Page 32 of A Curse Carved in Bone
“Very foolish.”
I rested my head on my rolled-up cloak, pulling the blanket over my shoulders. One of the wolves lay down at my back, his weight pressing against me. Welcome heat against the cool mountain air, but rather than bringing me comfort, I only felt the sorrow of loss for the time when it had been Bjorn at my back. A time when I had absolute trust in him, with my heart and my life.
I knew he cared for me. Loved me. Wanted me. Knew that for allmy rage and grief, I felt the same for him. All those feelings refused to be extinguished even though logic demanded that I vanquish them from my heart. But his betrayal hadn’t just harmed me—his lies had resulted in those I cared about losing their lives, and I couldn’t forgive that. Couldn’t ever trust that he wouldn’t withhold truths from me again that might cause more of the same sort of hurt.
Through the flickering flames of the fire, I watched Bjorn lie down on his own blankets, his face cast in dancing light and shadows. Watching me even as I watched him.
I’d never feel the way I felt about him with another man, that I knew. Would never slip the hold he had on my soul no matter how many years I lived.
But it was over between us. It had tobe.
Rolling over, I buried my face in the wolf’s fur. And for the first time in far too long, I wept.
I woke at dawn to Hati licking my face and frost on the ground surrounding camp. Bjorn was already seeing to the horses, so I swiftly made porridge and then packed my things. The pair of us were on the road before the sun had fully crested the sky, sleep having done much to repair my composure.
But with composure came logic and reason, and trepidation marched along with them. It was because of Saga that Bjorn and Harald had pursued my death. She’d seemingly dedicated much of her life to destroying the future she feared. Even if Harald was correct in his interpretation that there was nuance in how that might be accomplished, it was not lost on me that the path Saga pursued might put me in the grave. That she might still want me dead, and I was riding directly toward her.
Bjorn and I had not exchanged so much as a single word, but clinging to silence when he might offer some insight seemed like willful stupidity. “Will your mother try to kill me herself?”
Bjorn’s horse sidled into the brush, which drew muttered curses from his lips. “No,” he answered. “She has no stomach for violence.”
“Poison in my cup will serve just as well.” And I’d seen several plants in our travels that would easily accomplish such a task. “She is as unfated as you are, so her actions can change the future.”
He furrowed his brow. “It would be out of character. She’s never killed anyone.”
“Given she ordered her son to kill a woman neither of you had ever met, I struggle to believe poison beneath her.”
His eyes flicked to the wolves trotting ahead of us, then he met my gaze and mouthed, “We can change course. We can leave Nordeland.”
“What was that?” I asked. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch what you said.”
Skoll stopped on the path and turned to regard us, confirming my suspicion that these were no simple wolves.
Bjorn glared at me, but I only said, “Saga is the one person who might be able to aid me. I simply wish to know how much caution I need to show around her.”
Silence stretched and my discomfort grew. Bjorn finally said, “I’ve been away from my mother for long years, Freya. Much could have changed. So I would suggest you take every caution.”
“Understood.” My answer was toneless, but unease turned my mouth dry as sand.
The path became more overgrown as we climbed. Rocky enough that our horses could go no faster than a trot, often forced to walk slowly around obstacles that had fallen. Bjorn always dismounted and took the time to move away debris, and from his muttering, it was clear he was displeased that this trail had not been cared for in his absence. I was less surprised given that we saw no signs of habitation—it seemed that if Saga desired isolation, she’d chosen this location well. It was just before midday when I spotted signs of human life in a pair of posts flanking the path, both heavily decorated with carvings.
“There is a perimeter of runes around her home,” Bjorn said. “They warn her of arrivals and dissuade those who might wish her harm.”
“She knows runic magic?” I asked, my discomfort growing because that made her significantly more dangerous. Ylva had taught me that.
“No.” He slowed his horse alongside mine, our knees bumping when his horse tripped on a rock. “Harald carved them. He’s very cautious with her safety.”
“How do you feel about them being together?” Knowing it would annoy him, I added, “Were they fucking before you came to Nordeland or did that only happen after?”
Bjorn gave me a flat glare. “It is not my business. Ask her what you wish to know. It isn’t as if you believe a word I say.”
Digging in his heels, he cantered down the path ahead of me, a cabin with two outbuildings appearing through the trees. Smoke rose from the opening in the roof, and my nose picked up the faint scent of baking bread.
As we reined in our horses in front of the cabin, a woman wearing a green dress trimmed with fur stepped out of the doorway. The shawl draped over her head in combination with the shadows cast by the trees made it hard to see her face, but as I dismounted, she came closer.
My shock nearly caused me to drop the reins of my horse, because Bjorn’s mother wasbeautiful.
Rather than showing surprise at our presence, Saga smiled happily and declared, “My son has returned!” then skipped to Bjorn. Reaching up, she cupped her hands around his cheeks, tiny before Bjorn’s impressive bulk. “Foolish boy. You know better than to fall for a huldra’s song. They love your pretty face and always come for you. Didn’t Troels save you from the previous one?”
