A Fate Inked in Blood: The number 1 Sunday Times bestselling fantasy romance
A Fate Inked in Blood: Chapter 13

My curiosity grew with each passing second as we walked, dripping, back to the great hall. Neither Snorri nor Bjorn said anything, both their jaws set and expressions unreadable, and it made me wonder about Bjorn’s relationship with his younger half-brother.

I got my answer the moment we walked into the hall. A boy a few summers shy of manhood raced across the floor to collide with Bjorn, clearly delighted to see his elder brother as they pounded each other on the back. Beyond, Ylva stood by the fire with her arms crossed and mouth drawn into a thin line as she watched the exchange.

“Is it true you killed a full score of Gnut’s warriors?” Leif demanded. “Then set fire to his ships?”

Bjorn shook his head. “I merely provided the flame. Was Freya who set them ablaze.”

At my name, Leif turned from his brother, looking me up and down. I gave him the same courtesy. He was only slightly taller than I was, and quite slight, his hair golden blond where his brother’s was dark, and his eyes blue rather than green. They had the same high cheekbones and square jaw, though Leif’s chin had several years to go before it would manage a beard worth growing. He would age into a fine-looking man, I suspected, though he lacked Bjorn’s almost otherworldly beauty. It made me wonder what Bjorn’s mother had looked like, for it must be her who’d given him such different coloring. “You are the shield maiden, then?” he asked, and without waiting for a response added, “I suppose I must congratulate you on your marriage to my father.”

Absolutely nothing in his tone suggested congratulations, which was perhaps fair, given that Ylva was his mother, but I gave him a slight nod. “Thank you.”

He scowled, then turned his back on me in favor of his brother. “We captured a spy.”

Bjorn shifted on his feet, eyes narrowing. “Whose spy?”

An older warrior, a man with brown skin and silver-streaked dark hair twisted into a knot behind his head, stepped forward. “We don’t know. No one recognizes her and she’s refused to speak.”

“You should have put fire to her feet, Ragnar.” Ylva moved to rest a hand on Leif’s shoulder. “She’d have sung for you then.”

The older warrior tugged on his beard, which was long enough that the silver rings on it brushed against the chest of his mail vest. “Thought better to bring her to the jarl, my lady.”

“Perhaps she is not a spy,” Bjorn interjected. “Perhaps she doesn’t speak our language.”

Ragnar snorted. “She understands well enough. And she tried to escape. Twice.”

“Compelling enough evidence for you, Bjorn?” Ylva’s voice was saccharine and Leif cast a sideways frown at her. “It was a fair question, Mother.”

She snorted. “He merely balks at the thought of torturing a woman.”

“Whereas you seem to relish the thought,” Bjorn retorted.

Leif threw up his skinny arms, face visibly annoyed. “You two fight like cornered cats. Father, how you stand them constantly carrying on like this is beyond my understanding. You should put an end to it for all our sakes.”

“Would require gagging them both, day and night. Or cutting out their tongues.” Snorri waved a hand at them. “Both of you be silent, for once. Ragnar, bring the prisoner in and we will see what she has to say for herself.”

I found the dynamic fascinating. The conflict between Bjorn and Ylva was obviously something Leif and Snorri were well aware of, though Leif seemed more troubled by it, which suggested he played peacemaker more often than not. Where would I fit into this mix of personalities? Would I make things better? Or worse?

Worse, I thought, not missing the sidelong look Leif gave me as Ragnar left the great hall. The old warrior returned moments later with a woman, a sack obscuring her face and her wrists bound. She wore a nondescript brown dress, the front stained with blood and the hem soaked with mud. Light brown hair that was streaked with gray hung in clumps down her back.

Snorri reached up and pulled the sack from the woman’s head, revealing an aged woman with colorless eyes. She blinked once at me—

And then her head toppled from her neck.

The smell of burnt hair and flesh filling my nose as her body slumped to the ground, blood seeping from the nearly cauterized stump.

I jerked backward even as Ylva shrieked, covering Leif’s eyes with one hand, though he shoved her away with annoyance, eyes skipping between the corpse and his brother.

“Explain yourself,” Snorri roared at Bjorn, who had already vanquished his axe, his arms crossed and his face fixed.

“Her name is Ragnhild. She’s sworn to Harald, and”—he reached down to tear open the back of her dress, revealing the crimson tattoo of an eye—“she’s a child of Hoenir.”

I pressed a hand to my mouth, staring at the head resting near my feet. Hoenir’s children were able to speak into the minds of those who bore their tokens, showing them visions. And Ragnhild had seen me.

“Didn’t you check her for marks?” Snorri demanded of Leif, whose cheeks colored as he said, “I wasn’t about to undress an old woman.”

“Your morals get in the way of good sense!” Snorri lifted a hand as though he might strike his younger son, but instead spat on the floor.

“With luck, I killed her before she sent him any visions,” Bjorn said. “Else your most dangerous enemy knows your shield maiden has been found.”

“What she saw matters little!” Ylva snapped. “Harald would have learned about Freya soon enough, yet for the sake of keeping him in the dark a week or two longer, you sacrificed the opportunity for us to learn something about him. We could have made Ragnhild talk!”

“Unlikely, given that she has no tongue and Harald has her only token.”

I swallowed hard. “What is her token?”

His green eyes met mine. “He wears her dried tongue on a cord around his neck at all times. He is the only person she could speak to.”

It was a struggle on many levels to keep from vomiting. “Did he cut it out?”

Bjorn shook his head. “Her former master did. Harald took it from around his neck when he killed him.” His eyes moved to Ylva. “Harald will learn of her, yes. But delaying the information gives us time to prepare. Time to make alliances so that you might defend against his attack, which will come. He has no desire to see Skaland united beneath your rule, especially given he knows you plan to bring war to Nordeland.”

“For twenty years, I’ve waited for Freya.” Snorri rubbed at his temple. “And now that I have her, I replace myself in a race against time, faced with doom should I take one wrong step.”

I struggled not to snort in disgust. For my entire life, he’d had time to prepare for this moment, whereas until a matter of days ago, I’d been entirely unaware that powerful men across two nations were plotting their moves for the day I made my name known. Snorri had no excuse not to be prepared.

Dropping his hand from his temple, Snorri looked at Bjorn. “When is the soonest he could come?”

Bjorn cleared his throat. “A matter of weeks.”

“With the losses we took against Gnut, we wouldn’t stand a chance in resisting Harald,” Ragnar said, even as Leif blurted out, “Are you sure this woman is worth it, Father? Perhaps it’s better to kill her and be done with it. She seems more likely to get us all killed than to see you to power.”

Next to me, Bjorn’s axe flared to life before disappearing again, and Leif frowned at him. “I merely pose the question of Father, for as jarl, it is his decision.”

“There is no decision to be made,” Ylva snapped. “Freya will make your father king of Skaland if only we hold true to the course, and as his son, you stand to benefit most.”

Leif cast his eyes skyward. “Bjorn stands to benefit most, Mother. But I will be proud to fight at his side whether he becomes jarl or king, it makes no difference. I ask though, how much will our family stand to lose by keeping this woman alive? How much will Halsar lose? For me, I say it is not worth it.”

Though the boy spoke of killing me, I found myself in approval of Leif’s reasoning, for he seemed to value lives above power and reputation and ambition. Wise beyond his years and having clearly been raised to understand what should be important to a jarl.

“The gods would punish us for spitting in the face of the gift they’ve given,” Snorri answered. “Even if they did not, if we were to kill Freya, it would be seen by our enemies as weakness. They’d see me backing away from an opportunity for greatness out of cowardice and fear, and all our enemies would come for us. We stay the course.”

Leif frowned, the expression turning to a scowl as Ylva nodded approvingly, but before the boy could say anything, Bjorn asked, “What is the course? How do you plan to gain the alliances you need in the short time you might have before the raids come?”

A practical question.

“By gathering all the jarls of Skaland together and convincing them that united, we stand at better odds.” Snorri smiled. “Which gives us more proof that the gods favor us, for the jarls already travel to meet in one place. Ready your things, for we ride to pay homage to the gods at Fjalltindr.”