Page 20 of A Curse Carved in Bone
Ropes were floated out to the drakkar. Tora and Bjorn caught hold of them and fixed them to the front of the vessel as the thralls drew in the oars. Then the drakkar was slowly pulled through the narrow gap between the towers, revealing a stone harbor that was large enough to hold perhaps two such vessels, though it would fit many smaller ones. Men and women hurried along the quay, tossing ropes to the thralls.
“In my youth before I became jarl, I traveled a great deal to other nations,” Harald said. “Saw fortresses and cities of a scope beyond my wildest dreams, and I studied the art of their construction. When I became jarl of Hrafnheim, it was made of wood and rushes. With years of labor, it has become what you see now.”
“Labor and wealth stolen in raids on Skaland.” I gave him a saccharine smile. “I am surprised the stone is not red.”
Rather than taking offense, Harald only shrugged. “Raids on Islund, to be accurate. They have made themselves wealthy plundering lands to the west, and so we take only what they took from others.” He gestured to his thralls, whose eyes glittered behind their hoods. “Most of my Nameless were warriors of Islund who attacked Nordeland’s shores. They discovered that we are far from defenseless and paid a heavy price for their hubris.”
“Was the price their tongues?” I remembered what Bjorn had told me about Ragnhild after he’d cut off her head. She’d been able to speak directly with Harald because he held her token—her tongue. “I’ve never known thralls to be this silent.”
“The price they paid for their crimes was losing their names and their reputations, but yes, also their voices. Open your mouth.” Harald snapped his fingers at one of the thralls—a man with thick arms, the snarling teeth of a wolf visible beneath his pushed-up sleeve. He obediently opened his mouth and held out his tongue. On it was a brand of a rune I did not recognize.
“Magic,” I murmured, horrified that it could be used in such a way.
“I did not just learn about building fortresses in my travels.” Harald nodded once at the thrall, and the man obediently closed his mouth. But he still watched me, and his unblinking eyes made my skin crawl. “In other places, there are other gods. And other powers. Perhaps one day you’ll have the chance to see for yourself.”
If this was the sort of magic in these other places, I was happy enough never seeing them but I kept my own mouth shut as the drakkar was pulled against the quay.
Hrafnheim buzzed with excitement. From all directions, civilians and warriors alike flowed toward the harbor, all waiting in obvious anticipation. My skin prickled, and to my left I found Bjorn had an expression on his face I’d not ever seen before. I hadn’t the words to describe the precise emotion, but it was the look of a man who has returned to the place of his heart after too long away.
Yearning.
That was the word.
As I realized it, anger filled me. “You told everyone this was your prison. But this is your home, isn’t it?”
“You are my home, Freya,” he answered. “Everywhere else is just a place to lay my head.”
I bared my teeth, not caring if I looked feral because his words made me remember all the promises he’d made that were now lies. Made me remember how, for a heartbeat, I’d thought I’d had everything only to realize it had no more substance than smoke on the wind. I willed my anger to rise and drive away the hurt, but it was as though my rage had consumed all its fuel, leaving behind nothing but glowing coals.
Harald leaped out of the drakkar onto the quay to the cheers of those watching. “We have returned victorious!” he shouted. “We have liberated the shield maiden from Snorri, and she will change the fate of all who cross her path, for she is the child of two bloods! Daughter of Hlin and of Hel!”
Shock stole my voice, because I didn’t understand why he had chosen to announce my presence. It might well be true that Snorri would discover I was here eventually, but this was akin to Harald inviting Skaland to his doorstep.
Shouts of astonishment filled the air, and Tora nudged me in the ribs with one elbow. “Get out,” she muttered. “And don’t make a scene.”
I climbed out of the ship and onto the quay and stood with my arms crossed while everyone gaped at me. Someone pushed a shield into my hands, and I stared at it, knowing they wanted a demonstration of my power. Proof that the lives lost in my taking had achieved something. Memory of black roots exploding out of the ground to drag warriors down into Hel’s domain filled my mind’s eye. Her power. And mine. The darker half of me that I’d always known existed: harsh, greedy, and indifferent to the plight of others.
The part of me that had enticed Harald into allowing me to live, but the truth was,sheterrifiedme.
So I whispered Hlin’s name and reached for the magic that was myold friend, and a brilliant glow flowed over the wood of the shield. The king of Nordeland gave me a slight smile, as though he understood my choice, and then he shouted, “And greater news still, my people! For my son and heir, Bjorn, has returned to us!”
There was no mistaking the delight in the eyes of these strangers. Dozens of them called out Bjorn’s name as Harald slung an arm around his shoulders. Not a prisoner. Never a prisoner.
They ventured into the crowd and the people touched Bjorn’s arm. Clapped him on the back and gave him well wishes. The smile on his face was a knife to my gut. Never once had he behaved this way in Halsar, always distant and aloof even when he’d been eating, drinking, and laughing with my people. Because they had never beenhispeople.
Biting my lip, I handed off the shield and gave no protest as Tora guided me onward. We followed Bjorn and Harald deeper into Hrafnheim, and I drank in everything around me. While the walls and exterior of the fortress had been of foreign construction, the buildings inside were familiar in style. Yet what struck me was the incredible number of wards carved into every wall and door. I had no notion of what they meant, but from time to time, one would flare bright. “What are the wards for?”
“Protection,” Tora answered.
I flexed the fingers of my right hand, which were painfully stiff from neglect, and asked, “Protection from what?”
“Fire. Pestilence. Flood. Islund.” Tora looked down at me. “Skaland.”
The idea of attacking this fortress seemed like the sort of madness that no jarl would consider, but that had been Snorri’s goal when he became king. To rally the clans all across Skaland into a unified force capable of taking on these defenses. Yet looking around at the endless wards, part of me wondered if even that would have been destined to fail.
Harald’s great hall was at the center of the town, and though it was large, it was not half as large as what I’d expected. It was formed ofthick timbers with a steeply pitched roof formed of wooden shingles. The walls were carved with runes larger than I was tall, as were the twin doors, though they were also carved with elaborate knotwork that must have taken the woodworker half a year to create. Large statues of wolves guarded the entrance. The work was remarkably realistic, eyes formed of glass so flawless that I swore they must be alive.
Then the white one moved.
