I took a few swallows from the cup he gave me before handing it back. Mead made my tongue work faster and my head slower, and my high temper wouldn’t help. “Snorri should be wary lest he push me too far. There is a limit.”
“Is there?” Bjorn’s gaze met mine and I stared into his green eyes, finding curiosity rather than condemnation as he added, “My father holds your family hostage, and you’ve proven time and again that there is nothing you won’t do to protect them, no sacrifice you won’t make. Even though, if I might add, they don’t deserve it. Which means he can do whatever he wants, and you will abide.”
“That’s not true!” My protest felt weak in my own ears, the verity of his words piling onto my shoulders like leaden weights, dragging me down. “What would you have me do? What would you do?”
He shrugged. “For me to be in such a situation would require there being someone among the living who might be used as leverage against me.”
A pang struck me in the stomach that there wasn’t anyone he cared so much for, but I shoved away the sensation. “If there is nothing in your life worth dying for, then what is there worth living for?”
“Reputation. Battle fame.”
Bjorn’s response should have disgusted me in its selfishness, but…there was a hollowness beneath the flippancy that made me wonder if some part of him wished it were otherwise. “Well, you have that,” I said and drained the cup in my hand.
In silence, we approached the entrance to an enormous hall, the carved wooden doors flung wide. Stepping inside, I paused to allow my eyes to adjust to the dimness, and when they did, focused on the enormous wooden likenesses of the gods set about the hall.
I started to walk toward them, but Bjorn froze.
My skin prickled and my attention shot to that which I hadn’t noticed—the man standing in our path, a broad woman with her blond hair in war braids standing slightly behind him.
The man, who was perhaps of an age with Snorri, smiled, his lips curling up to reveal white teeth. “It has been a long time, Bjorn.”
Bjorn was quiet for a heartbeat, and a sideways glance showed me that he was rigid with tension when he finally said, “It has, King Harald.”
King Harald.
My heart skittered in my chest. This was the king of Nordeland. This was the man who’d kept Bjorn hostage all those long years. Which meant this was the man who’d killed Bjorn’s mother.
“I’m surprised to see you here.” Bjorn’s light tone belied the tension radiating from him. “It’s a long journey from Nordeland to Fjalltindr. And a dangerous one.”
“I felt the urge to prove my devotion to the gods,” Harald answered. “I don’t want Thor to look upon me with disfavor when I take to the seas this summer.”
The tall woman with him gave a soft snort of amusement, and the mead in my stomach soured. Taking to the seas in the summer meant raiding, and Skaland was Nordeland’s nearest target.
Though Bjorn had to know that, he said, “Planning a journey? The seashore is most relaxing in the warmer months.”
The king gave a small smile, then shrugged, the motion made elegant by his long, lean frame. Indeed, if not for my instinctual distaste for him, I’d have thought him more than passingly attractive with his high cheekbones and golden-brown hair, which hung in loose waves to his shoulders, his short beard secured by a gold clip. “We shall see what the Norns have in store for us. Already there have been surprising developments.”
His eyes, which were the palest of grays, latched onto mine, and I knew he meant me. I was the surprising development. Despite Bjorn killing his spy, King Harald knew who I was and what I represented. A fact that was confirmed as he said, “You are the shield maiden, yes? What is your name?”
There seemed little point in denying my identity. “Freya, Erik’s daughter.”
“I’m surprised you remain alive,” he said. “Many seek your death, for they do not wish to see Skaland with a king, and even less to swear allegiance to Snorri. Though I see they have all failed to kill you as they swore to do.”
Bjorn shifted restlessly next to me, and I wondered if he was considering the same thing as I was: whether Harald counted himself among those who wished my death. Weapons might not be allowed within Fjalltindr but that wouldn’t stop his men from ambushing us outside the borders.
“A bit of foresight would have told those who sought Freya’s death that there was another path to be taken,” Bjorn answered. “One worth the risks, given the gods have spoken of a future that has not yet come to pass.”
The twisted phrasing felt strange in my ears, but the king responded before I could give it more thought.
“It’s true, then, the whispers racing through Fjalltindr? She vanquished the draug from the tunnels?” Harald didn’t wait for an answer, only tilted his head and asked, “How? They cannot be slain with a mortal weapon and Hlin’s shield only protects.”
“It seems she is favored by more than just Hlin.”
Given Tyr had once been content to burn half the skin off my hand, that was definitely not the case. But if convincing those set on killing me that I was favored by all the gods would dissuade them from putting seaxes in my heart, I’d be more than happy to scream the lie day and night. My honor had its limits.
One of the king’s eyebrows rose. “Interesting.”
The thud of many feet on steps filtered up from behind us, and I half turned to find Snorri and Ylva approaching, warriors behind them.
“Jarl Snorri. Or is it King Snorri now?” King Harald smiled widely, though it held little warmth. “It has been an age. I was only just catching up with Bjorn. We miss his presence and would give a great deal to have him back in Nordeland.”
A chill raced across my skin.
“Harald.” Snorri stepped next to Bjorn’s elbow, not addressing the king’s comment as he said, “I see you’ve met my new wife.”
Harald’s eyes darkened and I realized that Snorri had answered the king’s threat. If the foretelling came to pass and Skaland united under one king, not only would we be able to repel Nordeland’s raids, we would have the strength to raid Nordeland itself.
“Yes. Freyaaaa,” the king answered, showing no sign of being cowed as he drew out my name. “As beautiful as she is formidable. May she bear you many children, as well as a crown, my old friend.”
Snorri crossed his arms, jaw tight.
“I’d say that it must be pleasing to have found the shield maiden of your prophecy, yet the rumor is that she has cost you far more than she’s earned,” the king said. “Halsar attacked, men lost to Gnut, more lost along the way to Fjalltindr. I’d be concerned that I’d misinterpreted Saga’s words.”
“We are here to give our offering to the gods,” Snorri interrupted. “Not for idle chatter with our enemies.”
“Enemies is such a strong word. Especially given we were once friends and allies.”
“Once,” Snorri snarled. “Then you murdered my seer and stole my son from me. Kept him as your thrall!”
A flash of emotion passed across the king’s face but his smile swiftly returned. “As a hostage, whom I raised as though he were my own son in honor of our friendship,” the king corrected. “And what choice did I have? Though I was innocent, you blamed me for Saga’s death to all who’d listen, using it to create support among your people for raiding my shores. If I’d not kept Bjorn at my side, those raids would have come to fruition. You’d have slaughtered my people, and it would’ve been war.”
“It will be war.” Snorri stepped nose-to-nose with the king. “You can no longer use my son to defend yourself, Harald. Soon he will stand across from you on the field of battle with the shield maiden at his side, and Nordeland will bleed as Skaland has all these long years you denied it a king. Before the gods”—he gestured violently at the statues—“I swear it will be so!”