“Freya, wake up.”
I groaned and pried my eyelids open, my body protesting movement as I straightened. “How long was I asleep?”
“Only a couple of hours,” Bjorn answered, climbing to his feet. “But we can’t stay any longer. It’s already midday and you need to be at the temple for the full moon.”
“How can you tell the hour?” I winced as he pulled me to my feet, everything hurting.
“Instinct.”
He rubbed at his eyes, and I noticed the shadows beneath them. “Didn’t you sleep?”
“My axe disappears if I fall asleep,” he said, “and you were cold.”
I should’ve felt guilty, but instead a rush of warmth filled my core at the kindness. “Thank you.”
Bjorn shrugged. “Be glad you weren’t born in Nordeland. You wouldn’t survive your first winter with how you deal with the cold.”
I couldn’t really argue with that, choosing instead to sling my pack over my shoulders. “Let’s climb.”
Neither of us spoke as we continued our way up the mountain, which unfortunately gave me time to dwell on the conversation we’d had before I’d fallen asleep. On the tension between us.
I knew I wasn’t imagining it. Knew that there was an attraction between us that wasn’t one-sided. What I didn’t know was what I should do about it. Satisfying the lust was a stupid risk. Not only because of the consequences of being caught, but because I didn’t think it was an itch that would disappear upon scratching, rather one that would intensify with each pass of my nails over my skin. Or his skin, to be more precise. Having him would only make me want him more, and adulterers always got caught.
Adulterer.
The word made me cringe but at the same time made me want to spit in anger, because it wasn’t accurate. Snorri and I weren’t truly wed, so how I felt for Bjorn wasn’t a betrayal of a marital commitment. But it was most definitely in violation of the blood oath I’d sworn.
I frowned, for though I’d not forgotten the oath I’d made the night of my wedding, I’d been more concerned with the consequences that would be visited upon my family if I violated it than the implications of the magic. Would the spell Ylva had cast keep me from violating my word like some sort of magical chains? Or would I somehow be harmed if I broke my oath? I didn’t know, and asking such a question of Ylva would only draw her attention to the very thing I was desperate to hide.
It doesn’t matter, I reminded myself. You’re not going to do it.
Bjorn chose that moment to look back at me. “You’re quiet.”
“Nothing to say.” I winced at the lost opportunity as he shrugged and faced forward again.
It will be easier once we are out of these tunnels, because we won’t be alone together, so there will be no temptation. Even as the thought passed through my head, I knew I was only lying to myself. It would be there, and with Snorri insisting that Bjorn had been divinely mandated to guard my every step, we’d constantly be together, which meant we’d be constantly tempted.
Deal with it, I told myself sternly. You’re not an animal to be ruled by lust. Quit thinking these thoughts and they’ll go away.
Only a fool would be thinking about sex anyway. There were far, far more pressing concerns, such as what would happen when I reached the summit for this ritual. Far more pressing questions, such as why I, of all of the gods’ children, was to play such an important role and how I’d accomplish all that had been foreseen of me. That was what I should be thinking about.
Yet my mind shied away from those questions because all of it felt out of my control. What good was dwelling on something I didn’t understand and couldn’t influence? It would only drive me to madness, especially in this moment when there was no way to discover the answers to any of those questions.
Hiding from it won’t make it go away.
I ignored the thought and glanced up at Bjorn, who led the way. My chest tightened as I drank in his broad shoulders and tapered waist, his sleeves pushed up to just beneath the sleeves of his mail shirt to bare the thick muscles of his forearms. He held his axe slightly away from him to keep from igniting his trousers, and I admired the focus it must take to keep his magic constantly burning. The effort it took must be exhausting.
It was this admiration that concerned me, because the things I was feeling…they weren’t just physical. I liked him. Liked how he was both terrifyingly ruthless and heartbreakingly kind. Liked how he made me laugh and how his wit kept me on my toes. Liked the way I felt not just safe in his presence, but strong. I wanted to be close to him, and I was terrified of how my feelings might grow if I kept feeding that want.
Talk to him.
Gods help me, but that was the logical thing to do. Bjorn stood to lose as much as I did in betraying his father if we succumbed to the tension between us. Perhaps if we discussed the issue and came to a unified stance that we’d not pursue any of this, we’d save ourselves a great deal of heartache.
Say something, I urged myself. Now is the time.
My lips parted, but rather than anything useful coming forth, I only gaped like a fish with my tongue frozen. What if I was wrong? What if this attraction was entirely one-sided and the admission of my feelings horrified him? In my mind’s eye, I imagined saying, Bjorn, I know I’m married to your father, but we need to address how we both want to strip naked and have sex, and a look of panic and disgust filling his eyes as embarrassment slowly buried me with barrow stones.
Better that than the alternative, a voice whispered. Quit being such a coward and broach the issue.
Gathering my courage, I said, “Bjorn—”
But he was pointing up the steps to where the faint glow of sunlight illuminated the walls. “It appears we’ve reached the top.”
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I inhaled clean mountain air. We’d made it to Fjalltindr.
Which meant the moment to speak, and the moment to act, was over.
A crushing wave of relief washed over me, and pushing past Bjorn, I all but sprinted up the last set of stairs and stepped out onto a mountaintop.
All around was cloud and mist, and I waited for my eyes to adjust lest I accidentally fall off the edge of the cliff I’d just fought so hard to climb. As I blinked away stinging tears, trees came into view, as well as ground covered with a light dusting of snow.
Standing on that ground was a man who gaped at me, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
“How…?” he said, reaching out to touch me as though to ascertain whether I were real. “How…?”
“The draug are vanquished,” Bjorn announced, stepping up next to me and causing the man to jerk back. “For which you may give your thanks to Freya Born-in-Fire, child of Hlin and lady of Halsar.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks, wishing with all my heart that I might shirk that last title.
The man, who, judging from his robes, was a gothi of the temple, stared at us both with an open mouth before finally spluttering, “She vanquished the draug?”
“That is what I said, yes.” Bjorn leaned an elbow on the stone structure that sheltered the stairs we’d exited. “The temple’s wealth remains within the pathways to be collected, though I’d be mindful of sticky fingers lest the tunnel’s vacancy be a short-lived affair.”
The gothi blinked, then gave his head a shake. “This is an act of the gods, truly.”
Bjorn opened his mouth, but I stepped on his foot, not interested in reliving a highly embellished version of events so soon. Besides, I’d come here for a purpose, and I was keen to see it through. “Might we carry on to the temple?”
“Of course, child of Hlin.” The gothi inclined his head. “You may only enter through the main gates after submitting to the will of the gods.” He gestured to a narrow path running along the clifftop that appeared to see little traffic. “Follow the track until you reach the bridge, where one of my fellows will be waiting to accept your submission.”
If there was only one way into the temple, what were the chances it wasn’t being guarded by the many jarls who wished to see me dead?
Bjorn was clearly thinking the same thing, because he said, “We’ve had a difficult journey and done Fjalltindr a great service, so perhaps you might make an exception and allow us to enter here.” He gestured toward the trees, and through them I could pick out structures, as well as people moving around them. “Who is to know?”
The gothi’s chest puffed out and he lifted his chin. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Even for you.”
I winced, because after days of little sleep, now was not the time to test Bjorn’s good humor. My concerns were verified as Bjorn’s jaw tightened in annoyance.
“And who is to stop me? You? I welcome you to try.” Shaking his head, Bjorn started toward the trees. “Let’s go, Freya. I can smell food cooking from here.”
He made it a half dozen steps and then staggered back as though he’d struck some sort of invisible barrier. Rubbing his forehead and cursing with annoyance, Bjorn reached out and his hand came to a stop midair, like it was pressed against perfectly clear glass. I caught the gothi smirking, though he wisely smoothed his expression before Bjorn turned around, his voice solemn as he repeated, “You must pass through the gates.”
Bjorn’s eyes were narrow with frustration, and I felt the same way. We’d climbed through darkness and violence and death, only to be stymied by tradition. “Do you know who I am?” he snapped.
The gothi gave him a condescending smile, which I thought rather brave even if Bjorn deserved it. I myself was struggling not to roll my eyes despite knowing that Bjorn was acting out of desperation, not vanity. “I’m afraid you did not give your name when you introduced your lady. But regardless of your battle fame, you must pass through the gates. It is the will of the gods.”
Bjorn’s jaw worked back and forth, then he gave the gothi a smile of his own that had the man taking an alarmed step back. “Fine. Freya, let’s go.”
After we’d gone a distance, Bjorn muttering increasingly colorful curses under his breath, I said, “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to have a look to see if the gates are under guard. Perhaps the gods’ favor will continue, and we’ll walk in uncontested.”
Given that this was supposed to be a test, I thought that unlikely but didn’t bother saying so.
We followed the narrow trail around the mountaintop, cloud and mist obscuring the view, though I could feel the breathlessness of altitude. It made me wonder if the placement of the temple was to get us as close to the sky, and the gods, as possible, but when I looked up, it was to find only more cloud. My stomach growled as the smells of cooking food washed over us, those already inside the confines of Fjalltindr’s borders laughing and playing music with seemingly no care in the world. Except there was no way to reach them, for both Bjorn and I tested the invisible barrier every dozen feet and never found a break. He even had me stand on his shoulders to reach as high as I could, but the barrier reached into the clouds. When two massive stone pillars finally came into view, I was starved and cranky and ready to toss anyone who got in my way off the cliff.
Catching hold of my hand, Bjorn pulled me behind some brush, both of us peering through the leafless branches. This was my first glimpse of the path up the southern slope. From what I could see, it was a difficult climb up a steep and dangerous trail, the final paces requiring travelers to cross a narrow span of rock that stretched over a chasm to reach the open ground before the gates.
Before said gates loitered eight warriors. More stood on the far side of the chasm, where there were signs that a camp had been created, which suggested more permanence than just waiting to be admitted to the temple grounds.
“Do you know who they are?” I whispered.
Bjorn gave a tight nod, pointing to a big warrior with a bushy red beard and shaved head. “That is Jarl Sten.”
Jarl Sten was built like a bull and carried an axe I’d probably struggle to lift. “I don’t suppose he’s on good terms with your father?”
Bjorn cast me a sideways glance, suggesting that to have hoped for such was idiocy.
“Fine,” I muttered, casting a glance skyward. The sun was drifting downward, which meant we had only a matter of an hour or two until the moon appeared. “We kill them and then cross through the gates and get on with what we came here to do.”
Bjorn’s eyebrows rose. “Perhaps as well as possessing the blood of a god, you are also descended from the Valkyries of old.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re starting to see violence as the best solution.”
That wasn’t even close to the truth. I saw violence as the answer because the alternative was to see violence enacted upon me. “How is it not the solution here?”
“Because,” he answered, “my understanding is that to get through the gates into Fjalltindr, you must get on your knees and honor each of the gods by name.”
I stared at him, realizing with a start that having lived most of his life in Nordeland, Bjorn had never been to the temple before, either. “Which gods?”
“All of them.” When I blanched, he laughed softly. “Not all battles are won with steel, Born-in-Fire—some are won by guile.”
“What do you propose?” I asked, simultaneously worried and curious, because Bjorn’s grin was wide, his green eyes gleaming bright. And I knew what that meant.
“I propose that we go see how the gothar are doing in gathering their gold.”
