Bodil considered the question, and it struck me that she rarely spoke without thinking first. Probably a skill I’d do well to learn, though I found it frustrating having to wait for her responses.
“I believe,” she finally said, “that we stand on the brink of great change for Skaland, though what that change will be, I cannot say. Only that I hope to be part of it. To influence it for the better, if I can.”
An answer that was not an answer, another habit I’d noticed of Bodil. It made me want to dig, to extract something solid and tangible from her, so I asked, “How do you know when someone is telling a mistruth?”
Bodil smiled. “My feet itch.”
A flicker of surprise ran through me, first that she had said something forthright, and second that the answer was so…mundane. She was the child of Forseti, her ability to discern truth the god’s magic, and to have it manifest in such a way made me smile. “I’d say that would be irritating, but I suppose those who know you refrain from deception in your presence.”
Pushing a silver braid over her shoulder, Bodil said, “Being wholly honest is harder than you might think, Freya. Nearly everyone is deceiving someone about something, even if it’s only themselves. Words uttered might be the truth but the tone or sentiment false, and my gift does not tell me the difference, only that something in the exchange is deception.” Taking a mouthful of food, she chewed and swallowed. “In my youth, I suffered tremendous anger because it felt as though everyone was lying to me and that I could trust no one.”
Gods, but I understood that feeling. “You must have felt miserable,” I said to her, though my eyes drifted from Bodil’s face to the other fires, hunting and searching for Bjorn, whom I’d not seen since we’d returned to Halsar. He was the one I trusted above all others, yet he was the one person I had to guard myself against the most.
“It was,” Bodil answered. “I found peace only when I learned to tell the difference between mistruths told from empathy, shame, or fear, and those told with malice. Knowledge of that came not from magic but from experience.”
“It’s amazing that you didn’t go mad in the intervening period,” I mumbled, then I heard a familiar tread coming up behind me, and I turned.
Bjorn approached, firelight casting shadows across the hard angles of his face in a way that made my stomach flip.
“Bodil.” He nodded at the jarl. “Freya.”
“Where have you been?” I asked, then instantly cursed myself for doing so, swiftly adding, “Avoiding real work, as usual?”
He sat next to me, sending my heart into a gallop as I inhaled the scent of pine and fjord. “Why? Was there something you needed me to do for you?”
My cheeks instantly reddened, and I prayed he’d only think it the light cast by the fire. “Other than cutting off heads, the list of things that you can do that I can’t do better is very short, Bjorn. So to answer your question, no.”
Bodil cackled and slapped her hands against her thighs. “She speaks the truth, boy.”
Bjorn’s smile turned sly. “Maybe so, but the items on that list I do very well indeed.”
Memory crashed over me, of his hands on my body and his tongue in my mouth, heat flaming in my core. “So say all men,” I muttered.
Bjorn laughed, but Bodil’s eyes narrowed on me. “Truer words never spoken.”
True words. False sentiment.
Shit.
Knowing I needed to recover the situation, I said, “Besides, napping isn’t a skill, so you shouldn’t brag about it.”
“I beg to differ,” he answered. “But the point is moot, given I wasn’t exercising said skill. Liv’s home and all her supplies were burned in the fire, so Ylva requested those with knowledge search out plants needed to help the injured.”
My chest tightened, partially in shame that I’d accused him of sloth and partially because I was reminded of the fallen healer. Liv and all the others had died because their warriors weren’t here to defend them. “That was good of you.”
Bjorn shrugged, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a jar. “Given my relationship with fire, Liv taught me how to make your salve years ago. It’s likely not as good as hers but it should do until another healer can make more.”
Of all the things that needed to be done, of all the things Bjorn could’ve been doing, he’d been making more salve for my hand. A flood of emotion made it abruptly impossible to breathe, but I managed to choke out, “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
It was everything, and my eyes burned, tears threatening. I hoped both of them would think it smoke from the fire.
Bjorn took hold of my right hand. Though I had little sensation in the scars, I could still feel the heat of him, and my breath caught.
“How were you burned?” Bodil asked, and I jerked, realizing how this must look. Extracting my hand from Bjorn’s, I took the salve and rubbed it over my scars, more than aware that this was something Bjorn excelled at. But if I allowed him, I’d feel things that I shouldn’t. I knew that while I might be able to hide those feelings from most people, Bodil would sense the deception.
“Born-in-Fire needed a weapon and the closest one to hand was my axe,” Bjorn answered the jarl, his voice clipped. “She’s a woman who does what needs doing.”
“The best kind of woman.”
My cheeks heated at being so discussed, and I bent over my hand to put extra vigor into my application of salve so as to seem not to have heard.
Silence hung among the three of us, thick enough to cut with a knife, then Bodil said, “You left in the middle of your father’s speech, Bjorn.”
He huffed out an irritated breath. “Grindill has never been assailed. That’s one of the reasons Gnut can afford to be an unapologetic prick—his position is strong. The only way to take it is by starving those inside, which I suspect is not the glorious victory my father has in mind.”
“So you left because you disagree with his strategy?”
Bjorn’s knee bumped mine as he shifted, and I leaned away despite feeling drawn to him like iron to a lodestone. “Grindill is a fortress. Towering walls of earth and oak ringed by a moat filled with sharpened stakes. Snorri says he wishes to take it to give his people better lives, yet how many will die in the taking of it?”
I…hadn’t known that.
Though Snorri had spoken of walls, I’d envisioned a slightly grander version of Halsar. Not a fortress. I wondered how many others who’d lifted their hands in support of Snorri’s plan were the same. People who’d never ventured more than half a day from Halsar, the town we intended to capture nothing more than a name to them.
“All great accomplishments come at a price, Bjorn,” Bodil answered. “Between Snorri and me, we have many good warriors. We have you.” She gave him a pointed look. “But most importantly, we have Freya, who is favored not just by Hlin, but all the gods.”
Bjorn snorted. “Yes, yes. To make a king out of the one who controls her fate. Yet no mention of how many will die to achieve that end. Perhaps he will be king of no one, all dead beneath the heels of his ambition.”
The sourness of his tone surprised me, and I twisted at the waist and looked up at him. “You don’t believe your mother’s foretelling?”
“I believe it,” he muttered. “But that doesn’t mean I wish to rush into a battle like this on blind faith.”
“Yet you’ve a reputation across all of Skaland, and Nordeland, as a risk-taker,” Bodil said. “For throwing yourself to where the battle is thickest. How is this any different?”
Bjorn’s jaw tightened and I watched him intently as he met the woman’s gaze. “With respect, Jarl Bodil, just because you can discern the truth does not mean you are entitled to it.”
I didn’t disagree with him, but at the same time, if his concern was only for the lives of the warriors who’d be part of the battle, why not say so, given that he basically already had? Why get his back up now?
In a sudden rush of motion, Bjorn stood. “Take care of your hand, Freya. You’ll need it in the battle to come.” He nodded at Bodil. “Good night to you both.”