“Help me up,” he muttered, reaching with his other hand.
Without thinking I grasped it, realizing his deception a heartbeat before he pulled. A shriek tore from my lips as I fell headfirst into the fjord, the shock of cold worse than I remembered.
Righting myself, I spat out a mouthful of seawater and glared at him. “This is not a good start.”
He inclined his head. “I am sorry for being an arse and not showing you the respect you deserve, Freya Born-in-Fire.”
“And you needed to get me wet to tell me that?” I was bloody freezing, and from the beach I could hear the laughter of the onlookers who’d watched me go arse-up into the fjord.
“I needed to be a little bit more sorry before I could get an apology from my mouth,” he said. “But now it is said, and we may move on.”
“Don’t be so certain,” I grumbled, watching as he swam under the dock, then reached up to hook his fingers through the boards. Every muscle in his body stood out in stark relief as he hung from the dock, water running in rivulets through the dips and valleys of taut skin.
He eyed me for a long moment, green eyes thoughtful, then asked, “Has Snorri told you anything of his plans for you? Said anything about how he believes you will make him king?”
“No,” I answered around chattering teeth. “He’s barely spoken to me at all.”
“Marriage at its finest.” Bjorn chuckled, but before I could ball up my fist to punch him in his stomach, he added, “No one knows. I asked around last night and spent a small fortune in mead, but no one knows anything.”
My cheeks heated as I realized that he’d not, as I’d thought, spent the entirety of his night getting drunk and having sex with random women. He’d spent at least some of it trying to discover the answer to the question I was desperate to answer myself. “If he were to confide in anyone, I should think it would be you.”
He looked away, scanning the fjord, though there was nothing to be seen but water. “We are not as close as you might think.”
I had no business prying, but I still asked, “Because of the years you spent in Nordeland?”
Bjorn’s eyes shot back to me. “What do you know of that?”
“Nothing other than that you were taken prisoner as a child and that Snorri rescued you.” I had a million questions I wished to ask, but I settled on the one that had bothered me the most. “Why didn’t you escape?”
It was understandable why he hadn’t tried to escape as a child, but much less so as a grown man, because as a child of Tyr, Bjorn was always armed. And even untrained, a boy with an axe made of a god’s fire could do a great deal of damage.
Silence.
I cringed internally. When will you learn to shut your mouth, Freya?
He cleared his throat. “I swore blood oaths as a child not to try to escape. Harald has many powerful individuals in his service, including those adept with rune magic.”
“Being rescued didn’t violate your oath?” I asked, curious given that I’d recently sworn my own.
“Clearly not.”
“I heard that Snorri lost many men and drakkar rescuing you,” I said, unsure why I kept pressing the topic. “He must care for you very much to have kept trying.”
“He knew he needed the fire of a god to find you,” Bjorn answered. “His rescue attempts didn’t begin until I’d been in Nordeland for two years, which was when he learned my magic had manifested.”
Oh.
It hadn’t been sentiment that had driven Snorri to rescue his son, but the selfish need to claim the destiny he dreamed of. It was no wonder they weren’t close. Needing to change the subject before I dug up any more wounds, I said, “What about the seer who spoke the foretelling. Why not ask them for information about what I’m supposed to do?”
“Because she is dead.”
His voice was sharp, and understanding slowly dawned on me as I put the pieces together. Swallowing hard, I said, “The seer was your mother?”
Bjorn gave a tight nod.
A million questions reared in my head, but it was more than apparent that Bjorn wanted nothing to do with this conversation. Still, I hazarded one. “Were you there when she spoke the foretelling?”
“I was too young to remember.”
Of course, that made sense. “Did she ever say anything else about me? Ever say why the gods believed I’d be able to achieve such a fate?”
He hesitated, then said, “Her gift was her downfall. I don’t enjoy talking about it.”
Gods, I needed to cut out my own tongue because one day I’d build my own barrow with it. But before I could start in on apologies, footfalls thudded down the dock overhead. A heartbeat later, Snorri’s voice filtered down. “Get out of the water. Your brother has returned with news.”
My curiosity grew with each passing second as we walked, dripping, back to the great hall. Neither Snorri nor Bjorn said anything, both their jaws set and expressions unreadable, and it made me wonder about Bjorn’s relationship with his younger half-brother.
I got my answer the moment we walked into the hall. A boy a few summers shy of manhood raced across the floor to collide with Bjorn, clearly delighted to see his elder brother as they pounded each other on the back. Beyond, Ylva stood by the fire with her arms crossed and mouth drawn into a thin line as she watched the exchange.
“Is it true you killed a full score of Gnut’s warriors?” Leif demanded. “Then set fire to his ships?”
Bjorn shook his head. “I merely provided the flame. Was Freya who set them ablaze.”
At my name, Leif turned from his brother, looking me up and down. I gave him the same courtesy. He was only slightly taller than I was, and quite slight, his hair golden blond where his brother’s was dark, and his eyes blue rather than green. They had the same high cheekbones and square jaw, though Leif’s chin had several years to go before it would manage a beard worth growing. He would age into a fine-looking man, I suspected, though he lacked Bjorn’s almost otherworldly beauty. It made me wonder what Bjorn’s mother had looked like, for it must be her who’d given him such different coloring. “You are the shield maiden, then?” he asked, and without waiting for a response added, “I suppose I must congratulate you on your marriage to my father.”
Absolutely nothing in his tone suggested congratulations, which was perhaps fair, given that Ylva was his mother, but I gave him a slight nod. “Thank you.”
He scowled, then turned his back on me in favor of his brother. “We captured a spy.”
Bjorn shifted on his feet, eyes narrowing. “Whose spy?”
An older warrior, a man with brown skin and silver-streaked dark hair twisted into a knot behind his head, stepped forward. “We don’t know. No one recognizes her and she’s refused to speak.”
“You should have put fire to her feet, Ragnar.” Ylva moved to rest a hand on Leif’s shoulder. “She’d have sung for you then.”
The older warrior tugged on his beard, which was long enough that the silver rings on it brushed against the chest of his mail vest. “Thought better to bring her to the jarl, my lady.”
“Perhaps she is not a spy,” Bjorn interjected. “Perhaps she doesn’t speak our language.”
Ragnar snorted. “She understands well enough. And she tried to escape. Twice.”
“Compelling enough evidence for you, Bjorn?” Ylva’s voice was saccharine and Leif cast a sideways frown at her. “It was a fair question, Mother.”
She snorted. “He merely balks at the thought of torturing a woman.”
“Whereas you seem to relish the thought,” Bjorn retorted.
Leif threw up his skinny arms, face visibly annoyed. “You two fight like cornered cats. Father, how you stand them constantly carrying on like this is beyond my understanding. You should put an end to it for all our sakes.”