A Fate Inked in Blood: The number 1 Sunday Times bestselling fantasy romance
A Fate Inked in Blood: Chapter 22

We set up camp near the ruins of Halsar, Snorri sending riders through his territories to call in every man and woman who could fight. Bodil sent for reinforcements from her own lands. Warriors and ships and supplies to feed those who’d lost everything to fire.

“Gnut’s scouts will hear of this,” she warned. “He will be ready for us.”

Snorri only scoffed. “Let his scouts go running back to him. I want Gnut cowering in terror behind his walls, knowing that I’m coming for him. I want his people to have time to understand that their jarl has brought this pain down upon them in his refusal to swear an oath to the rightful king of Skaland. In his refusal to bend to the will of the gods. Mark my words, they will turn on him sure and true.”

Despite the arrogance of his words, there was a fervor in them that fueled the fires in the hearts of all who heard. Only a few drowned in sorrow, all others turning their minds and hands to preparation for battle, forging weapons, fletching arrows, and gathering the supplies that would be needed. It was the nature of our people to spit in defiance of adversity, to look forward rather than backward, to fixate on vengeance rather than to grieve for the fallen.

Sitting next to a cookfire, I ate food that someone had prepared, my mind tossing and turning over what my role would be in the battle to come.

Bodil sat across the fire from me, a bowl in her hand. Despite not knowing her for very long, and the difficult questions she’d posed of me, there was no denying that I felt at ease in her presence. She was of an age with my mother, but whereas my mother was endlessly prying into my business so that she might pick apart flaws in my behavior, Bodil’s interest seemed motivated by curiosity rather than the desire to uncover my failings.

For a long time, the jarl said nothing, only watched as the others gathered around fires, drinking and singing and dancing, the air thick with energy, like in the moments before a storm. Finally she said, “Snorri believes his words. Believes that this is the fate the gods foresee for him. There is a sort of magic in that.” She gestured to the dancers. “A power to make others believe as well.”

Finishing my food, I set my bowl down. “Do you believe?”

Bodil considered the question, and it struck me that she rarely spoke without thinking first. Probably a skill I’d do well to learn, though I found it frustrating having to wait for her responses.

“I believe,” she finally said, “that we stand on the brink of great change for Skaland, though what that change will be, I cannot say. Only that I hope to be part of it. To influence it for the better, if I can.”

An answer that was not an answer, another habit I’d noticed of Bodil. It made me want to dig, to extract something solid and tangible from her, so I asked, “How do you know when someone is telling a mistruth?”

Bodil smiled. “My feet itch.”

A flicker of surprise ran through me, first that she had said something forthright, and second that the answer was so…mundane. She was the child of Forseti, her ability to discern truth the god’s magic, and to have it manifest in such a way made me smile. “I’d say that would be irritating, but I suppose those who know you refrain from deception in your presence.”

Pushing a silver braid over her shoulder, Bodil said, “Being wholly honest is harder than you might think, Freya. Nearly everyone is deceiving someone about something, even if it’s only themselves. Words uttered might be the truth but the tone or sentiment false, and my gift does not tell me the difference, only that something in the exchange is deception.” Taking a mouthful of food, she chewed and swallowed. “In my youth, I suffered tremendous anger because it felt as though everyone was lying to me and that I could trust no one.”

Gods, but I understood that feeling. “You must have felt miserable,” I said to her, though my eyes drifted from Bodil’s face to the other fires, hunting and searching for Bjorn, whom I’d not seen since we’d returned to Halsar. He was the one I trusted above all others, yet he was the one person I had to guard myself against the most.

“It was,” Bodil answered. “I found peace only when I learned to tell the difference between mistruths told from empathy, shame, or fear, and those told with malice. Knowledge of that came not from magic but from experience.”

“It’s amazing that you didn’t go mad in the intervening period,” I mumbled, then I heard a familiar tread coming up behind me, and I turned.

Bjorn approached, firelight casting shadows across the hard angles of his face in a way that made my stomach flip.

“Bodil.” He nodded at the jarl. “Freya.”

“Where have you been?” I asked, then instantly cursed myself for doing so, swiftly adding, “Avoiding real work, as usual?”

He sat next to me, sending my heart into a gallop as I inhaled the scent of pine and fjord. “Why? Was there something you needed me to do for you?”

My cheeks instantly reddened, and I prayed he’d only think it the light cast by the fire. “Other than cutting off heads, the list of things that you can do that I can’t do better is very short, Bjorn. So to answer your question, no.”

Bodil cackled and slapped her hands against her thighs. “She speaks the truth, boy.”

Bjorn’s smile turned sly. “Maybe so, but the items on that list I do very well indeed.”

Memory crashed over me, of his hands on my body and his tongue in my mouth, heat flaming in my core. “So say all men,” I muttered.

Bjorn laughed, but Bodil’s eyes narrowed on me. “Truer words never spoken.”

True words. False sentiment.

Shit.

Knowing I needed to recover the situation, I said, “Besides, napping isn’t a skill, so you shouldn’t brag about it.”

“I beg to differ,” he answered. “But the point is moot, given I wasn’t exercising said skill. Liv’s home and all her supplies were burned in the fire, so Ylva requested those with knowledge search out plants needed to help the injured.”

My chest tightened, partially in shame that I’d accused him of sloth and partially because I was reminded of the fallen healer. Liv and all the others had died because their warriors weren’t here to defend them. “That was good of you.”

Bjorn shrugged, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a jar. “Given my relationship with fire, Liv taught me how to make your salve years ago. It’s likely not as good as hers but it should do until another healer can make more.”

Of all the things that needed to be done, of all the things Bjorn could’ve been doing, he’d been making more salve for my hand. A flood of emotion made it abruptly impossible to breathe, but I managed to choke out, “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

It was everything, and my eyes burned, tears threatening. I hoped both of them would think it smoke from the fire.

Bjorn took hold of my right hand. Though I had little sensation in the scars, I could still feel the heat of him, and my breath caught.

“How were you burned?” Bodil asked, and I jerked, realizing how this must look. Extracting my hand from Bjorn’s, I took the salve and rubbed it over my scars, more than aware that this was something Bjorn excelled at. But if I allowed him, I’d feel things that I shouldn’t. I knew that while I might be able to hide those feelings from most people, Bodil would sense the deception.

“Born-in-Fire needed a weapon and the closest one to hand was my axe,” Bjorn answered the jarl, his voice clipped. “She’s a woman who does what needs doing.”

“The best kind of woman.”

My cheeks heated at being so discussed, and I bent over my hand to put extra vigor into my application of salve so as to seem not to have heard.

Silence hung among the three of us, thick enough to cut with a knife, then Bodil said, “You left in the middle of your father’s speech, Bjorn.”

He huffed out an irritated breath. “Grindill has never been assailed. That’s one of the reasons Gnut can afford to be an unapologetic prick—his position is strong. The only way to take it is by starving those inside, which I suspect is not the glorious victory my father has in mind.”

“So you left because you disagree with his strategy?”

Bjorn’s knee bumped mine as he shifted, and I leaned away despite feeling drawn to him like iron to a lodestone. “Grindill is a fortress. Towering walls of earth and oak ringed by a moat filled with sharpened stakes. Snorri says he wishes to take it to give his people better lives, yet how many will die in the taking of it?”

I…hadn’t known that.

Though Snorri had spoken of walls, I’d envisioned a slightly grander version of Halsar. Not a fortress. I wondered how many others who’d lifted their hands in support of Snorri’s plan were the same. People who’d never ventured more than half a day from Halsar, the town we intended to capture nothing more than a name to them.

“All great accomplishments come at a price, Bjorn,” Bodil answered. “Between Snorri and me, we have many good warriors. We have you.” She gave him a pointed look. “But most importantly, we have Freya, who is favored not just by Hlin, but all the gods.”

Bjorn snorted. “Yes, yes. To make a king out of the one who controls her fate. Yet no mention of how many will die to achieve that end. Perhaps he will be king of no one, all dead beneath the heels of his ambition.”

The sourness of his tone surprised me, and I twisted at the waist and looked up at him. “You don’t believe your mother’s foretelling?”

“I believe it,” he muttered. “But that doesn’t mean I wish to rush into a battle like this on blind faith.”

“Yet you’ve a reputation across all of Skaland, and Nordeland, as a risk-taker,” Bodil said. “For throwing yourself to where the battle is thickest. How is this any different?”

Bjorn’s jaw tightened and I watched him intently as he met the woman’s gaze. “With respect, Jarl Bodil, just because you can discern the truth does not mean you are entitled to it.”

I didn’t disagree with him, but at the same time, if his concern was only for the lives of the warriors who’d be part of the battle, why not say so, given that he basically already had? Why get his back up now?

In a sudden rush of motion, Bjorn stood. “Take care of your hand, Freya. You’ll need it in the battle to come.” He nodded at Bodil. “Good night to you both.”

Then he strode away, weaving through the multitude of campfires.

“Apologies for his behavior,” I said, turning back to the jarl. “He’s…he’s not had much rest, and Halsar is his home. To see it burned…” I gestured outward, unsure whether any of this was the reason for Bjorn’s rudeness but needing to say something. “He does not wish people to risk their lives unnecessarily.”

Bodil rubbed her chin. “I don’t think that’s his concern. Or at the very least, his concern is for one person, in particular.”

I didn’t answer. How could I when she knew truth from lie, and the truth was not something I dared to voice.

With my heart in my throat, I waited for her to push the issue. To voice her opinion or demand an answer from me. Yet Bodil only picked up a stick and poked the fire before adding more wood. Only when the flames were roaring high did she ask, “Do you believe this is the right path, Freya?”

“I…” Trailing off, I stared into the flames, because this was the first time someone had asked my opinion and I didn’t know that I had one. Or rather, I was afraid—given the recent reminder that I was ignorant of many aspects of the situation—that my opinion was wrong. “I think myself not well enough informed for my thoughts to matter.”

Bodil leaned back on her hands, and I swore I saw disappointment on her face through the haze of smoke, so I added, “I think Snorri is correct that to rebuild Halsar as it was is folly. Not only is it easy to attack, but it is now the greatest target in Skaland, thanks to my presence. We are vulnerable not only to more attacks by Gnut, but to all who feel like-minded in their resistance to seeing Snorri as king.”

“I agree,” Bodil said, and I felt a flush of pride. “But would it not be better to merely build somewhere else? To construct his own fortress?”

“Such an endeavor would take years and a fortune of silver,” I answered. “And in the meantime, all these people will be at risk in whatever temporary homes we construct for them. Winters will see suffering, for many will have been taken from fields or from the hunt to build.”

“Raid. Take what you need.”

“We haven’t the ships to raid across the seas, and raiding those we wish to swear oaths to Snorri seems not a path best taken. They’ll only smile to our faces, then stab us in the back at the soonest opportunity.”

Bodil nodded approvingly, and my cheeks warmed because I wasn’t used to such a response when I voiced my thoughts. Eager to give her more, I said, “Gnut has earned our retaliation by attacking Halsar twice, and by voicing his defiance to Snorri. Not attacking him makes us look weak. Makes us look as though we will tolerate such behavior, which will cause more to do the same until soon we have attacks coming from all sides. To protect our people, we must take action against him. Not only to discourage others who think to capitalize upon our weakness, but to protect those who’ve sworn to Snorri already. Prove to everyone that Snorri will lift up high those who follow him and walk with heavy heels over those who seek to bring us low. Warriors must be proud to follow him even as they fear to defy him.”

My heart thundered. I’d said what I believed, felt it in my bones, and I’d fight to see such a thing achieved. Yet I waited with anticipation for Bodil’s reaction, for now that she’d unleashed my voice, I craved her validation. “Do you agree?”

She tilted her head. “Steinunn will spread word with her songs, and time alone will tell how Skaland reacts to the deeds that have been done. But tell me this, Freya. Bjorn is not wrong in how he speaks of Grindill’s defenses. How do you propose we take it?”

I bit the insides of my cheeks, then admitted, “I’ve never seen this fortress, Bodil. Never fought in more than a skirmish. Until the day that Snorri took me, I had never traveled more than half a day from my village, so I’ve no business telling anyone how this siege should be fought. But…”

She smiled and poked the fire again, sending sparks flying. “But?”

The answer sat on my tongue, yet I had a hard time speaking it because it felt arrogant. The last thing I wanted was to be in possession of an inflated sense of self-worth. The trouble was, the more I spoke, the more I saw how Skaland could be united. Not by battle strategies and victories, though those would play a part, but by belief. “I have to be the one to win it.”

Swallowing hard, I added, “For Skalanders to agree to follow Snorri, they must believe that the gods wish to see him as king. That this is fate. And for that to happen, I must play my part, else no stories will be told of me.”

“Yes, you must play your part,” Bodil answered. “And as to the rest, we must play our own parts by making you ready. Tomorrow, you will train with me and with my warriors.”

Excitement filled me even as my stomach plummeted, because I’d assumed that Snorri would have me resume training with Bjorn. That I wouldn’t have a choice and therefore no one would question the time spent with him improving my fighting skills.

As if sensing my thoughts, Bodil said, “Bjorn’s skill is unparalleled, but he fights like a man, relying too much on brute strength, never mind that axe of his. You must learn to fight like a woman and the only ones who can teach you that are other women. I will speak to Snorri on it.”

“Thank you,” I murmured. “You honor me.”

Bodil gave a soft snort, then rose to her feet. “Skalanders are not known for their altruism, Freya, and I am no different. I wish to rise on the tide, not sink beneath it, and the best way I can do that is to be at your side. You are a clever, passionate woman with a good heart—a woman worth following.”

The mix of honesty and flattery in her answer drew a smile to my face, but it evaporated as the jarl added, “You are right that for Skalanders to follow, they must hear tell of your exploits and conquests. But keep in mind those exploits and conquests must be fitting of a leader, else they are naught more than the fishwife gossip. And the consequences of gossip aren’t always for the person being spoken about.”

She’d noticed. The reprimand for whatever was going on between me and Bjorn stung all the more after her approval, and I visibly flinched, barely managing a nod.

“Tonight, my maidens and I will celebrate the lives of the fallen,” she said. “And I believe Steinunn will sing some of the ballad she has composed to spread word of your battle fame. We would like for you to join us, Freya.”

Without waiting for me to respond, she disappeared into the darkness.

Hunched over against the cold, I stared at the fire. Her warning was clear and nothing I didn’t already know, but there was something about hearing it from the lips of another that made it more real. Made the consequences more threatening, because Bodil was right: I wouldn’t be the one who’d be harmed if Snorri discovered I was lusting after his son. It would be my family. Would be—

“I see she finally gave up prying.”

I stiffened as Bjorn sat next to me. “Be wary of what you say to her, Born-in-Fire. The woman hears too much.”

“I know.” My tongue felt numb, my throat thick, and the sudden urge to cry fell over me.

What would Snorri do to Bjorn if he found out I was enamored with him?

A sickening feeling filled my core, because becoming king was Snorri’s obsession and he’d proven that he’d sacrifice everything and anything to see it through. He cared for Bjorn and seemed to truly believe that his son was entwined in my fate, but if the right gossip reached his ears, that could easily change.

I rose to my feet. “Bodil gives good advice,” I said. “She’s offered me the opportunity to train with her and her maidens, and I have accepted. It will do me well to learn from them.”

Bjorn’s voice was clipped as he said, “You barely know her.”

“Then I suppose I should remedy that.”

And lest my traitorous heart betray me, I turned and walked toward the female warriors dancing around a distant fire. “Spare a cup for me?” I asked when I reached them.

Bodil laughed. “Of course. It will be our honor to drink with Freya Born-in-Fire!”

One of her maidens pushed a cup of mead into my hand, and I drank deeply as the women shouted my name. Laughing, I held the cup out for more, then allowed the women to draw me into their dance.

My feet struck the ground to the rhythm of the drums, and I shrieked as someone threw more wood on the fire, sparks and embers flaring up into the night sky. The mead settled into my veins, the world spinning as we circled around the bonfire, women tossing aside heavy clothes as heat flushed our skin. Honoring both the dead and the gods they had joined, singing their names and praising their deeds.

When was the last time I had danced? When was the last time that I’d honored the gods as I should? When was the last time I surrounded myself with women whom I might one day call friends?

Men attempted to approach, drawn by drink and bare skin, but Bodil’s maidens chased them off with spears and laughter, the jarl shouting, “This is a place for women, get you gone or face our wrath!”

Grinning, I caught up a spear, joining the fray. Beyond the men encircling us, my eyes locked with Bjorn’s, and I lifted my spear, daring him to come closer. But he only shook his head and disappeared into the woods.

Then everyone went still, the rhythm of the drums fading into silence. It took me a heartbeat to understand why, then my eyes found Steinunn, who approached, a small drum hanging from a strap around her shoulders. The skald waited until all had grown still, then began to beat on her drum, the rhythm slow and ominous.

Bodil moved to my elbow, catching my arm as I swayed, my balance all of a sudden unsteady. “Have you heard a skald perform a song about your own exploits before, Freya?”

I shook my head, unnerved at how my heart had adopted the rhythm of Steinunn’s drum.

“For those who were not in the tunnels with the draug, this will be a thrilling adventure. Entertainment of the first order,” she said. “But for you…it will be like being back in the darkness with monsters coming from every side.”

My palms turned cold and I took a long drink from my cup, though I knew I’d already had far too much. “All right.”

Steinunn’s lips parted, and wordless song came forth, riding the rhythm of her drum. I felt her magic cascade over me, the world around me swirling. I blinked, no longer certain what I was looking at, only that it was not the dark ruins of Halsar. It was daylight, the sun strange and watered as though I looked at it through glass, and I swallowed down rising bile as the Hammar appeared before me.

Vaguely I was aware Steinunn was telling the story of approaching the mountain, that our way up the south side was blocked by our enemy, and that this was a test set me by the gods and communicated by the specter. Except it wasn’t the skald I heard, but the wind. The clatter of bones hung from trees. The crunch of the horses’ hooves. I clenched my teeth as the stink of rot filled my nose, and fear wrapped a band around my chest, tightening to the point I could barely suck in a breath as I watched myself dismount my mare.

I was seeing, I realized, through Steinunn’s eyes, feeling what she had felt as we walked to the entrance to the tunnel. Steam rushed out of the blackness, the noise deafening, and I took an involuntary step back even as those around me gasped.

Perspective shifted, and it was through my own eyes that I watched, my breathing rapid as I stepped into the darkness and Bjorn’s axe flared to life. Stinking mist swirled around my feet as I eased past dead animals, and I felt everyone near me shift on their feet, feeling my trepidation.

“I don’t like this,” I mumbled, feeling sick to my stomach as Steinunn sped up time, only flickers of moments filling my eyes as I climbed and climbed. “I don’t feel well.”

“Steady,” Bodil said. “It is just memory. You aren’t there.”

But all I could see was Bjorn edging through the narrow space, knowing what was coming, knowing that draug would soon be upon us. He cursed as he tripped over the cup, and I looked down as it shot past my feet.

Those aren’t my shoes.

I had no chance to think about the unfamiliar red laces on the leather shoes before the roar of the mountain breathing struck my ears, the rising drums, the scratch of bony feet against stone. Vertigo and a wave of nausea hit me, and I twisted out of Bodil’s grip to fall to my knees.

“Are you well, Freya?” I dimly heard her ask right before I fell sideways, the world going dark.