Then a crackle of energy surged across my skin.
The first warning that all was not as it should be was Ylva’s startled gasp. It tore my gaze from Bjorn’s in time to watch her stumble backward across the circle of runes, her eyes fixed on my chest. I looked down, terror consuming me as my blood spidered outward from the wound, infinitely greater in volume than the shallow slice should have provided. “Oh gods,” I breathed. “What is happening?”
“You left her!” Bjorn shouted. “You left her in there alone!”
His words barely registered as the wound gaped, invisible fingers digging into my flesh and stretching it wide. A shrill scream tore from my lips. Rivulets of blood snaked across my chest and down my arms, invisible hands wrenching me left and then right.
“Freya!”
I howled in response, fighting to get away from the god’s grip, knowing that I’d been judged unworthy and that Hlin herself was going to rip me apart. My knees left the ground, the goddess lifting me into the air like a doll, blood gushing in torrents from the wound that now reached down to the bone, the white of my sternum visible. What felt like claws dug into muscle and bone, pulling and pulling.
“Ylva, break the circle!”
The lady of Halsar only gaped in horror, for it was too late.
My rib cage sprung wide, revealing my pulsing heart. Thump thump. Thump thump.
I screamed and screamed, and then with a sudden whoosh, I dropped to the ground. Gasping, I dug my fingers into the sand, certain I had only a few heartbeats of life left in me.
“Freya?” Hands gripped my arms.
I looked up into Bjorn’s panicked eyes even as I heard Ylva screech, “You cursed fool! Do you have any idea of what you might have unleashed?”
Bjorn ignored her, eyes raking over my body. “Are you all right?”
How could he ask that? How could he ask if I was all right when my chest had been ripped open. How…
The thought vanished as I looked down at my naked body, my chest whole but for a thin white scar, not a drop of crimson marring my white skin.
Not possible.
“I…” My mouth was as dry as sand. “She…she—”
“Is she marked?” Snorri was abruptly at my side, lifting my braids and pawing at me, searching. “Did Hlin claim her?”
He grew silent as Bjorn held up my left hand. On the back of it, painted in crimson, was a shield. The detail was unlike anything a mortal artist could have rendered, and with each thud of my heart, the blood forming it pulsed.
“She has been claimed!” Snorri roared. Catching hold of my wrist, he dragged me out of Bjorn’s grasp and to my feet, holding my tattoo up for all to see while I desperately pulled my bodice into place with my free hand. “Hlin has claimed her daughter and we have our shield maiden!”
The crowd, deathly silent until that moment, shouted their approval.
“Let us feast!” Snorri bellowed, finally letting go of me so that I could pull on the sleeves of my dress. “To the great hall!”
As one, the people surged to the hall, ever eager to be fed. Snorri motioned for me to follow them, but Ylva’s cold fingers latched on my right wrist, turning my palm skyward. “Look.”
Unease twisted in my stomach at the sight. It was as though my palm had been tattooed prior to my burns, whatever image that had once been depicted twisted and stretched into an unrecognizable mess.
“A second tattoo,” Snorri murmured. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Nor I,” Ylva said, and both looked to Bjorn, who shook his head, his gaze fixed on my palm.
“I can’t tell what it depicts.” Snorri bent closer and I curbed the urge to withdraw my hand, disliking the scrutiny.
“Likely because Hlin didn’t have time to finish it before Bjorn went barging in and destroyed my circle,” Ylva snapped.
“Because you abandoned her in there!” Bjorn glared at Ylva. “You’re the volva. You’re supposed to stay in the circle, but you left her in there to be torn apart.”
Snorri stilled. “What precisely did you see, Bjorn? Ylva? For all I saw was Freya on her knees.”
I was tired of being talked over as though I wasn’t even here. “He saw me torn in half.”
Bjorn gave a tight nod. “Was as if she were a prize being warred over, and both sides would rather see her destroyed than concede to the other.”
“A portent.” Snorri exhaled a long breath. “The circle allowed Hlin to grant us a vision. A warning of what is to come and what will occur if we don’t take care: Freya will be destroyed.”
Fear wormed its way down my spine.
“But that’s not all.” Snorri tapped his chin thoughtfully. “She also gave us an answer as to how we might avoid such a fate for Freya. Recall the story of the Binding of Fenrir, in which Tyr sacrifices his arm so that the gods might be protected from the wolf.” He gestured to my scarred hand. “It is clear that you, my son, must sacrifice to protect that which will save us all.”
Bjorn blinked, then gave a sharp shake of his head. “You’re grasping, Father. Seeing connections that don’t exist to explain that which cannot be explained.”
“The gods gifted us their stories so that we might understand our own lives.” Snorri gripped Bjorn’s shoulders. “The gods brought you back to me so that I might find Freya. And it seems the gods desire you to be the one to keep her life safe so that I might achieve all that has been foreseen. It is your destiny.”
A shiver ran over me as the wind swirled, snowflakes melting on my outstretched palm as I waited to see how Bjorn would respond. Only to have my stomach sink as he spat, “No. I’ll have no part of this.” He twisted on his heels and stormed away.
Silence stretched.
“He’ll come to see reason,” Snorri finally said. “The gods demand it. Now let us feast.”
I said nothing as I followed him and Ylva to the great hall, but in my mind was a truth that Snorri had forgotten: Bjorn was unfated, which meant that no matter what the Norns planned for him, his destiny was his own to weave.
After the servants swiftly repaired my dress, I was seated at the table on the dais to Snorri’s left, Ylva at his right. The clansmen and women filled the spaces of the many long benches, the tables loaded with trenchers of food and pitchers of mead. The hall itself was decorated with garlands, and through the smell of woodsmoke and cooking was the sharp scent of pine. The villagers came one after another to offer us their well-wishes, but for all they spoke kind words, the sideways looks they gave me were of mistrust and uncertainty.
It was hard to blame them.
I’d walked into their lives, burned and bloody, usurped their beloved lady’s husband, and then caused a ritual to turn into utter chaos. All because twenty years ago, some seer had spoken words to their lord that I had the power to unite the fractured clans of Skaland and make Snorri their king.
It felt like something out of a skald’s story, except I’d been raised to honor the gods and look for the signs they left us, so no part of me believed that the seer’s words were untrue. But that didn’t mean I didn’t have questions.
Exactly how was I intended to unite the people? What had the seer seen me doing that would accomplish such a feat?
Yes, I was a child of a god, possessed of magic, but Hlin was a minor god. Bjorn had the blood of Tyr in his veins, one of the most powerful gods. A god of war and a leader, but also a bringer of justice. It made sense for someone like Bjorn to do the deeds the seer had foretold, but instead his only role in the foretelling had been to provide the fire that would reveal my name.
Which…had happened.
It made me wonder if Snorri’s theory was true. Did the gods see Bjorn’s fate entwined with mine? Was he crucial to the seer’s foretelling coming to pass?