Page 5 of A Curse Carved in Bone
My stomach sank, because that meant for almost two years, Harald had a spy in the skies of Skaland. Guthrum was a child of Jord, which meant that he was capable of speaking mind to mind with his familiar. Worse, he was capable of seeing through his familiar’s eyes, and Guthrum was nothing if not loyal. He’d have relayed everything to Harald.
“What has Kaja seen?” Harald demanded. “Has she had eyes on Snorri?”
Guthrum’s throat moved, his eyes skipping to me and then back over his shoulder to where Freya stood with Tora, both watching.
“The Skalanders searched the base of the falls for their bodies as soon as you departed,” he said. “They also searched the Torne itself, andfishing boats now comb the coast. Snorri is convinced that the shield maiden and Bjorn yet live and has set a reward for anyone who has information of where they are.”
My teeth ground together as I remembered how I’d been so certain that everyone would believe Freya and me dead, bodies caught in the endless churn of the falls. It now felt like the purest form of idiocy, and my hands fisted with anger at myself because we’d fooled no one.
Harald tugged on his beard, seeming neither surprised nor concerned. “Does he suspect Freya and Bjorn are with us in Nordeland?”
Guthrum gave a slight nod. “He believes you retreated too easily. Believes that you found them immediately after they went over the falls. He argues to Ylva that if you’d found them dead, you’d have made it known, and so they must be living.”
“Snorri, my old friend, you are no fool,” Harald said under his breath, but then shook his head. “It is inevitable that he’d discover you and Freya lived, Bjorn. Too many have seen your faces and while I might wish that all my warriors were loyal, all it takes is one to be tempted by the prospects of wealth and the ruse is up. We need to head inland to the safety of Hrafnheim.”
My heart skipped at the mention of the fortress where I’d been raised. My home, for my mother had insisted that I remain with Harald so that I might be trained as a warrior. My friends were there, as was the family I’d forged out of bonds as strong as blood.
Freya’s voice tore me from my thoughts. “I didn’t agree to go to Hrafnheim, only to see Saga, whom Tora has told me resides elsewhere.” She’d come up silently. Tora stood behind her, a hand resting on the hilt of her sword. My sister and friend. Or at least, she had once been. Much had changed.
“You must pass Hrafnheim to reach Saga’s cabin,” Harald answered. “You will need horses and supplies, all of which can be had in the town.”
“The town which is your fortress.” Freya crossed her arms. So beautiful and fierce that my chest ached, no part of that feeling diminishing as she cast a murderous glare my way.
“You think I’m going to willingly walk into your stronghold?” she demanded. “Even in little fishing villages in Skaland we heard about Hrafnheim, most notably that no one who is not a Nordelander has ever seen the inside of it and come out to tell the tale. Who is to say that you don’t intend to lock me in a prison for the rest of my days?”
Harald wasn’t the sort of man to lock people in prisons. He preferred other forms of punishment, and my eyes flicked to his thralls—his Nameless—who all knelt in the sand wearing their black hoods.
“You have my word that I have no intention of locking you in my prison.” Harald adjusted the blades belted at his waist. “I don’t even have a prison in Hrafnheim.”
Freya snorted. “Your word is worth less to me than piss in a pot. I’m not going to Hrafnheim. Give me a guide and I will make my own way to Saga.” Her eyes fixed on me again. “A guide who is notBjorn.”
That her words were expected did not ease the sharpness with which they cut.
“I did not volunteer.” Picking a piece of seaweed off my sleeve, I cast it aside. “Walk if you must, Born-in-Fire. I shall sail up the Rimstrom to Hrafnheim, choose myself a fast horse, and make it to my mother’s cabin a full fortnight before you. I’ll make sure to have a cup of mead waiting, for you’re sure to be thirsty from the long journey.”
Freya said nothing but the ground quivered, everyone starting with alarm. I only stared her down. “Go ahead,” I said. “Curse me to Helheim. Bid your godly mother to rob me of my place in Valhalla. It did not work last time, but perhaps this time will be different.”
“The Allfather will thank me for sparing him your voice,” she snapped. “A true punishment would be to put you somewhere alone where you’ll have only yourself to annoy.”
Harald sighed and rubbed at his temples. “Tell me where this place is, for it sounds peaceful in comparison to being caught between you two. Freya, the choice is yours. By ship or by foot.”
Her jaw worked from side to side, but behind the stubbornness was the trace of fear. Freya was alone in a nation that was enemy to her homeland, and guilt bit at my insides for needling her. “No one willstop you from going to see my mother to seek your truths,” I said. “You have my word.”
The red of her eyes seemed to boil as she hissed, “Fuck your word, Bjorn. It means even less than your king’s.”
Turning, she strode toward the drakkar with Tora at her heels.
Harald exhaled, then waved the warriors away before giving Skade the order to make ready to sail. Then he turned to me and extracted an arm ring from his pocket. The band of silver was deeply familiar, for it had been given to me by him long ago, and then given back for safekeeping when I went to Skaland in search of the shield maiden and vengeance.
“Freya is the key to Snorri achieving his fate as king,” Harald said. “He will not give her up without a fight, and the moment he has certainty that she is here, he will come in pursuit. He will go to war against Nordeland to win her back. I know you will die to defend her, but will you still fight to defend your homeland? Are you still a Nordelander, my son?”
I took the band of silver, the metal cool against my palm, remembering how much it had meant when he’d first gifted it to me. When he’d named me a defender of the people who’d taken me in and treated me with kindness when it had felt as though I’d lost everything.
“Forever a Nordelander.” I slid it up my arm to its familiar place above my elbow. “It’s good to be home, Father.”
No part of me wanted to climb back in the drakkar with the Nordelanders, for beneath my anger ran a current of fear that made me sick to my stomach. I’d felt able to leave Skaland with Bjorn because I’d believed Snorri would accept that I was dead. That he’d not punish my brother or Ingrid, and what remained of my family would be able to live on. Yet the report I’d overheard indicated that Snorri had not given up on me, which meant Geir, Ingrid, and their unborn child remained at risk. Though my relationship with my brother was greatly soured, it made me ill that his innocent child might be harmed.
And I also, selfishly, feared for myself.
