Page 123 of A Curse Carved in Bone
“What now?” a jarl demanded. “Do you claim both thrones, shield maiden? Are we to bend the knee to the queen of Nordeland and Skaland?”
I shook my head. “Our people were never meant to be ruled by one man or one woman. We are meant to be led by individuals who know the names of every soul in their jarldom. By men and women who know the needs of each village and farm, for we are clans. Families. Those who seek to change that do so not for the good of the people but because they desire power and influence, which makes them the worst sort to follow.”
Accepting a cup from Tora, I took a sip, finally washing away the taste of mud. “We united for the sake of defeating a common enemy. Now he is dead, and so we must turn back to our clans. Work together to heal after the losses of so many who have gone on to the halls of Valhalla to join the Allfather so that they might fight for us again at the end of days.”
“What of you, Freya?” Ylva asked. “It was foretold that you would unite Skaland.”
“But not that I would keep it that way.” I drew in a steadying breath. “We united for a purpose. For a moment when the strength of one clan was not enough, and it needed to be the strength of all. That moment has ended, and what will come next is unknown.”
Taking another sip, I lifted my cup. “Jarls, take our people home and look to your own clans and hearths, but never forget the moment when we stood side by side as allies.Skol!”
“Skol!” Everyone in the room shouted, lifting a cup, and I stepped back so that they’d understand that the moment I’d stood above them was over, and that I was now one of them once more.
Or nearlyso.
Tugging on Bjorn’s arm, I led him to Ylva and Leif. Inclining my head, I said, “Jarl Leif.”
The boy blinked. “I…”
“You are Snorri’s heir,” I reminded him. “But more than that, youare Ylva’s heir, and I have faith that she will stand at your shoulder until you are ready to stand on your own.”
Ylva drew in a deep breath. “Thank you, Freya. I do not deserve your generosity.”
“You are one of the most unpleasant women I have ever met,” I said. “But though I often wished to drown you in a pool of pig shit, I never doubted your commitment to those who matter to you.”
“I would be honored to have you both as members of my war band.” Leif looked between me and Bjorn. “No word of what you said was an untruth, but there will be jarls who see an opportunity to be had. Raids will follow. And with Grindill in ashes, we are an easy target.”
I went still, remembering when such an offer had consumed my dreams, asleep and awake. But now knowing the taste of war, the smell of it, the hurt of it, I found myself not wanting any part of it. I looked up at Bjorn, and I could see in his gaze that he felt the same.
Clearing his throat, Bjorn answered, “With respect, brother, we must decline.”
“But you can’t!” Leif’s eyes were full of panic. “I need you. You must stay.”
Despair filled me because of my sudden certainty that although Snorri was dead, I remained leashed. Forever to be used by those who desire my magic as a weapon. Yet as I forced myself to breathe, I discovered that the compulsion was not there. My gaze shot to Ylva’s. “The blood oath…How is this possible? It can only be broken by your death.”
“Or yours,” Ylva answered. “Runic magic is a power of the mortal realm. Death breaks its hold.”
“You were cold when we pulled you out of the ground, Freya,” Bjorn said. “Maybe…”
“It was before then.” My mind drifted to when Geir had been carrying me out of Helheim. How my heart and breath had stopped, my life slipping through my hands. For a moment, I’d been dead. “All this time, I’ve been free and I didn’t even know it.”
The revelation was a weight off my shoulders and, squaring them, I glared at Leif. “Don’t presume to order me about, jarl. If you want something from us, learn to ask nicely.”
Leif blinked, then gave me a respectful nod. “I will keep that in mind. But…where will you go?”
“Time will tell.”
Without another word, we turned and left the mead hall. Volund followed after us and saw to Bjorn’s injuries, and then we bid him farewell. There were no beds to be had in Torne, the now-homeless families of Grindill sleeping many to a bed in every spare room in the small town. Instead of taking space in the barn, Bjorn took a horse. “Can you ride, Born-in-Fire?”
Curious, I nodded. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can call our own.”
We rode at a walk, Bjorn’s axe illuminating the darkness until dawn lit the night sky, and when it did, a smile lit my face, for I knew where we were.
“I’ve thought a fair bit about where you would want to live, Born-in-Fire.”
“Oh, you did?” I examined the burned remains of Saga’s cabin, nearly consumed now by vegetation. “And between which instance of fighting for your life did you do this thinking?”
