A Curse Carved in Bone

Skade only pulled the bowstring taut, glittering blue eyes filled with many things—indecision was not one of them.

My mouth went dry with the abrupt certainty that I’d gotten myself killed with my bluster. Only for her weapon to disappear as Harald snarled at her to hold her temper or suffer the consequences.

Not caring that my laughter sounded deranged, because it was surely better than sobbing, I howled, “You all sacrificed so much to steal me, so I think I can say what I please, and you all have no choice but to listen! No choice but to suffer my words. You wanted me? Now you fucking have all of me, so enjoy! Delight in the fruits of your labor!”

Skade dove at me, small fists swinging.

Though I’d tempted this fate, she still surprised me. Her fist struck my cheek and knocked me back. My head hit the mast, stars bursting in my eyes as Skade’s hands reached for my throat.

“You need to be put down,” she screamed in my face. “You are a plague, Hel-child!”

I jerked my knee up and slammed it into her cunt. The other woman rewarded me with a shriek but didn’t let go, fingers implacable around my throat.

Then Bjorn grabbed Skade around the waist. He hauled her off me, but she only turned her ire on him, and all went to chaos.

Thralls recoiled as the pair collided with them. The drakkar groaned and turned sideways, dipping into the swell of a wave. Water crashed over me, heavy and relentless. Everything tipped and I rolled, my eyes filled with wood and waves and blackened sky.

And then hands had me by the wrists, Bjorn’s skin hot against mine as he pinned me to the bottom of the vessel. “Are you trying to get us all killed?”

“Yes!” I screamed as the others struggled with the oars. “That is exactly what I’m trying to do!”

“If you die, you will never have answers!” He pressed down, holding me in place as I thrashed and tried to knee him in the balls. “You’ll never know the truth!”

“Do not speak to me of truth!”

To avoid my knees, he forced himself between my legs, hips in the crook of my pelvis as the ship rocked. Wholly against my will, my mind filled with memories of us in the cave when happiness had felt possible. Memories of his lips on mine, hands on my body, cock buried deep inside of me as he made me his. And my traitorous desires surged in defiance of fear and logic, my lust uncaring of the fact that the man it wanted was my enemy.

Only rage had the strength to drive the want away, and I reached for my anger even as I unleashed all the cruelty born of the pain in my heart. Wrapping my legs around Bjorn’s waist, I ground against him, my voice mocking as I said, “The truth that will regain you this?”

His grip on my wrists tightened as the drakkar rocked violently, and I dug the heel of my shoe into his back, feeling him press against me. “The truth that will get you back your pretty Freya so you can make her your wife?”

Lifting my head, I kissed him, catching his bottom lip hard enough between my teeth that he jerked away. “So that you can become a farmer with her? Have pretty daughters who look just like her? The truth that will ensure you grow old in her arms?”

I hurled the dream he’d given me in that cave back in his face, my rage relishing the flash of pain in his eyes because I wanted him to hurt as much as I did. “There is no truth that will bring me back to you, for you are a liar. A traitor. A fucking coward who does not deserve to see Valhalla!”

“You think you know everything, Freya,” he said. “But you know nothing.”

I spat in his face. “I know that I’ll hate you until my last breath, Bjorn. And that is something.”

“Hate me all you want.” He let go of my wrists. “But your last breath will not be today, Born-in-Fire.”

I watched him return to the oars, joining the effort to see the drakkar through the storm.

“The Allfather sees all that was and all that the Norns have said will be.” Harald had ceased rowing, and his gray eyes locked on mine. “Saga is his child and knowledge is his gift. Other seers might have answers, but Saga, it seems, is bound to your fate. It may be that he’ll show her the truths you so desperately desire.” Without waiting for a response, Harald faced forward again, muscles bunching as he rowed.

My anger slowly faded, and its absence left me hollow. Tilting my head back, I stared at the blackened sky and swirling clouds, lightning dancing among them. What I wouldn’t give to be fated. For higher powers to have already determined the course of my life, so all that I said, all that I did, and all that I ever wanted could be blamed upon them.

But the two drops of god’s blood in my veins, one from Hlin and one from Hel, meant I was accountable for everything I left in my wake. Failures and successes. Nightmares and dreams. Love and hate.

What did I want?

The question sank into my soul, because I needed an answer. Needed a purpose to pull me forward. To remain where I was, as I was, would mean incinerating myself from the inside out.

I want the truth.

I wanted to hear from her lips the future that Saga had foreseen because Odin’s children did not lie. Wanted the story of what had happened between her and Snorri. Wanted answers about whether Harald was as much of a villain as I’d been raised to believe.

But most of all, I needed the truth about who I was.

Climbing to my hands and knees, I crawled until I found a spot next to a thrall with heavily tattooed arms. Taking hold of the oar, I put my strength into it and looked to the rocky coast of Nordeland. The winds slackened and the seas began to ease, and if the Norns were watching, I was certain they feared for the future they had created.

Because I was Freya Born-in-Fire. Daughter of Hlin. Daughter of Hel.

And I would weave my own fate.

Clear skies shone overhead as we pushed the drakkar onto the beach. Every muscle in my body ached, and I felt no guilt leaving Harald’s thralls to drain the vessel as I walked onto the land that was more my home than any other. We’d landed at Stormnes, the point of land that jutted into the strait on which one could see across to Skaland on a clear day. The beach was narrow and rocky, and beyond it rose mountains covered with dense forest, their tops still white with snow.

Kneeling, I took a handful of the gritty sand and squeezed it tight, relishing the feel of Nordeland even as I cursed fate for bringing me back here.

“Fate holds no claim on you, Bjorn,” Harald said as he walked past me up the beach, seeming, as he often did, to know my thoughts. “You are unfated, which means you chose this path, even if you did not know where it would lead.”

I’d never cared to dwell on the power of the Unfated to change the future, because it couldn’t be proven. There was no way to know whether a choice had twisted the threads the Norns had woven into another pattern or whether I’d done exactly as they predicted. Everything I’d done in recent days had been with the aim of freeing Freya from those who’d kill her or use her to further their own ambitions, yet all I’d accomplished was moving her control from one king to another. “We are here because of you, Father.”

He only gave me a knowing look and continued up the beach toward the trees.

Knowing, because there was no denying that once my plans to spirit Freya away had been dashed, once she’d learned about my treachery, I’d hoped the truth would cause her to forgive my lies. The hope that the tantalizing glimpse of a future I’d so desperately wanted could be mine again once she understood why I’d done what I had done. The hopes of a man with weasel shit for brains, because no truth would temper the seething rage that burned in my Freya’s heart.

Not yours anymore, logic whispered even as my greedy heart screamed that she’d be mine until the end of days.

Casting aside my handful of sand, I stood and followed Harald into the trees. The air was colder than it had been in Skaland, the stink of rotting seaweed mixing with the crisp scent of pine, the mossy ground spongy beneath my boots. Wind shook the boughs of the trees, the woods alive with birdsong and the scamper of small creatures. A wild place. For though the summers were mild enough, few had the mettle to survive the cruelty of Nordeland’s winters.

The man who had been a father to me most of my life found a rock to his liking and sat down. Pulling off his boots, Harald shook sand from them and then tossed them aside. As I silently watched, he removed his tunic and wrung seawater from the sodden cloth, his pale skin faintly blue from the cold. Leaner than I remembered, signs of age showing in the wrinkles next to his eyes and the strands of gray in his golden-brown hair. Just a man, though there were times I’d forgotten that during my time in Skaland, as Snorri had ever painted him as a creature capable of preternatural villainy.

In Nordeland, Harald was a savior. A liberator and a champion of the weak. I’d seen with my own eyes his good deeds. Owed him my life, as did so many of those who served him. Yet he was no more a hero than he was a villain. Only a man, and no man’s choices were wholly altruistic, least of all one who had clawed his way up from a small jarldom to become king.

“You sound like a Skalander again.” Harald sighed and twisted the fabric of his tunic again, drops of water falling to the moss. “It reminds me of when Saga first fled to Nordeland with you delirious from the pain of the burns. Just a boy and yet you never wept, only vowed vengeance upon Snorri for what he had done. You and I would have crossed the strait together and put Snorri in his grave if not for your mother holding us back. I wanted Snorri dead more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and yet Saga pleaded that I stay my hand. I have ever been a slave to her wishes but now I wish I’d held firm.”

“I remember.” I heard Skaland in my voice but was unable to slip the accent without concerted effort. I’d adopted it to try to blend in better in Halsar, to encourage the Skalanders to forget that I’d been gone for so many years, but it hadn’t worked. Always an outsider. Always a Nordelander.

Most especially in my heart.

Donning his damp garment, Harald finally looked at me. The weight of his attention was as heavy as it had always been. “Now that we are finally alone, do you care to tell me why?”

Why.

A question that needed no clarification, and I exhaled a long breath before I said, “Does it matter?”

Harald toyed with the gold ring that bound his beard, then shook his head. “Does it matter? Of course it matters why you chose to destroy plans a lifetime in the making. All that I have done was at your mother’s bidding, at your bidding, and yet you seem content to spit in my face for doing exactly as you wished. These were your plans, Bjorn, not mine, and yet you treat me as your enemy.”

“You aren’t my enemy, Father. But things change.”

“Oh yes. Things.” Harald made a face. “Things such as the shield maiden turning out to be a woman of unparalleled beauty? It is much easier to kill the ugly ones, isn’t it? If Freya had been possessed of a face like a horse’s arse, I’ve no doubt you would have done your mother’s bidding without hesitation, but here we are. Snorri alive. Freya alive. The threat against Nordeland is as much a reality as it was before because our fates are unchanged. All because of a pretty face.”

“Her looks had nothing to do with it.” A lie because I remembered the first time I’d set eyes upon Freya. How the sunlight had illuminated the anger on her face as she’d rescued fish after fish from Vragi’s fit of temper, every part of her screaming defiance. Beautiful, yes, but it had been her ferocity that had drawn me across the fjord to speak to her. Dressed in a homespun dress with no weapon but her words, she’d been fiercer than any warrior I’d ever met on the battlefield. “Killing her felt wrong,” I muttered, not able to put my reasons into words that wouldn’t invite his mockery. “Why should she die for Snorri’s crimes?”

“Because your mother said it was the only way to save thousands of lives,” Harald answered. “Though she did not understand what made Freya so dangerous, Saga knew Freya had the power to bring destruction down upon both Nordeland and Skaland. Snorri is the villain, but the shield maiden is his weapon, and killing her would castrate his ability to do any real damage. Saga set you upon this task because you, unfated as you are, had the ability to change the future the Allfather had shown her. Yet when given the opportunity, you balked. Because it felt wrong.” His lip curled in disgust. “Or perhaps it was because your cock was doing the thinking rather than your head.”

“My mother agreed that the plan needed to change,” I retorted. “When I spoke to her at Fjalltindr, she agreed that Freya might walk a different path if we liberated her from Snorri. She is not so bloodthirsty as to wish death upon an innocent woman when another solution is obvious.”

Harald sighed. “Saga did not agree with you, Bjorn, she merely understood that you were enamored with Freya and would not be convinced to harm her. She asked me to do it for you, but it was the plea of a mother, not the strategy of a seer. I am but a mortal man, and I hold not the power to change the future set by the Norns, which meant I was destined to fail.”

He cast a sidelong glare at me that suggested he knew my role in stymieing the attempt. Unbidden, the vision of Freya bare to the waist filled my mind’s eye, her head crowned by antlers and tilted back as I tasted her for the first time. I blinked, vanquishing the vision because the same threat I had protected her from then was a threat now. “Does my mother still wish Freya dead, then? Does she still believe that is the only way to change the future?” Because the last thing I wished to do was bring Freya deeper into Nordeland if my mother was actively seeking her death.

For the thousandth time in my life, I silently screamed, Why can’t I just kill Snorri and be done with it?

Silently, because my mother had long been adamant that killing Snorri was not an option, refusing to hear any argument to the contrary.

“I don’t know what Saga now thinks on the matter or if the Allfather has given her more visions of the future.” Harald rested his elbows on his knees. “I’ve not seen her in long weeks, for she returned to her cabin after we left Fjalltindr. Being around so many souls exhausted her.”

No surprise, for my mother had always been desperate for isolation, the weight of seeing what were often tragic futures more than her heart could bear. I’d nearly fallen over from shock when I’d first seen her at Fjalltindr, but it hadn’t stopped me from sneaking away later to seek her counsel.

Through the trees, I caught sight of men rushing down the beach. They bore shields painted with the blue stripes of Nordeland, along with their jarl’s symbol. Warriors from Harald’s fleet who’d reached the coast before us. Which meant this brief moment to discover my father’s plans without others listening in was coming to a close.

“What do you intend for Freya?” A blunt question that needed an answer. Harald had sought Freya’s death for a long time, yet that had changed when he’d seen her use of Hel’s magic. There had been no missing the delight in his gaze upon learning what she could do. I suspected his hope was for her to join his cabal of Unfated that he used to defend Nordeland’s shores. He’d not cast aside a weapon as sharp as Freya unless he had no other choice.

Or unless my mother bid him to do so, which was very much a risk.

“She’s dangerous.” Harald’s eyes moved from the approaching warriors to Freya, who stood at the water’s edge under Tora’s watchful gaze. “She holds not only the power to kill but the power to send souls to her godly mother in Helheim. Warriors who laugh in the face of death will run from Freya, for she has the power to deny them Valhalla. Yet that is not what terrifies me about her.” He was quiet for a long moment before he added, “It is her rage.”

As though hearing our words, Freya turned, and even across the stretch of the beach and through the trees, there was no mistaking the gleam of crimson in her gaze. Her pale blond hair hung loose to her waist, tangled and matted from seawater and wind. If not for the fact she had legs rather than a fish tail, I’d have compared her to the havfrue who were said to lure the unwary sailors to their deaths. Though in truth, even disarmed as she was, Freya was far more dangerous.

“Her anger is half the reason I tried to take her and run. I didn’t realize that it was Hel’s influence, but I saw her changing as Snorri used her in his quest to become king. Saw her becoming the monster my mother feared and I wanted to protect her from that. I…”

“Wanted to change her fate?”

I gave a slow nod. “Seems foolish now given it’s Hel who makes her feel like this, not Snorri. Running would have changed nothing.”

Harald burst into laughter, and I scowled at him.

“Oh, to be young and stupid again,” he finally said, wiping at his eyes. “Remember your stories, Bjorn, or I shall sit you down with Steinunn and have her teach you like a small child. Hel is the goddess of death and mistress of Helheim, but she is no villain set upon destruction. She is…covetous, for lack of a better word. She wants. Which makes me wonder what Freya wants. Makes me wonder what has been denied to her that makes rage burn so hot in her heart that her eyes turn to flame. Blame not Hel, for the anger you see is Freya’s and Freya’s alone.”

There were countless reasons I could think of for Freya to be angry—knew I was certainly one of them—and yet my instincts told me that I could not begin to comprehend why her wrath was so fierce.

“Discover what it is Freya wants,” Harald said. “That is the key to tempering her and, in doing so, changing the dark fate your mother foresees.”

I frowned at his choice of word. Tempering. It sounded too much like changing, and there was nothing about Freya that I wished to change. Yet all I said was, “She wants the truth.”

“Then take her to Saga so that she might know the whole of it.” My father gripped my shoulder. “I forgive you, Bjorn. I forgive you because I understand that you acted out of love for Freya, not out of malice toward me or Nordeland. The gods know, I have made questionable choices for the sake of your mother, so I cannot judge you harshly. Women wield their beauty like a weapon, and none are more beautiful than Saga.”

I cast my eyes skyward. “Spare me your lovesick poetry about my mother. There are things in life I’m better off not knowing, and that is one of them.”

Harald laughed, but then his gaze sharpened. “Do you remember the vision your mother foresaw of Freya after you came to Nordeland?”

As though I could ever forget my mother falling to her knees before me, eyes rolled back in her head. A voice not her own whispering from her lips that the shield maiden would unite Skaland, but that thousands would be left dead in her wake. That the shield maiden would walk upon the ground like a plague, pitting friend against friend, brother against brother, and that all would fear her. “You know I remember.”

Harald gave a slow nod. “Long has your life’s purpose been not only to deny Snorri the fate your mother foresaw, but also to prevent the bloody toll that his rule would have upon our lands with the shield maiden as his weapon. You believed stealing Freya away would forestall that dark future, but I think it clear that she can’t run from the fate Saga foresaw. She must fight it. The question you must ask is if you are willing to fight it alongside her.”

That was no question. I had Freya’s back to the gates of Valhalla and beyond.

Though I’d said nothing, Harald gave a small nod of approval. “Your path is as it has always been, Bjorn: to prevent Snorri from controlling Skaland. To deny him the power of destruction. How that is best achieved, I do not know. We can only hope that your mother has answers.”

“If she claims that Freya’s death is the only option, what will you do?” I asked, because he hadn’t answered my question the first time.

Wind howled through the forest, the sound haunting and filling me with foreboding as Harald’s pale gray eyes searched mine. Then he said, “Let us both pray it does not come to that.”

The approaching warriors had been intercepted by Skade, and she now led them in our direction. We’d been raised by Harald as siblings, yet Skade and I had always been at each other’s throats. Her mother had abandoned her, and Skade’s bitterness over it had turned her against all women, most especially those she perceived as weak. She’d terrorized the servants mercilessly until Harald had punished her for it, but that had only driven her to be more clever in her pursuits. I’d never seen Skade actually kill a woman for weakness until I saw her murder Freya’s mother, but in hindsight, I should have seen it coming. Kelda had embodied everything that she loathed.

Skade glared at me as though sensing my thoughts, but I ignored her as one of the warriors spoke.

“My king.” He bowed low. “We are relieved to see you well. When the skies grew dark in our wake and your drakkar did not reach shore with the fleet, we feared the worst.”

Harald waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing but a bit of weather.”

I scoffed. “Says the man who still stinks like vomit.”

“There is a difference between discomfort and danger,” Harald replied. “The shield maiden was never at risk of being lost to a rogue wave, and I clung to that truth. Are all other vessels accounted for?”

“Yes, my king.” The warrior adjusted the shield hanging on his back. “Most have returned to their holds and halls, as was your order. The rest have ventured to the mouth of the Rimstrom, but we waited to ensure your safe return.”

“Yes, yes,” Skade interrupted, then she reached into the group of warriors and tugged a small man forward. I recognized Guthrum immediately. Skinny as a spear shaft with tangled brown hair and an unkempt beard, Guthrum preferred living in the wilds as far from people as possible. He was entirely unchanged by the years we’d been apart, but the merlin perched on his shoulders was new.