I wrenched free from my attacker, swinging my fist toward the shadowy face, only to pull up short as I recognized Bjorn in the dark.
“What are you doing out here, Freya?” he hissed. “Anyone could take you.”
Relief flooded my veins, though it was replaced by irritation. “Where did you go?”
“There was someone I needed to speak to,” he said. “When I returned to the hall, you were gone. I’ve been hunting for you. Where have you been?”
“Looking for you. And spying.” Then I blurted out, “Ylva is working with Harald.”
He went still. “What are you talking about?”
“I overheard them speaking in the Hall of the Gods,” I hissed. “She’s conspiring with him to kill you so Snorri will have to name Leif heir.”
Silence.
Slowly, Bjorn asked, “You saw Ylva speaking to Harald?”
We didn’t have time for this. We needed to find Snorri. “I didn’t see her, but I heard enough of the conversation. I…” My words trailed off, because through the trees, warriors who looked incredibly sober were walking among the revelers, examining the face of everyone they came across.
“I don’t know if she convinced him to take you or if he still plans to kill you,” Bjorn whispered, then pulled on my arm. “I need to get you to my father and his warriors.”
“Where is he?” I hissed, tripping over a root as I followed him at a trot.
“Meeting with other jarls. This way.”
I was forced to break into a run to keep up, but then Bjorn slid to a stop. Ahead of us, men carrying torches walked through the trees, searching the shadows. We turned, but behind us there were more men.
“How many warriors does Harald have?” Fear turned my hands to ice because there was nowhere to go. Unarmed as we were, there was no chance this number of men wouldn’t be able to subdue us. Then it was only a matter of dragging us outside the borders of Fjalltindr and tossing us off the mountain.
“Too many.” Bjorn turned to me. “We’ll have to hide in plain sight.”
I could feel the hammer of his heart where my hand pressed against his chest, feel the quickening of his breath that betrayed his fear, magnifying my own. “How?”
“Do you trust me?”
More than I should, I thought, but only nodded. “Yes.”
“Follow my lead,” he said and pulled the hood of his cloak forward. I didn’t have so much as a heartbeat to wonder what that might entail before his mouth closed over mine.
For a second, I froze, so astonished that Bjorn was kissing me that I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. And then instinct took over and my arms slipped around his neck, and I kissed him back.
Bjorn stilled, and I wondered if he’d expected me to slap him rather than respond in kind. Except not only did I understand that this ruse could save our necks, I wanted Bjorn to kiss me.
And I didn’t want it to stop there.
Bjorn’s surprise vanished in an instant, his hands catching me by the hips and lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist and my shoulders pressing against the tree behind me. His lips found mine again, his breath hot, and his stubbled chin rough against my skin as he consumed me.
There was nothing sweet about it. Nothing tender.
Which meant it was exactly what I wanted. What I needed in this moment where I was getting what I’d dreamed of even as danger walked ever closer.
Though I knew this was meant to be a distraction that would cause the searchers to pass me by, that seemed a distant concern as Bjorn’s tongue slipped into my mouth, stroking over mine. He tasted of mead, and with every inhale I scented pine and snow and wind over the fjord. It unleashed something wild in me, and I tightened my legs, drawing him closer to me as my skirts pushed up my thighs.
Pine needles crunched as footsteps came closer, and I drew back, biting at his bottom lip and meeting his gaze. “This isn’t enough to dissuade interruption, Bjorn,” I said under my breath. “Make it convincing.”
“Gods, woman,” he growled, then his mouth was on mine again, his tongue teasing my lips open as he let go of my arse with one hand. Reaching up, he caught hold of the laces of my dress, pulling them loose with a sharp jerk.
The footsteps drew closer, and a seed of doubt formed in my heart that this would work. Growing certainty that they wouldn’t be fooled into believing us revelers and would demand to see our faces.
My heart hammered a rapid beat as I let go of Bjorn long enough to pull my sleeves down, the fabric of the bodice rubbing over my breasts in a way that made my back arch. My shoulders pressed hard against the tree and the antlers on my mask scratched against the bark in a seductive rhythm as I ground my hips against him. The night air kissed my nipples, though it was his slow exhalation that turned them hard, a moan tearing from my lips as he cupped one breast, his thumb stroking over the tip.
Never in my life had I been kissed like this. Touched like this. And gods, it made me feel things I hadn’t believed possible. Things I thought only talk and exaggeration and stories, but the aching need building between my thighs told me that I’d been very wrong. I wanted to peel the clothes from his body and taste every inch of him. Wanted to rid myself of my dress and discover what it would feel like having him buried deep inside me.
This is madness, the last vestiges of logic in me screamed. You need to run! You need to hide!
I ignored the warning and dug my heels into the small of Bjorn’s back, sliding one foot down to catch the waist of his trousers, pulling them low. Feeling the heat of his naked arse against my ankle as I bit at his lip, relishing how he groaned into my mouth. The front of his trousers remained caught between the tight press of our pelvises, but it did nothing to hide the hard length of his cock. Gods help me, he was as aroused as I was, which meant neither of us were thinking straight. Yet I found I didn’t care as I rubbed against him, the fabric dragging against my sensitive flesh, and my body turned hot and liquid as tension rose and rose inside me. I would have this, would have him. Would revel in this moment right up to the second I was caught, and then I’d fight.
And I’d show these men no mercy for stealing this moment away from me.
“We need to see her face.”
I tensed at the demand. But Bjorn snarled, “She’s occupied. Now fuck off before I break Fjalltindr’s peace.”
Hiding my face would only raise suspicions, so instead I trusted that the mask would do its duty and reared back, my shoulders slamming against the tree. “Shut up and fuck me,” I gasped loudly. Both warriors gaped at my breasts rather than my masked face, and I silently thanked the predictability of men.
But they didn’t leave.
Go away, part of me prayed, but that logical voice was drowned out by the wanton part of me demanding that Bjorn see this performance through. The part of me that needed his cock deep inside me. It was she who won. She who rode him like a wild thing, release stalking ever closer.
Yet still the men remained, watching.
Panic twisted with my desire, my heart exploding under the pressure, all of which was drowned by horror as Bjorn pulled back his hood, revealing his face. “You must truly have a death wish.”
What was he doing?
I balled my hand into a fist, readying for the men to recognize him and attack, but they only laughed. “I hope she’s worth it, Bjorn.”
And they moved on.
The shock stilled me. It had worked. They were gone.
But why?
“Why did they just leave?” I whispered, watching their retreating backs. “Harald made a deal with Ylva to kill you. I heard them.”
“You’re the king-maker, Born-in-Fire. The only life Harald cares about is yours,” Bjorn said, and the tone of his voice drew my eyes back to him. He was looking up at me, bands of moonlight crossing his too-handsome face. His expression was strange, almost reverential, and we stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment.
Then he gave his head a shake, looking away from me. “You gave a very convincing performance.”
Shock radiated through me. He’d thought that I’d been faking my reaction to him? Thought all of that was nothing more than an act to put Harald’s warriors off my trail?
A hollowness formed in my stomach, and I allowed my legs to slip from his waist, righting the bodice of my dress so that my breasts were once again concealed. I was painfully aware of the slickness between my thighs, my core aching with need that hadn’t been satisfied, and never would be.
But that was a familiar disappointment. Nothing compared to the hurt in my heart, because I’d thought…
You’re an idiot, Freya.
I’d nearly been kidnapped by Skaland’s greatest enemy, and my concerns were for my cursed feelings.
Sucking in a deep breath, I said, “Why did that work, Bjorn? Why didn’t they demand to see my face?”
His grip on my hips tightened, then he dropped his hands. “Because they know I’m not fool enough to cuckold my own father.”
Apparently I was the only one foolish enough to do that.
Shouts and commotion drew my attention back to the hall. Snorri stood before the open door, barking orders.
What I should have felt was relief, but next to him stood Ylva, and the sight of that backstabbing bitch filled me with fury. I wanted to stride across the space between us and knock her on her arse before revealing what she’d done, even if it hadn’t worked out in her favor.
A hand closed around my wrist, and I looked up into Bjorn’s eyes.
“Don’t,” he said. “If you make accusations without proof, my father won’t believe you.”
“She was the one who convinced him to take all the guards. How is that not proof?”
“For which she had good reason. He trusts Ylva, but more than that, he knows of the tension between you two. He’ll see your words as an attempt to discredit her out of jealousy.”
“I am not jealous of her.” The words came out from between my teeth. “I want to push her off a cliff.”
Instead of being horrified at such a dark truth, Bjorn laughed. “So say all jealous women.”
I gave him a flat stare, but he only smirked. “Go. And hold your tongue, for it is to your advantage that those who conspire against you believe you unaware.”
He was right, but I still wanted to grind my teeth that Ylva was going to get away with her actions tonight. I needed to be smart, needed to be strategic, but I was so tired. Tired and embarrassed and unsatisfied. My eyes pricked with tears even as I cursed myself for caring so much about the wrong things.
Twisting out of Bjorn’s grip, I took two steps, then froze as he said in a low voice, “It isn’t you who has cause to be jealous, Freya.”
A shiver ran through me, though I didn’t know why. Ylva was no more jealous of me than I was of her. Not answering, I pulled off the antlered mask, throwing it into the bushes before I walked through the revelers to where Snorri stood, still shouting orders.
His eyes fixed on me, widening. “Where did you go? Why did you leave the protection of the wards?”
“I woke to find myself alone.” Hesitating, I added, “I feared the worst for you and went in search.” Better he believe that than the truth.
Snorri’s frown softened even as Ylva scowled. “The hall was warded. You were an idiot to leave.”
I bit my tongue and hung my head, and to my surprise, Snorri snapped, “Where were you, Ylva? You were no more supposed to leave the wards than she was!”
“Bjorn was with her,” she retorted. “The question we should be asking is where is he now?”
Snorri’s eyes panned over the revels beyond, then focused on Ylva, his voice frigid. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He was suspicious, and though it was for the wrong reasons, I waited for Ylva to start squirming.
I should’ve known better.
The lady of Halsar lifted her chin and glared at her husband. “You wish to know where I was? I was with—”
“She was with me.”
At the sound of the voice, everyone turned.
A tall woman approached. She was dressed in a warrior’s attire, less the weapons, with a dozen other women at her heels, all dressed similarly. She was perhaps Snorri’s age, her silvered hair pulled back in war braids and her bare arms marked with faded scars. Coming to a stop, she hooked her thumbs into her belt. “Jarl Snorri.”
His jaw tightened. “Jarl Bodil.”
I gaped. I couldn’t help it. Bodil was a famous warrior and the only woman living who claimed the title of jarl. But more than that, she was a child of the god Forseti, able to tell truth from lie, no matter who spoke. Which meant if Ylva lied about what she’d been doing, Bodil would know.
Whether she’d share that information might be another matter.
“Ylva met with me to discuss an alliance,” Bodil said. “Given what I witnessed tonight, the very gods themselves stepping onto the mortal plane to accept Freya’s sacrifice and claim her as their own, I saw merit in her proposition. I will follow the shield maiden into battle against our mutual enemies.”
Her words were lost in a drone of noise because this didn’t make sense. Ylva had been with Harald, not with Bodil. I’d seen…
What had I seen?
The answer to that was nothing. But Harald had been talking to someone and what I’d heard of the conversation had been damning; plus I’d seen Ylva unable to cross her own wards into the hall.
You never saw her face. The first kernels of doubt filled my chest that perhaps I’d jumped to a conclusion. Except everything I’d seen, everything I’d heard…it pointed to Ylva.
“I accept your allegiance,” Snorri finally said, the tone of his voice suggesting that he wished it were coming from anyone but her.
“My allegiance is to the shield maiden, not you.”
Snorri’s face darkened, but Ylva stepped between them. “She is wed to Snorri, so it amounts to the same.” Meeting her husband’s eyes, she added, “Bodil has long been a friend to me, so her alliance is one we can count on.”
There was nothing Snorri could say, and everyone present knew it. Given he’d said nothing about having convinced any of the other jarls to join him tonight, I doubted he’d been successful. He needed an alliance and couldn’t afford to be particular about where it came from. The muscles in Snorri’s jaw worked back and forth, likely his pride warring with practicality, but he nodded. “Let us drink to first steps down the path the gods have foretold.”
Someone retrieved a jug of mead and Snorri lifted it. “To a united Skaland!” he roared, and everyone shouted “Skal!,” toasting the alliance as the jug was passed around. When it reached me, I took a mouthful and muttered “Skal,” but as I handed it off, the skin over my spine prickled.
Twisting on my heel, I watched Bjorn approach, his expression grim.
“Where were you?” Snorri demanded. “Why did you leave Freya alone?”
“I needed to speak to a seer,” Bjorn said. “I was gone only for a short time, but when I returned, Freya was gone. I searched for her, though I see she is quite fine.”
“Are you mad?” Ylva snarled. “Why would you risk speaking with another jarl’s seer?”
Bjorn shrugged. “Seers always speak the truth for fear of the wrath of the Allfather. I sought guidance.”
I glanced to Bodil to see if her magic scented a lie on his lips, but the jarl’s face held only curiosity.
Snorri’s eyes narrowed. “What did the seer say that was so worth you leaving Freya alone?”
“She told me that an unwatched hearth spits the hottest embers and that an untended hall is formed of the driest kindling.”
My pulse quickened even as Ylva’s eyes widened. “Halsar.”
Bjorn lifted one shoulder. “She offered no clarity.”
“We cannot wait until dawn!” Ylva rounded on Snorri. “We must leave now. Send word down the mountain to Ragnar, so that he might ride ahead and avert whatever disaster this seer has foreseen.”
“It’s a test,” Snorri murmured, his eyes distant. “The gods are testing my commitment. Forcing me to choose between that which I have and that which I might achieve.”
“We left our people undefended,” Ylva shrieked. “Every warrior we have is here or at the base of this cursed mountain. The women and children stand alone.”
Nausea rolled in my guts as I remembered what Bjorn had told me the night Gnut had attacked: that Snorri valued his warriors over innocents and that he’d sacrifice the latter to ensure the strength of the former. Because it was the warriors who would see him to the crown, not helpless children.
Yet those very warriors shifted uneasily, for it was their friends and families we’d left undefended. Several of them looked on the verge of speaking out, but then Snorri lifted his voice over the crowd. “The gods themselves stepped onto the mortal plane tonight to honor the shield maiden who will unite Skaland beneath one king. One army, which we will wield against our enemies with no mercy. Together, we have the might to defeat our enemy when he steps out of the confines of Fjalltindr, but you’d rather race home for fear of a seer’s obscure ramblings?”
It was a struggle not to roll my eyes at his hypocrisy.
Shoulders back, Snorri strode among the warriors. “Don’t you see? This is a test! Not only a test of your faith in the shield maiden, but also of your faith in the gods themselves, for she is their chosen one.”
I felt ill, not wanting to be the reason that these men and women abandoned their families to whatever fate awaited them.
As if hearing my thoughts, Snorri shouted, “The fates of those in Halsar are already woven, whether they live or die in our absence is already known to the gods. But the shield maiden is unfated and all our threads are twisted around hers. Let us stand our ground at the base of the Hammar and bring a reckoning to our greatest enemy, King Harald of Nordeland. Let us have vengeance!”
It twisted my head, the idea that all lives were fated except for the few of us who had a drop of god’s blood in our veins. That somehow, by standing with one foot in the mortal realm and one in the divine, the rules that bound all, including the gods, did not apply. The idea that my actions could catch and tangle the threads of those around me, forcing them into a different pattern than the Norns had intended. And it made me wonder about the reach I possessed. Could I change the fates of those in Halsar?
“Tell me,” Snorri roared, “will you scurry back to those whose fate is already decided, or will you stand in the shield wall with the one favored by the gods? Choose!”
Destroy our enemy or protect our home. I squeezed my hands into fists because the alternative was to squeeze my head. This was all beyond me, the realm of great thinkers, not fishmongers’ wives.
Except I was a fishmonger’s wife no longer.
I was Freya, child of Hlin and lady of Halsar, and it was the latter that drew words up my throat to my tongue, and then out into the ears of all who listened. “What good is vengeance when all we know and love are dead? What glory will we feel in defeating our enemy if it means no hearth fire for us to return to? The Norns may have woven Halsar’s fate, but together we will force them to weave a new pattern, and with the strength of our families and allies, we will turn our eyes north for vengeance!”
Cheers rose from the warriors around us, and my chest tightened at the relief I saw in their eyes. Not only that I had removed the need for them to choose between their honor and their families, but because I had the power to alter what the seer had seen.
I had the power to save Halsar.
Yet not everyone was smiling. Snorri’s jaw was tight, his mouth drawn into a straight line. He cared more about defeating Harald than about the lives of those in Halsar, and I’d stolen the opportunity to have his prize. But almost as much as that, I suspected I’d earned his wrath by making a decision at all. People who were controlled did not make choices—choices were made for them.
He eyed his warriors as they lifted their hands and cheered my words, and he said, “Let Harald scuttle home to Nordeland to hide, for every day he evades us we will grow stronger. When the gods will it, we will strike our blow and vengeance will be ours!”
Men and women shouted their agreement, promising blood, and my own grew hot with anticipation of that moment, whenever it should come.
“Ready yourselves,” Snorri shouted. “We march, and if the gods are with us, we’ll see the bottom of this mountain before dawn.”
All became organized chaos, my clothes—still filthy and stinking—once again on my body, along with my chain mail, and then we were walking to the gates of Fjalltindr, the gothar waiting with our weapons.
As we passed over the threshold, Bjorn’s axe flared to life, lighting our path downward. I wanted to ask him why he’d left the hall. Why he’d gone to speak to a seer when the threat surrounding us was so great.
And most of all, what we should do about what had happened between us.
That question terrified me, because it was driven by the fact that I cared about what had happened. That I cared far, far too much. So instead I asked, “Do you believe we walk toward battle?”
Bjorn was quiet for a long moment, then he said, “My mother once told me that the trouble with foretellings is that you never truly understand them until they come to pass.”
I frowned. “Then why did you bother asking the seer about Halsar?”
“And there lies the trouble with seers,” he said, stepping away even as Bodil strode up next to me, her maidens arraying around us. “They rarely answer the question you ask.”
