A Fate Inked in Blood: The number 1 Sunday Times bestselling fantasy romance
A Fate Inked in Blood: Chapter 3

I stared at the burning axe in the back of my husband’s head. Watched as he slowly crumpled and slid off the side of the horse to land with a thud on the ground. Only then did the axe vanish, leaving behind blotches of brightness across my vision.

“You fool!” Snorri shouted.

Bjorn stared at me, eyes full of shock and horror. “What were you thinking?”

“He deserved it,” I whispered. Vragi’s hair was burning, the smell acrid. “He’s a greedy, traitorous bastard the world is better off without.”

Not is. Was.

“How could you let that happen, Bjorn?” Snorri snarled, lunging at his son before drawing up short. “How could you let her disarm you?”

“I didn’t think she’d do it.” Bjorn gave a rapid shake of his head. “No one has ever tried it. No one is mad enough to touch Tyr’s fire!”

It occurred to me then that they weren’t angry I’d murdered Vragi. They were angry that—

The pain struck.

Agony like nothing I’d ever experienced lanced up my arm and I looked down to see my wrist and the back of my hand red and blistered, only my palm and fingers seeming exempt from the pain. I started to turn my hand over, but Bjorn’s fingers locked on my elbow. “You don’t want to look.” He caught my chin with his other hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Looking will make it worse.”

His eyes were such a lovely shade of green, the lashes around them dark, and though the pain grew with each throbbing pulse, the thought that filled my head was that it wasn’t fair for a man to have such long lashes. “Is it bad?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

I swayed on my feet as he said to Snorri, “If you wish your shield maiden to keep her hand, we must return to Halsar so Liv can help her.”

Snorri cursed, then a frown split his brow. “It was foretold her name would be born in fire. I’d believed that meant Tyr’s fire was forcing her to reveal her gift, but that would have been an act of fear. Whereas this…” He paused, eyes growing bright with zealotry, “this is an act of bravery that will give Steinunn a song to be sung by skalds for generations. This is an act the gods will reward.”

If this was the gods’ idea of a reward, I prayed I’d never feel the pain of punishment.

Snorri wasn’t through. “Lest the rest of you see the favor the gods show her as license for apathy, know that if she loses her hand, I’ll cut the fingers off every one of you myself!”

“An answer for everything,” Bjorn muttered under his breath before shouting, “Get the salve from my saddlebags.” His hand still gripped my chin, holding my face high so that I couldn’t look down.

“I’m sorry,” I said to him, a tremor running through me.

“You should be.” He held my gaze, and I swore it was the only thing keeping me from screaming. “All the women in Halsar will curse your name if I lose half my fingers.”

I blinked, then comprehended what he meant. My teeth bared in a snarl over him making light of my pain. “Or perhaps they’ll praise me for sparing them your grasping hands.”

He grinned, his teeth bright white against his sun-browned skin. “You only think that because you haven’t heard of my reputation. After a day or two in Halsar you will know the truth of things.”

All I wanted was to scream and scream and scream, but I forced myself to say, “The truth women tell other women is not the same truth they tell men.”

His smile grew. “There can be only one truth. All else is falsity.”

I managed to choke out, “Exactly.”

He laughed, but his hold on my face and arm tightened. A second later, I understood why as someone’s hands touched my burns, the pain turning the world bright white, only Bjorn’s grip keeping me upright as I howled and sobbed.

“Easy, Freya.” His voice was low and soft. “The salve will take away the pain.”

I drew in a ragged breath.

“Bjorn,” someone muttered, “this is—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “We need to hurry.”

The urgency fueled my fear, but I needed to see. Needed to know how bad it was. “Let me look.”

His jaw tightened. “Freya…”

I pulled my chin from his grip and looked down. The skin of my wrist and hand was covered with a thick red paste, but not my palm. Because my palm…

The skin was gone.

I stared at the blackened mess of ash, gagged, then twisted and vomited, the world swimming.

“I warned you.” Bjorn wrapped a cloth around my burns, then stooped down, his arms going behind my knees and shoulders.

“I can walk,” I protested, though that might have been a lie.

Was definitely a lie.

“I’m sure you can.” He lifted me as though I weighed no more than a child, settling me against his chest. “But this will give you a better story for Steinunn to sing about. You always want a good story to go with your scars.”

“Freya!”

Geir was trying to crawl toward me, tears streaming down his face. “Why did you do it?” he wept. “Your hand is ruined!”

“It’s not ruined, you idiot,” Bjorn snapped. “And your mewling is not helpful.”

Geir’s eyes darkened. “It’s your fault, Firehand. It was your axe that did this to her.”

Through my dizziness and fear, my anger rose. “I did it to myself,” I said between my teeth. “I don’t regret it. Vragi would have ruined Ingrid’s life. And yours.”

“I’m your brother—I’m the one who is supposed to protect you.”

His words only fueled my anger. “If you think that’s the way of it, then you really haven’t been paying attention.”

“Get him on a horse and send him back to his mother,” Snorri snapped at his men. “And Geir, I don’t want to see your face until you learn to hold your tongue.”

The pain in my hand was easing, whatever concoction Bjorn smeared on it numbing me from elbow to fingertip. Yet instead of feeling better, I felt cold as ice, shivers taking over as Bjorn carried me to his horse. He lifted me onto the animal’s shoulders, then swiftly swung into the saddle, pulling me against him. My arse was pressed against his pelvis and his arm was wrapped around my middle, the proximity reminding me of my exchange with him on the beach. “I can ride alone.”

“Not enough horses.”

“Then behind,” I whispered. “I can ride behind you.”

He snorted, heeling the horse into a trot. “I just watched you put an axe in a man’s skull. You think I’m fool enough to put you at my back?”

“I don’t have a weapon.” The motion of the horse as it sped into a swift canter drove me against him with each stride. “I think you’re safe.”

Bjorn’s chest shook as he laughed. “I respectfully disagree, shield maiden. You’ve proven yourself opportunistic.”

In the face of the pain, I’d almost forgotten that the secret I’d hidden all my life was now revealed. There’d been moments I’d dreamed of screaming it to the world, of owning my heritage despite my father’s warnings. But now that it was known, I had to face the nightmare that would be my reality. “Don’t call me that.”

“You’re right,” he said. “It’s not original—I shall think of something better. Perhaps Freya Onehand. Or Freya Axethief. Or Freya ScorchedPalm.”

Selvegr appeared in the distance, but it was blurry, the buildings merging into one another in a grotesque smear. “I don’t like you.”

“Good. You shouldn’t.” His arm tightened around my waist as he urged the horse into a gallop. “The salve will make you tired. Might make you fall asleep. Don’t fight that mercy, Freya.”

“I won’t fall asleep.” I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Yet with every stride, drowsiness drew me down and down, away from the fear and the pain. The last thing I remembered before darkness claimed me was Bjorn’s voice in my ear. “I won’t let you fall.”