He slapped a hand against his saddle, spine bent backward as he let out loud guffaws. This went on for several moments before he wiped at his eyes, leveling a finger at Snorri. “All those who say you have no sense of humor are liars, Father.”
“I made no jest.” Snorri’s voice was cool, and beneath his beard, his jaw worked back and forth with obvious annoyance.
Or at least, obvious to me. Bjorn only barked out a laugh. “You want me to fight this…girl? To fight a fishmonger’s wife who has barely the strength to lift the weapon in her hand?”
It was a struggle not to scowl, for while the weapon was heavy, it was no heavier than a bucket of fish and I carried those all day.
“Yes, Bjorn. That’s exactly what I wish you to do.” Snorri tilted his head. “Unless you wish to give me cause to doubt your loyalty by refusing?”
Father and son stared each other down, the tension palpable enough that the other warriors shifted in their saddles. This was a test, that much was evident, and it was my misfortune to be caught in the middle of it.
It was Bjorn who conceded, breaking off the stalemate with a shrug. “As you like.”
He slid off his horse, then strode toward me with predatory grace, flirtatious smile long gone. I was swiftly reminded of how much larger than me he was, and all of it muscle. But that wasn’t what filled me with fear. No, the fear that lit my veins and made me want to run, made me want to cower, came when his mouth formed the name Tyr and an axe made of fire appeared in his hand.
I could feel the heat of it, the weapon burning far hotter than natural flame, the flickers of red and orange and blue so bright they stung my eyes. The flame of a god. The flame of war.
“What do you wish to achieve?” he asked Snorri. “You want proof she can’t fight? Here—”
He swung at me.
I stumbled back with a yelp, tripping on a root and falling on my arse, losing my weapon.
“There’s your proof. Send her back to her husband and the fish.”
“That is not the proof I seek,” Snorri answered, and my stomach flipped with the fear that this would cost me far more than pride.
I climbed to my feet to discover that the other warriors had my brother by the arms, holding him back. Vragi sniggered from beyond.
“To first blood, then?” Bjorn demanded. There was anger in his voice, the flames of his axe flaring with the emotion. He didn’t want this fight, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it to prove his loyalty. To do otherwise meant dire consequences, which I doubted he would be willing to suffer for a woman he didn’t know.
“No.” Snorri dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to another warrior before crossing his arms. “To the death.”
My stomach dropped, the world around me suddenly too bright. To the death?
“This is madness,” Bjorn snarled. “You’d have me kill this woman? Why? Because that waste of flesh”—he gestured at Vragi—“wants a new wife?”
“Vragi is a child of Njord. He is a man of value, and he’s proven his loyalty.”
I was no longer certain if this was about me. Or if it was about Bjorn. Or if it was about something else entirely. The only thing I knew for certain was that fear strangled me, refusing to give me a voice.
“And I haven’t?” Bjorn lifted his flaming axe, and the jarl had the wits to take a wary step backward. “I’ve done everything you ever asked of me.”
“Then what is one more thing?” Snorri tilted his head. “You will do this, or you will give back your arm band and go into exile, no longer my son in name or spirit. And lest you think your sacrifice will spare the woman, know that it will not. I’ll merely have someone else fight in your stead.”
The muscles in Bjorn’s jaw stood out in stark relief and his green eyes were narrow with fury, but he gave a tight nod. “Fine.”
“Freya!” my brother shouted. “Run!”
I couldn’t unfreeze from where I stood. Couldn’t think of what I might do to extract both me and Geir from this situation with our lives. The only path I saw was to fight.
And to win.
“What if I kill him?”
I half expected Snorri to laugh, but he only lifted one shoulder. “If you kill Bjorn, Freya, I’ll pull that arm band from his corpse and put it on you. You may have his place in my drakkar when we sail on summer raids, and his share of the wealth that comes with it.”
I lifted my chin, hating that there was part of me that felt the allure of such a prize. “And a divorce from Vragi.”
That drew a soft chuckle from Snorri’s lips, and he glanced at Vragi. “You agree to the end of this marriage?”
My husband sneered. “Gladly.”
The chances of me defeating a famed warrior such as Bjorn were slim. Made far slimmer still by him being gifted by Tyr. But fights were unpredictable, and I was not without skill. “Fine.”
Snorri nodded, then looked to the beautiful woman watching from her horse. “We will have a song of this, Steinunn. One way or another.”
“As you say, my lord,” the woman answered, curiosity growing in her eyes as she met my stare. Whatever was going on here, she clearly knew no more than I did. Rolling my shoulders to ease the tension in them, I said to one of the still-mounted warriors, “Might I have use of your shield?”
He shrugged, then reached to unhook it from his saddle. “This will not save you,” he said. “But anyone willing to fight Bjorn has earned their place in Valhalla.”
His words bolstered my strength as I took the shield, gripping the handle behind the thick steel boss, but I showed none of my confidence as I circled Bjorn. The heat from his axe drew sweat on my brow, but he seemed untouched by it. Must be untouched by it, given he held naked fire with his bare hand.
“Sorry for this, Freya,” he said. “May Odin himself greet you with a full cup.”
“I’m sure he will.” I smiled sweetly. “Because you’ll warn him to be ready for me when you arrive. Which will be sooner than you think.”
A grin split his face, and for a heartbeat I once again saw the man who’d flirted with me on the beach. If I somehow managed to kill him, I would not relish it, but that didn’t mean I’d hesitate with a killing blow. Bjorn glanced over his shoulder at Vragi. “You’re a fool to—”
I struck.
My sword sliced toward his stomach, but some sixth sense must have warned him, because Bjorn twisted away at the last moment, the tip of my blade catching only the fabric of his shirt. Pacing in a circle, he eyed me. “This wasn’t how I thought it would go.”
“Fate cares little for your opinion on how things should go.” Blood roared in my veins, my eyes skipping to the flaming axe, though I knew that wasn’t what I should be watching. Knew it was the eyes and the body, not the weapon, that led. “All that is and all that will be is already woven by the Norns.”
I cut at him again, our weapons colliding and his strength sending me staggering.
“If you are going to proselytize, best to be correct about it.” He blocked another swipe of my blade but did not offer any attack of his own. “My fate is my own to weave.”
Because he had god’s blood in his veins. I knew that. Knew it well, because Vragi often bragged of that power despite it being one impossible to prove. “Then it will be a fate decided by your father, for it seems you do what he tells you to.”
Anger flared in Bjorn’s gaze and I attacked again, blade swinging hard at his ribs. He danced out of the way, far faster than I’d have guessed for a man his size. He gave a halfhearted swipe at my sword and as the two weapons collided, I flinched. Flames flickered over my blade, and I wrenched it away, blocking another slash of his axe with my shield.
The blade embedded in the wood below the boss and I dug in my heels as he wrenched it free, the force nearly pulling the shield from my hand. But worse, the smell of smoldering wood filled my nose, smoke rising where the shield had ignited.
Yet I didn’t dare drop it.
Fear raged through me, my body soaked with sweat and everything seeming too bright. I needed to attack now, before fire forced me to drop my shield. Before my strength failed me.