A Fate Inked in Blood: The number 1 Sunday Times bestselling fantasy romance
A Fate Inked in Blood: Chapter 15

Conversation was impossible as Bjorn led me through the forested paths, my attention all for guiding my horse, a small bay mare that Snorri had chosen for her even temper, for I was not the most experienced rider.

We did not ride alone.

Steinunn galloped at my horse’s heels, along with one of Snorri’s men. The jarl had insisted the skald come with us to witness our trial and the warrior to take the horses back to the main group, retreat apparently not an option. Given what the skald had told me about how her magic functioned, I didn’t see why her presence was necessary, but Snorri refused to hear my argument that the woman remain with the main group.

The air grew colder as we climbed, patches of snow clinging to the shadows of the pine trees, the horses’ hooves crunching in the bed of needles and filling my nose with their scent. Ahead, Hammar loomed.

The mountain was indeed hammer shaped, the north, east, and west sides near-vertical cliffs, though Bjorn said the south side possessed a gentler slope. As we approached the north-facing cliff, Bjorn slowed his pace, reining his mount around something on the ground. I tugged on the reins of my own horse, and my heart skittered as I saw what he’d been avoiding.

Bones.

Once I saw the first bleached lengths, I saw them everywhere. Fleshless bones of all sizes and sorts.

And not just from animals.

Sweat broke out on my spine as my horse passed a human skull sitting on a rock, a gaping hole in the side of it. To its left, the rest of the skeleton was tangled in some brush, the breeze causing the bones to shift and move as though life yet remained.

“Wolves?” Steinunn suggested from behind, and Bjorn only cast a disparaging snort at the skald over his shoulder before pressing forward.

Wind blew through the forest, the branches of the trees creaking and groaning. Another sound joined the mix, a strange hollow clacking that made my skin crawl. “What is that?”

Bjorn lifted a hand, and I followed the line of sight to the source. Bones had been hung as wind chimes from the trees, femurs and ribs rattling against one another to create terrible music.

“Steinunn’s wolfpack enjoys decorating, it seems,” Bjorn said, resting a hand on his horse’s shoulder as the animal shied away from the awful creation.

My own mare snorted loudly, her ears pinning against her head before she ground to a stop. I thumped my heels against her sides, trying to drive her forward, but she refused. Not that I could blame her, for wafting toward us was a haze of steam that carried with it the smell of rot.

Steinunn’s horse reared and tried to turn, eyes showing their whites as it ignored her attempts to press farther. Snorri’s warrior was having worse luck. Even Bjorn’s mount was resisting now, head lowered and snorting at the wisps of steam.

“If only my father showed as much sense as you,” he muttered to his horse, dismounting and leading the animal back to tether it to a tree. “We’ll leave the horses here and go the rest of the way on foot.”

“I’ll take the horses now,” the warrior announced, his jaw tight as he stared at the bones.

“No.” Bjorn patted his horse’s neck. “Freya needs to see the path before she makes the choice to climb. Wait an hour, then take the horses and rejoin my father’s party, if you can reach the southern path in time.”

Other than the wind and the bone chimes, there was no sound as we moved down the rocky path, and my eyes went to the cliff rising toward the clouds, too sheer for anyone but the best of climbers to scale.

I was not the best of climbers.

Not that I was afraid of heights, but I did have a healthy appreciation of what it would mean to fall such a distance, my imagination readily supplying the image of my skull shattering like a melon on the ground.

We broke out of the trees, all three of us stopping to stare at the opening at the base of the cliff. It was large enough that I’d barely need to stoop to enter, but beyond was total blackness broken only by the great gouts of steam that blasted forth every few moments.

“Just a wolf den, right, Steinunn?” Bjorn crouched on his heels, his eyes roving over the scene.

Setting my shield on the ground, I glanced to my right at the other woman, noting that her face was as white as a sheet. “It is a path to Helheim,” she whispered, then rounded on Bjorn. “I will tell Snorri so myself, Bjorn. Will vouch for you that it was madness to enter.”

Bjorn met my gaze. “It is your choice, Freya. I won’t make you go in there.”

I swallowed hard, the stench of rot making my stomach twist and threaten to spill itself. My body felt like ice, yet sweat pooled at the base of my spine and under my breasts, my heart pounding like a drum beneath my ribs. There was no easy way up the mountain. The southern slope was guarded with men who’d see me dead, and this path by draug who’d do the same. Yet if the specter was to be believed, turning back would be equally deadly.

There was no good choice. At least, not for me.

“What will Snorri do to you if I don’t attempt the climb?” I asked Bjorn. “Will he accept that you respected my wishes? Or will you be punished for not forcing me to go in there?”

“Don’t make this decision about me,” he answered. “I’ll go where you go, and if that’s to replace a mead hall where we get very drunk while waiting for the knife to fall, so be it.”

Chewing on my thumbnail, I stared at the dark opening, knowing that I’d rather die fighting than as a coward. “I suppose we should start climbing.”

Bjorn didn’t question my decision. Didn’t ask if I was sure. Only said to Steinunn, “You’re not coming with us. Make your way back to the horses.”

Steinunn was not so easily cowed. “The jarl ordered me to stay with you.”

“To spy on my every move?”

The skald twitched, and I winced knowing that it wouldn’t improve Bjorn’s opinion of her. But rather than denying it, Steinunn said, “To witness your trials so that I might tell Freya’s story. So that they might know the truth about what she is.”

I frowned, but before I could speak, Bjorn said, “The dead do not sing, and death will be your fate should you walk this path.”

His outlook on our prospects of survival made me want to change my mind, except the specter’s words could not be denied. There was no turning back. Not for me. But Steinunn’s fate didn’t have to remain entwined with mine. “If I live, I’ll tell you everything that happened,” I said to her. “I’ll answer all your questions, I swear it.” My eyes flicked to Bjorn. “You as well.”

He snorted. “I’ll cut out my own tongue before I tell Snorri’s little spy a word.”

Irritation at his stubbornness chased away some of my fear, but we didn’t have time to stand here arguing. “Is my word enough, Steinunn?”

The other woman was silent for a long moment, then said, “I look forward to hearing your story, Freya Born-in-Fire.”

“Then it is settled,” Bjorn said. “If you hurry, you’ll be able to reach my father’s warrior and the horses before they leave. Else you have a long walk ahead of you.”

Steinunn crossed her arms, meeting his stare. “You cross Snorri at every turn, Bjorn. There will come a day that you pay the price for that.”

“But not today.” Bjorn gestured to me. “Lead the way.”

Knowing my nerves would fail me if I delayed another second, I started toward the opening in the cliff wall, Bjorn following at my heels. Each rush of steam looked like breath on a cold day from a great sentient beast that consumed the wary and unwary alike. “What do we do for light?”

In answer, Bjorn’s fiery axe appeared in his hand, and together, we stepped inside.