted into the rafters, taking with them the visions. A cheer broke out in the hall, the people clapping their hands and shouting toasts. Not to Steinunn.
But tome.
I tensed at the reaction, and a tightness bound my chest as they turned to give me thanks for saving the children. They came forward in twos and threes to clasp my shoulder and praise me. My responses were reflex, the words merely noise in my ears as I came to terms with the fact that they did not see me as something to be feared but as a hero and protector.
Someone who did good.
It was so at odds with how my own people had seen me. Logically, I knew that it was a manipulation of Steinunn’s art but I could not deny that their response made me feel better about what I had done.
All of that fell away as horns blared outside and everyone around me tensed.
“The gods have mercy!” Una shrieked, the servant almost falling as she climbed out of Troels’s lap. “The Skalanders have come for her!”