“Freya?”
A soft voice filtered through the door, but rather than answer, I rolled over in bed and buried my face in the furs. Just as I’d done for the past several days. At first it had been exhaustion that drove me to my bed, but it had grown into a desire to avoid facing what I’d accomplished.
Or rather, how I’d accomplished it.
“Freya? It’s Steinunn. I was hoping to speak to you.”
Go away, I wanted to scream. Leave me alone. Because the last thing I wished to do was recall the taking of Grindill. Bodil falling. Losing myself to the rage.
The silence stretched, and I hoped the skald had given up. Gone away. Then her soft voice said, “King Snorri has ordered me to speak to you before I finish my composition.”
King fucking Snorri.
I bared my teeth into my pillow, knowing that I had no right to be angry because it had been me who allowed him to claim the title.
“Freya,” Ylva’s voice pierced the walls. “Open the door.”
I sighed, because there wasn’t a chance that ignoring Ylva would cause her to go away. The lady of Halsar, now the lady of Grindill, I supposed, had arrived not long after the battle was finished, and it was likely only because she’d been busy tending to the wounded and to rebuilding that I’d avoided her scathing tongue.
Crawling to my feet, I flinched as my bare soles pressed against cold wooden floors. Everything in Grindill was made of oak. It should have felt safe and secure, but instead I felt trapped.
Unfastening the latch, I swung the door open. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I was sleeping.”
Ylva frowned, likely because it was midday, although it might have been my appearance. I hadn’t bathed since washing away the blood and gore of battle, nor had I done anything with my hair since braiding it wet, and the lengths were fuzzy and unkempt. My room was filled with dirty bowls and empty cups that the servants left at the door, but which I hadn’t allowed anyone in to clear away. If my mother had seen me this way, she’d have smacked me upside the head.
But I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was sleep.
“You will answer Steinunn’s questions,” Ylva snapped. “Else you will answer mine.”
“Fine.” I allowed the skald to step inside, then slammed the door in Ylva’s face.
“Your brother has come to stay at Grindill,” Steinunn said by way of greeting. “He has brought his wife, Ingrid, with him.”
Wife.
I hadn’t even known they’d been married. Certainly hadn’t been invited to the wedding, not that there had been any time to attend. With the exception of recent days, I’d had not a moment’s respite. But it still stung to have been excluded. “Thank you for letting me know.”
Steinunn moved into the room, surveying the mess and then perching on the corner of my rumpled bed. Not for the first time, I was struck by how truly lovely she was, her light brown braids in perfect order and rounded cheeks flushed a becoming pink. Her dress was perfectly cut and devoid of stains, the cleavage I deeply envied peeking out above a modest neckline. Though she was older than I was, the only signs of it were faint crow’s-feet next to her eyes. Yet despite how lovely she was, I’d never once seen anyone pursue her with romantic intent, man or woman, and I wondered if it was because she dissuaded attention or whether everyone saw just a voice.
I remained standing with my arms crossed. “I thought you were still traveling around singing your song about Fjalltindr.” Spreading word and growing my fame, because Snorri believed that was what would bring the jarls to swear oaths to him as their king.
She gave me a faint smile. “Would you like to hear it? You fainted before I’d hardly begun when I sang it in Halsar.”
“Not really.” I knew I was being unpleasant but couldn’t remove the edge from my tongue. “I already lived it.”
“I understand,” she said. “It takes a certain type of person to want to see themselves in the magic of my songs. Bjorn said he’d rather listen to seagulls fight over a fish than hear anything with him in it.”
“Bjorn’s an arse,” I muttered, though I very much agreed with him. “You’ve a beautiful voice. Everyone says so.”
Steinunn inclined her head. “You are kind to flatter me, Freya.”
Given I was acting like a miserable hag, I couldn’t help but grimace. “What do you wish to know?”
“I would like to hear you tell your story of the battle.”
Turning away, I went to the table covered with dirty bowls and cups, loading them onto a tray. I needed to do something productive because it was the only way to curb the rise of frantic emotion in my chest. “There were others there. Ask them.”
“I have. But the song is about you. It’s meant to tell all of Skaland that you are a woman to be respected. To be followed. What you share with me will help shape the song so that it better captures your spirit.”
So that she could use it to spread my reputation. Which really meant spreading Snorri’s reputation, for I served at his pleasure. “There is nothing I can tell you that others wouldn’t already have shared.”
She frowned. “You’re certain?”
Irritation rose in me that she was pressing the issue, and sharp words started up my throat. I gave a swift nod before they could exit, biting my tongue.
Steinunn rose and inclined her head. “I will sing for our people tonight—it would be well for you to be there. Though you should refrain from drinking your weight in mead beforehand.”
Cracks formed in my self-control, my temper flowing out. “I know what happened, Steinunn. I didn’t take pleasure from being there and I won’t take pleasure from seeing it again, so please excuse my absence.”
The skald nodded, moving to the door. Yet instead of leaving me to bury myself back into furs and misery, she paused. “I endured a tragedy that cost me nearly everything I held dear, so I understand your grief, as well as the desire to avoid all mention of it. That said, while you will not enjoy my song, I do believe you need to see what all those around you witnessed and why they feel about you as they do.”
Without another word, Steinunn left, closing my door behind her.
I stood staring at the planks of wood for a long time, my feet growing so cold they ached. Yet rather than climbing back into my furs, I swiftly washed myself with water that a servant had brought at some point, then donned a clean dress. I removed the ties on my braids, combing my fingers through until my hair hung long and loose down my back.
The door creaked when I opened it and I winced, though I wasn’t entirely certain why. Perhaps because I felt uncertain about whether I really wanted to reenter the world, needed my first steps to be taken without notice. Stepping out, I pulled the door shut, and then nearly jumped out of my skin when I noticed a figure from the corner of my eye.
“Bjorn,” I stammered, my heart galloping.
“Freya.”
Bjorn was leaning against the wall, but at his feet was a neatly rolled pallet and a half-empty water cup. I swallowed hard as the understanding that he’d been outside my door filled me. “Please tell me that you haven’t been sleeping out here.”
He lifted one shoulder. “My father is concerned for your well-being.”
My teeth dug deep into my bottom lip because I knew the concern was less about what others might do and more about what I might do myself. “I’m fine.”
His jaw tightened, green eyes boring into mine until I looked away. But not before I noted the dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks scruffier than was his preference, and his clothes rumpled. Whether he’d been here every moment I’d spent hiding in the room, I couldn’t say, but he certainly hadn’t taken any time to care for himself.
“Steinunn told me that my brother and Ingrid have come to Grindill,” I blurted out, needing to end the silence.
Bjorn snorted. “It’s true enough. They arrived with Ylva and the others from Halsar.”
“Did Snorri order him to come?” Unease filled me, because the only reason Snorri had to bring them here was to have more immediate leverage over me. Was it because I’d challenged his authority during the siege?
“No.” He gave a sharp shake of his head, irritation palpable. “Your idiot brother paid a healer to mend his leg, then came to beg he be allowed to have his place back in my father’s war band. Which my father has agreed to as reward for the successes you have achieved.”
Geir had chosen to come to Grindill? Had brought Ingrid of his own volition?
A tide of anger surged through my veins at his utter fucking stupidity. “Where is he?”
“Enjoying the fruits of your labors, I expect.” Bjorn pushed away from the wall. “I’ll bring you to him.”
He led me into the great hall, and though I’d probably come this way when I’d been given a room after the battle, nothing seemed familiar. My eyes skipped over the riches that Gnut had accumulated over his time as jarl of this place, carved furniture and thick wall hangings, all of it now Snorri’s. All of it befitting a king.
“Already Jarl Arme Gormson and Jarl Ivar Rolfson have come to swear oaths,” Bjorn said, breaking the silence. “More will follow, especially once Steinunn begins her travels through Skaland, spreading word of your”—he hesitated—“battle fame.”
More like infamy.
“Steinunn wishes me to listen to her sing,” I said, wondering if Bjorn was one of the people she’d spoken to, whether part of her story was his. “I told her no.”
He said nothing, but I felt his eyes on me as we stepped out of the great hall and into the streets of the town.
Little had been done in the way of repairs to the damaged buildings, though a quick glance told me that was because all efforts had been put toward repairing the gaping hole I’d blasted in the wall. Dozens of men and women worked to replace the charred planks of wood, even the children set to helping, small forms racing about on errands. Busy though they were, everyone paused in their tasks to watch Bjorn and me pass, and I felt their wariness as though it were a tangible thing, not one of them meeting my gaze.
Nausea twisted in my guts because this was what I’d been hiding from.
Judgment.
And it didn’t feel fair. Ours was a violent people, and what I’d done was no worse than what any of the warriors here had done. Bjorn had likely killed more men than he could count, yet no one was watching him like they half expected him to cut off their heads for looking at him.
“That wall won’t rebuild itself,” Bjorn shouted. “And I think none wish for there to be a hole in it when our enemies arrive at the gates!”
They all obeyed, but I still felt them watching me from the corners of their eyes, as though unwilling to turn their backs entirely.
“Why are they staring at me like that?” I muttered, though I felt like I was choking on a strange mix of anger and guilt. “They have walls because of me. They are safe because of me.”
“I’m sure they are planning how best to lick your boots later.”
Bjorn’s tone was clipped, and I jerked my eyes to him. “Why would you say that? I’m not asking them to grovel in gratitude, but I don’t see why they hate me.”
“They don’t hate you, Freya,” he answered, stopping before the door of a long house. “They fear you.”
Before I could say anything, he pushed open the door, revealing a large common space. Ingrid sat at one of the tables. My friend’s eyes widened at the sight of me, face filled with dismay that I half wondered I’d imagined as she swiftly smiled. “Freya!”
Shoving past Bjorn, she hugged me but I swore she felt stiff as a board as she called, “Geir, Freya is here!” before stepping back, smile still plastered on her face.
“Good to see you too, Ingrid,” Bjorn said, leaning against the door frame.
Ingrid’s smile faltered, but she called out, “Bjorn is with her.”
A heartbeat later, Geir appeared from one of the rooms in the back. “Sister!” He caught hold of my hands and pulled me into a hug, squeezing me tight. “My sister the shield maiden! The warrior! The victorious!”
“I see your leg is healed.” Extracting myself from his grip, I moved inside, noting that the home was far finer than anything Geir could have paid for himself. Large and full of heavy wooden furniture, it had probably belonged to one of Gnut’s warriors killed in battle.
Perhaps one I’d killed.
Shoving away the thought, I waited for Bjorn to shut the door behind him and then said, “Why are you here, Geir? What madness drove you to come to Grindill, and to bring Ingrid with you no less?”
My brother made a face, turning away from me to retrieve a silver cup of wine sitting on the large table. “Jarl Snorri told me I could return to his war band when I could walk. I can walk, so here I am. And Ingrid is my wife—her place is by my side.”
Ingrid’s eyes shifted back and forth between us. “Freya, the jarl was pleased for us to come. He gifted us a room in this house. Said it was fitting, as we are family now.”
Behind me, Bjorn huffed out a laugh and I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to control my temper. “Of course he wishes you here, Ingrid. You and Geir and my mother are hostages against my good behavior, which means having you close allows him to use you against me on a whim. Whereas before he had the inconvenience of sending someone to Selvegr to mete out punishment.” My head was aching. “A home—which is stolen, I might add—is a small price for him to pay to tighten my reins.”
Instead of appearing chastised for his stupidity, Geir gave me a look of disgust. “What are you, Freya? A small child who will only behave properly for fear of punishment? You are the wife of the jarl. You are given everything your heart desires. You are living the life you always dreamed of. Yet still you gripe and misbehave. Always I gave you the benefit of the doubt in your complaints about Vragi, but now I wonder if it was not him that was the problem.”
Shock lanced through me, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Bjorn tense. I held up my hand because I could fight my own battles. Especially against my brother.
“You are an idiot.” The words came out as a snarl between my clenched teeth. “How do you not see the stakes?”
“I earned my place in the jarl’s war band before he even knew your name,” Geir shot back. “It was because I kept your secret that I lost it at all! I belong here just as much as you do, Freya. More, because I earned my place whereas you are here by virtue of a drop of blood.”
Gods, he was jealous.
I could see it stewing in his amber eyes, knew it, because once, I’d felt the same emotion. The difference was that I’d chosen to hide everything I was rather than to pursue it. “You bloody fool. You care more for your wounded pride than you do for keeping your wife safe.”
“That’s not true,” he hissed. “I love Ingrid.”
“Then you should keep her as far from me as possible!”
People around me risked their fates being tangled by my choices. People around me risked losing everything. People around me risked their threads being cut short.
Geir stepped back and I saw the flash of cruelty in his eyes a heartbeat before he said, “Why, Freya? Is it because what everyone says is true? That you’re a mad bitch?”
Before the weight of his words could register, Bjorn was across the room. He caught my brother by the throat and slammed him down on the table, shattering it. Ingrid screamed as they fell to the floor in a flurry of fists, ending with Geir facedown, arm twisted behind his back.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. Does he really think that about me? That I’m a mad dog, feral and dangerous?
“I’m going to break both your wrists, you stupid piece of weasel shit,” Bjorn snarled. “See how well your wife tolerates your stupidity when she has to wipe your arse for the next month!”
Ingrid screamed at the top of her lungs, and the door exploded inward, three warriors racing to investigate the commotion. They stopped, staring in confusion as Bjorn lifted my brother and slammed him down again, Geir groaning.
“Help him!” Ingrid shrieked. “Stop this!” But the men stood their ground, unwilling to intervene.
“You don’t deserve to call her family!” Bjorn shouted. “You don’t deserve her loyalty!”
“Freya!” Ingrid grabbed me by the front of my dress, shaking me. “Make him stop! You’re supposed to protect us!”
I stared at her. All of what I’d endured, all of what I’d done, had been driven by my desire to protect my family, including her, but that desire was faltering.
“Please,” she begged. “Please!”
It’s who you are, a voice whispered inside my head even as a darker voice whispered, What if it isn’t?
It was fear that the second voice was right that snapped me out of my stupor.
“Enough.” My throat strangled the word, so it came out no louder than a breath of air. “Enough!”
Bjorn went still, his eyes going to me.
“Let him go,” I said. “They’ve made their beds. Now they can sleep in them and pray that fate doesn’t turn those beds to graves.”
Then I turned on my heel and walked out.
