A Fate Inked in Blood: The number 1 Sunday Times bestselling fantasy romance
A Fate Inked in Blood: Chapter 30

“My father isn’t just going to let you go roaming the countryside,” Bjorn said under his breath as he walked with me back to the great hall. “Not with half the jarls in Skaland desiring to capture or kill you, and the other half on their way to Grindill to meet you. You’re too valuable to allow out of his sight. He’ll only have your mother brought here to give answers.”

“No.” My voice was flat. “Bad enough that Geir and Ingrid chose to put themselves within reach by coming to Grindill, I won’t put my mother at risk as well.”

“Then I fail to see a solution.” Bjorn ground to a halt, ignoring the way those in the streets gave us wide berth. I had a more difficult time setting aside the fearful looks many of them gave me. “It is a full day’s ride to Selvegr and another back. Impossible to do without your absence being noted.”

I rubbed at my scarred hand, thinking hard. Then an idea occurred to me. “I need to replace Steinunn.”

Bjorn’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because her magic might be able to give me the answers I need.” Twisting away from him, I went into the great hall. As expected, the skald was there, speaking with Ylva and Snorri, as well as two men I didn’t recognize. “Keep your father busy while I talk to her,” I muttered under my breath.

“There is my prize,” Snorri said at the sight of me. “Freya, this is Jarl Arme Gormson and Jarl Ivar Rolfson, who have sworn allegiance to me as king of Skaland.” To the men, he said, “My wife, Freya, and my son, Bjorn.”

Both names were familiar to me, as their territories were not distant from Snorri’s. I inclined my head respectfully, only for shock to ripple through me as both bowed low. “Shield Maiden,” Ivar said, “we were present for Steinunn’s performance, which was a privilege to behold. Our enemies will cower in terror when faced with you on the battlefield, of that there is no question. Especially as Steinunn spreads word of your battle fame.”

I bit the insides of my cheeks, remembering how not so long ago, battle fame had been my greatest dream. I’d thought that would be my reward for enduring Snorri. But now that I’d tasted real battle, those dreams felt like nightmares. Were my nightmares, the parade of people who’d fallen because of me marching through my mind every night.

“As Skaland’s strength grows, soon we will turn our eyes to Nordeland,” Snorri said. “It is rich with gold and silver from years of their raiding. Past time we took back what is ours.”

The men nodded their approval, Arme’s gaze shifting to Bjorn. “To see revenge for your mother’s murder on the horizon must have your blood blazing, Firehand. A thing worthy of one of Steinunn’s songs, when it comes to pass.”

Bjorn inclined his head. “I have waited many years for vengeance.”

The men grinned. “The next time we see each other, it will be on drakkar as our fleet sails across the strait to put Harald in his place.”

“My father believes my destiny is to fight by Freya’s side,” Bjorn said. “So where she goes, I will go. If it is Nordeland, so much the better.”

“My lord,” I said to Snorri, interrupting the exchange. “It was to Steinunn I wished to speak. I…I had some thoughts I might share with her to add to her songs.”

He gave me an approving nod. “It is well to see you coming to terms with your role.”

Nodding, I edged past, leaving Bjorn to make idle chatter with the jarls. I approached Steinunn, who was exchanging words with Ylva. Leif stood at his mother’s elbow, the boy giving me a wary look, his hand drifting to the seax sheathed at his waist. I smiled at him, despite knowing that there was little chance of me ever winning his regard, but the furrow in Leif’s brow only deepened. Ylva’s hands closed on his shoulders, drawing him backward. “Go,” she said. “It is past time you were abed.”

Bjorn’s younger half-brother looked ready to argue, but one glare from his mother sent him hurrying to the rear of the hall. Crossing her arms, Ylva said, “I’m less forgiving of your conduct than Snorri, girl. Sulking in your pillow for days, only to go out and inspire fistfights before storming out of a performance meant to honor you. It’s—”

“It wasn’t meant to honor me, Ylva, it was to make people fear me,” I interrupted. “Which is why I wish to speak to Steinunn.”

“My magic speaks the truth,” the skald swiftly said. “If the truth is terrifying, there is nothing I can do to change that.”

“Unless there is more to the story,” I said. “An untold piece that might add needed depth.” Turning to Ylva, I said, “Snorri wishes to entice the other jarls to swear oaths to him with tales of battle fame, which is well and good. But the people who are to be ruled by him—they need something different. Something…more. A king takes an oath of loyalty from his people, but he, in turn, gives an oath to protect them. The people must see that. Must believe it is the truth, which cannot be proven by any way better than a skald’s song.”

Ylva’s eyes narrowed. “What precisely could you add, Freya? All you’ve proven is your adeptness for killing.”

I flinched. “Then perhaps what Steinunn’s song needs is not more stories about me, but rather the tales of the goddess whose power I wield.”

“There are few tales,” Steinunn interjected. “What is known of her is already known to all. To make these songs worthy, they must hold new stories that will entice men to action. There is no one who has seen or spoken directly to the goddess in our lifetime who might provide such.”

“Except Freya’s mother.” Ylva pursed her lips, blue eyes distant, though they swiftly fixed on mine. “Is there a compelling story surrounding your conception, Freya? Because I do not think tales of lust and divine fornication will inspire people to think better of you.”

“In truth, I don’t know,” I admitted. “My father forbade anyone in our family to speak of my heritage. But Steinunn could travel to Selvegr and speak to her. Learn whatever my mother knows of Hlin, and then use it to temper her song.”

“My song requires no alteration,” Steinunn snapped. “Already it has proven its effectiveness. On Snorri’s orders, tomorrow I leave to travel across Skaland, performing to all who listen so that they might hear of Freya Born-in-Fire’s battle fame. Long have these men desired to make war on Nordeland, and the opportunity to make it happen will be beyond their power to resist.”

“Your song makes me appear a monster,” I snapped.

Steinunn leaned close. “Perhaps because you are.” Rounding on Ylva, she added, “Snorri wishes for me to leave tomorrow. I must rest. Good night to you both.”

Turning on her heels, the skald strode from the hall.

My hands curved into fists, and I drew in several shuddering breaths, trying to replace calm. The rage that consumed me during the battle, that took hold of me not an hour past with Bjorn, was rising again.

It made me wonder if Steinunn was right. That there was nothing more to add to the song.

“The people fear you,” Ylva said softly. “You looked as much a monster as the draug you fought in the tunnels beneath Fjalltindr.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “And I helped bring you down upon them.”

“You’re fated.” My voice was cold. Clipped. “It wasn’t your choice; it was made by the Norns who weave your thread.”

“I do not think that is what it means to be fated,” Ylva answered. “I think it means that the Norns know our threads so well that they see each and every decision we will make.” Her eyes locked on mine. “So I am not released from culpability, only predictable in it.”

A rush of air exited my lips, my anger flowing away, though I wasn’t entirely certain why.

“I love my husband,” Ylva said. “But he sees only the glory, not the backs of those he must step upon to achieve it. I see the faces belonging to those backs, and I do not like the expressions I saw on them tonight.” Her eyes flicked to Snorri, who was laughing and pounding Bjorn on the shoulder. “I do not wish to see him rise to power on a tide of fear. Do not wish for that to be my son’s legacy.”

I held my breath, waiting for a solution from a woman who, I realized now, was more ally than enemy, for many of our desires were the same.

“Ride in secret to Selvegr tonight,” Ylva finally said. “Learn what you can from your mother of the goddess whose magic our fates rest upon, then return with haste. I will tell all that you are seeking guidance from the gods and must not be disturbed, as well as delay Steinunn’s departure until you tell her what answers the gods have given you.” She hesitated, then added, “Enlist Bjorn to help you. He’ll know how to get you in and out of Grindill unseen. Will keep you safe on the journey and ensure you return to us.”

Not giving me an opportunity to respond, Ylva announced, “Husband, Freya must seek guidance from the gods. She requires solitude for a night and a day to see what answers the gods will give her.” She snapped her fingers. “Bjorn, as Hlin has willed you to watch over Freya on this journey, you shall attend her.”

The men all blinked at her, and Ylva crossed her arms. “Well? You would have the gods wait? Snorri, fetch the mushrooms. Bjorn, ensure Freya has all she needs to endure her trial. And you”—she leveled a finger at the two visiting jarls—“should be feasting! We are to celebrate our alliance and our great futures together. Bring in food! Mead! Music!”

Everyone fell to their orders, and I muttered to Bjorn, “Get what we need to ride to Selvegr tonight and meet me in my room.”

Snorri approached and handed me a cup filled with ground mushroom. “Drink deeply,” he said. “I look forward to learning what the gods wish to show you in your visions.”

“As do I.” I nodded at him, then rushed to the stairs, climbing to the second level where my room was located. Entering, I set the cup on a table and immediately began gathering what I’d need to ride through the night. My father’s sword and a seax. A shield. A cloak with a deep hood to hide my face.

The door opened and shut, and I turned to replace Bjorn with a sack of provisions. I said to him, “Ylva desires the same truths as I do. She will hide our absence so that we might seek them out from my mother.”

“This is disappointing news,” he said. “I had hoped you’d arranged for us to spend a night and a day eating our fill while our minds raced through the clouds on mushroom-induced visions. Not riding through the night to see your mother.”

I rolled my eyes, then set the bolt on the door before going to the window, hearing drums take up a rhythm in the hall below. “We’ll need horses.”

“Already outside the wall,” he answered, and when I looked at him askance, Bjorn only winked and said, “I assume you’ve no trouble taking to the rooftops?”

—

We rode through the night, following the river down to the coast, then riding the road leading round to the next fjord over, on which Selvegr was located. It was midmorning by the time I trotted my horse up the familiar path to my family’s farm, dismounting in front of our home. Chickens pecked in the dirt and two new goats grazed at blades of grass around a fence post. The garden boasted an abundance of spring green, and in the distance the cleared field held a crop already high for this time of year, the earth yielding well.

The door opened, but rather than my mother stepping outside, it was an unfamiliar man. Perhaps Snorri’s age, he was stout about the middle, and had a long gray beard decorated with silver rings. He held an axe in one hand with the comfort of one who’d used it as a weapon many times before, and my hand moved to my own weapon on instinct.

“Who are you?” I demanded. “Where is my mother?”

“You must be Freya,” he answered, then jerked his chin toward Bjorn. “Good day to you, Bjorn.”

“Birger.” Bjorn had dismounted as well, leading his horse up to stand next to me. “Snorri has given Freya leave to visit her mother. Is she here or should we seek her out in the village?”

“Kelda’s abed,” Birger answered. “Unwell, but on the mend.”

“Leaving you to play at farming, then?” Bjorn laughed. “You’re a bit heavy-handed for collecting chicken eggs.”

This was the man Snorri had sent to watch over my mother against my good behavior, which meant he probably was the one who would hurt her if Snorri gave the orders. My hands fisted, but it was my tongue that readied a lashing. For while I’d known someone was here, it was different actually seeing him. Different knowing that he was living inside my mother’s house. “What’s wrong with her? If you hurt her, you stuffed piece of weasel shit, I’ll—”

“Silence that viper tongue of yours, Freya, or I’ll scrub it with soap!” My mother appeared from behind Birger, adjusting a fur-trimmed shawl I didn’t recognize over her shoulders before stepping out, her cane thudding against the ground. “I had a flux, but it’s passed. Mercy that Birger was here to mind the animals, what with you wed off and your brother gone to serve in your husband’s war band, Ingrid with him. I’ve been all alone.”

Guilt filled my core, for while I’d considered the danger my mother was in, I’d not considered the practical difficulties caused by my absence.

“So thoughtful of your husband to send someone to care for me,” she continued, taking my hand as she looked me over. I did the same, noting the new dress and boots, as well as a thick silver bracelet around her wrist.

“Seems you got what you wanted, love,” she finally said. “A true warrior now, just like your brother.”

Bjorn snorted and I shot a glare over my shoulder before turning back to my mother. “Are you well enough to walk with me?” The questions I wished to ask were personal, and I didn’t need Birger listening over my shoulder.

“Of course, love. Birger, those goats aren’t going to milk themselves. And mind you climb the roof sometime today to replace that leak, else it will be you sleeping beneath the drips.”

Birger’s mouth opened and shut as he looked between me and my mother, knowing full well he wasn’t supposed to give me the chance to take her and run. “I’ll escort them,” Bjorn said. “You get to your chores.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Firehand.” My mother’s voice was frigid. “I’ve heard no end of things about you, and I’ll not have you at my back. There’s firewood that needs chopping, which you may attend to.”

“There are many who seek Freya’s death,” he answered. “So if you wish me to chop your wood, you’ll have to remain close enough for me to dissuade anyone with ill intentions.”

My mother scowled, leveling her cane at him. “If you think—”

“It’s not up for debate,” Bjorn interrupted. “I’m not risking Freya’s safety just because you don’t care for my reputation.”

My mother’s scowl deepened and, seeing a fight brewing, I swiftly caught her arm. “We’ll stay close.”

For a heartbeat, I thought both of them would turn on me, but Bjorn only pulled off his shirt and started toward the woodpile. My mother resisted my tugs on her arm, only conceding when Bjorn’s axe appeared in his right hand, slicing through a thick block of wood with one swing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” I said once we were out of earshot. “I—”

“I know precisely your circumstances, Freya.” My mother’s jaw was tight. “It’s my fault that you are in them.”

“How so?” This was the first I’d heard of it, though in truth, my mother had always said little about my heritage and nothing about the events surrounding my conception. I, having no interest in details of intimacy between my parents, had never asked, which I now regretted. “Did you know it was Hlin you invited to your bed?”

My mother was silent for a long time before answering. “It was not Hlin we took into our bed, Freya, but another.”

I blinked. “But—”

“It was another,” my mother interrupted. “We’ve never spoken to you of this, but Geir…he was a sickly baby. The herb women could do nothing, told us the merciful choice would be to leave him out for the cold and the wolves, but…I couldn’t do it.”

It was the way of our people, I knew that. Had known women who bore sickly babies that were in their arms one day and then gone the next, never spoken of again. But to think that my mother was told to do such a thing to my brother made my blood run cold. “It is well you didn’t, Mother, for they were wrong. He grew up strong.”

Of body, at least.

“They weren’t wrong.” My mother’s throat moved as she swallowed, and I glanced at Bjorn. He was swiftly working his way through the pile, tattooed skin glistening with sweat, and definitely not out of earshot. “What happened?” I asked.

“I prayed to the gods to spare him,” my mother whispered. “Prayed to Freyja and Eir and all who’d listen, offering up sacrifices to show my devotion, but he only grew worse, soon too weak to eat.” Her hand tightened on my arm. “I believed they had all chosen to ignore my pleas, that this was my son’s fate. Night came, and I knew it would be his last, your father holding us both in his arms as we waited for his chest to still. And then a knock sounded at our door.”

It was like a story passed down from generation to generation until it barely seemed possible it could have occurred. Tales of the gods stepping amongst mortals to do good or ill, depending on their moods, which were ever fickle. But this wasn’t a story—it was my life.

“We opened the door to discover a woman,” my mother continued. “She was young and beautiful, with skin white as ivory and hair dark as a moonless night. She said, ‘I will spare your son in exchange for a gift in recompense for his loss,’ and I knew she was a god come at my behest. That my prayers had been answered.”

A shiver passed over me, but I said nothing, entranced by the tale.

“Your father asked what she would have in return, and she answered, ‘To lie between you, and what our passions yield shall be the sacrifice that pays for the health of your son. Choose.’ ”

It was known the gods were voracious in their lusts, and it was an honor to have them in your bed. Yet I could only imagine how my parents had felt, compelled to have sex to save their son even while he lay dying in the same room. It felt wicked and cruel, and…and not like the goddess whose magic I possessed.

“Of course, we did her bidding,” my mother said, “and it was unlike any night I’ve had before or since, leaving us both so spent we fell into the deepest slumber. When we awoke, the woman was gone, as was your brother.”

I gasped, pressing a hand to my mouth, feeling the horror of the moment despite knowing that my brother was alive and well today.

A tear ran down my mother’s face. “I screamed and screamed, certain that it had been Loki who’d come and played us this cruel trick, healing our son to fulfill his word but stealing Geir away to deprive us of what we bargained for, and I cursed myself a fool for not being more careful in my terms. Pounded my fists bloody in the dirt even as your father raged against the gods. Yet we were both silenced as another knock sounded on the door.”

I held my breath, my heart a riot in my chest.

“Your father tore the door open, ready to rain fists down upon the trickster, only to replace a different woman standing outside, a basket in hand. Inside was a squalling baby boy, and if not for the mole upon his cheek, I’d never have known the fat and healthy child as your brother. But it was him.”

“Who was she?” I asked. “How did she appear to you?”

“As a warrior.” My mother’s eyes were distant. “Dressed in leather and steel, blades at her sides and a shield strapped to her back. She appeared both young and ancient, her hair golden and worn in war braids, with amber eyes that glowed like suns.”

My own eyes burned, because I’d have given a great deal to see the goddess’s face. Hlin, my divine mother who had shared both her blood and magic with me. “What did she say?”

My mother cleared her throat. “She said, ‘You have been played false, and all the tears in the world mean nothing to the one who took your son from you, but they mean something to me. So I will offer you a bargain that is pure: Allow the child about to quicken within you to be my vessel, and I will give you back this boy. But choose swiftly, for the moment to do so will soon have passed.”

I stared at the ground at my feet, wondering why she’d not ever told me this story, for it was something skalds would write songs about to repeat through the ages.

My mother wiped her eyes. “I was not thinking clearly, wanting only to hold your brother in my arms, but I had sense enough to ask why she wanted my child—wanted you—as her vessel. She said to me, ‘If the child is gifted only avarice, her words will be curses, but if gifted altruism, what divine power she might make her own is a fate yet unwoven.’ ”

I frowned, repeating the words in my head. “What does that mean, Mother?”

“Who can say what the riddles of the gods mean to mortals.” She tilted her face skyward, releasing a shuddering breath. “In that moment, I cared nothing but for the return of your brother, so I said, ‘Yes. Yes, you may take my child as your vessel.’ She smiled and handed me the basket holding your brother, kissed two tears from my cheeks, then was gone.”

In one moment, in one desperate choice made by my mother, I had a drop of god’s blood placed where my heart would soon beat, and became one of the unfated, my thread free to weave itself through the tapestry as I willed it.

Or as Snorri willed it.

I frowned but the thought vanished from my head as my mother abruptly clutched at me, holding me against her. “I am so sorry, Freya.”

“Why?” I demanded, alarmed to see my mother behave so, for it was not her character. “Beyond keeping this tale from me, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I chose your brother over you.” Her fingers dug into my shoulders. “Cursed you to be used as the jarl’s weapon.”

Had it been a choice? Ylva’s words reverberated in my head, the idea that the Norns did not choose, only implicitly understood what choice a person would make, consuming my thoughts. I held my mother against me, our foreheads touching. “To have your child chosen to hold a goddess’s blood is a privilege none would turn down, Mother. There is nothing to forgive.”

“I thought it was Freyja,” she whispered. “Thought that one day you’d invoke her name and create life where there was none, which is why I named you for her. And thought nothing of it when your father returned from Halsar with word the seer had spoken prophecy of a child of Hlin. Only waited for the day you would come into your power, yet what horror when you did, for it was not life your magic promised but war. I cursed you, my love. Forgive me.”

It was hard not to flinch at knowing that was how she saw my magic, yet still, I didn’t understand why she was pleading the way she was. “There is nothing to forgive. I am content.”

She straightened and held me at arm’s length, eyes locked on mine. “Don’t lie to me, girl.”

I twitched. “I’m not.”

“If you are so content with your husband and your future, why do you risk it all by climbing into bed with his son?”

Shock radiated through me, and I gaped at her. “Pardon?”

“Don’t lie to me, love. I know the look of a man possessive of that which he believes is his, and the Firehand looks at you that way. As you look at him.” My mother’s nails dug into my arms and she shook me violently. “What madness possesses you, Freya? Your life, and the lives of everyone in this family, hangs in the balance of your favor with Snorri, yet you cuckold him with his own son? You think it will remain secret? That he won’t replace out? You must end it.”

I quivered, my stomach twisted with anger and shame and fear.

“Is satisfying your lusts worth your brother’s life?” she demanded, and my gut hollowed. “End it, Freya. Promise me that you will end it, for all our sakes. Swear it on Hlin’s name.”

A strange dizziness swept over me, but with it came unexpected clarity. I could not fulfill Saga’s foretelling and be with Bjorn. I could not protect my family and be with him.

I had to choose.

The air seemed to thrum, and from the corner of my eye I saw Bjorn turn from his task, searching for danger.

But I focused on my mother. On what she’d told me. On all the things she’d asked of me over the course of my life. On what she asked of me now. My anger, always simmering, burst into flame. “Do not make demands of me.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Have you lost your mind?”

I shook my head. “No, Mother. For the first time ever, I finally see clearly.”

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes were full of confusion, and that only fueled my anger, because how could she not know? “My whole life, all you have ever done is take from me for Geir’s gain. Or your own. From your own lips, you’ve put me last since before I was born.”

“Freya—”

“You made me hide my heritage, my magic, who I was,” I hissed. “Married me to Vragi because he’d bring wealth and privilege to our family even though you knew how he’d treat me. Offered yourselves up like mindless goats for sacrifice so that Snorri might have leverage to control me, because you knew it would be to your benefit. And now you ask me to turn away the one person who has put me first, the one person who cares about me, because it risks your selfish hide. Perhaps that is the right choice. But it must be my choice, not yours.”

The tension in the air seemed to snap like a rope stretched too tight, and my mother took a step back. “Then I expect you’ll curse us all.”

I huffed out a bitter breath. “You cursed yourself. It would have been easy for you to evade Birger and escape, but all you saw was the benefits Snorri’s silver brought to you. Same with Geir, who could easily have run away with Ingrid, but refused to give up his choice place in Snorri’s war band. In your selfishness and greed, you stuck your own necks under the axe, yet weep that it is my fault when the blade threatens to descend.”

“You dare to call us selfish, you little whore!” She lifted her hand to slap me, but then a much larger one closed over her wrist.

“Apologize.” Bjorn’s voice was like ice.

“You’re the one who should apologize.” My mother tried to pull free, but Bjorn’s grip only tightened. “You’re the one who made her like this. Freya used to be a good and loyal woman.”

“She still is. You’re just no longer worthy of her loyalty.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, needing to be away from her before I lashed out with more than words. “I’m leaving, Mother. It’s time you made your own way in the world.”

Twisting on my heel, I strode toward my mare, Bjorn at my side.

“Freya!” she shrieked over and over as Bjorn lifted me onto my horse. “Please!”

I didn’t look back.