Snorri sat unmoving in the darkness. “I think, my son, that you care enough for both of us.”
My stomach dropped and if my hands and feet weren’t already frozen, they’d have turned to ice. Despite all my efforts to keep my distance from Bjorn, Snorri sensed what I was so desperate to hide. I clenched my teeth, fear for what consequences would come from this overwhelming my physical discomfort. I forced my frozen hand to my sword beneath the fur cloak even as I saw Bjorn’s bare fingers flex.
What would he do if Snorri confronted him? What would I do?
I held my breath, praying I had the strength in me to fight if I needed to. But Snorri only gave a sharp shake of his head. “You don’t think like a jarl, Bjorn. You fixate on the hardship you see in front of you and think not for the countless others whose lives depend on this jarldom for protection. If Skaland unites beneath me as its king, it will grow stronger and more prosperous, but this will only happen if Freya continues to please the gods. The gods want you to protect her, but do not let your softness jeopardize her destiny.”
It took a moment for his words to settle, my heart still pumping at a violent pace as I slowly realized that Snorri hadn’t been accusing Bjorn of forbidden sentiment but of softness. Which should have been a relief, but instead my temper flared and I snapped, “Might I find the comfort of food and blankets, husband, or is it your opinion that the gods would favor a fool who sits naked in the north wind?”
“Do what you will.”
Even in the darkness, I felt Snorri’s irritation. Knew that he wished I would remain silent. If he wanted that, he’d need to cut out my tongue. “The people of Skaland will unite beneath the rule of the one who controls my fate.” I smiled into the darkness, but it was all teeth. “So control it.”
The silence was broken only by the vicious howl of the wind, no one speaking. No one even seeming to breathe as they waited to see how their jarl would respond to the challenge.
For it had been one, I realized. Not a slip of my tongue, either, but my heart voicing a question that had been growing from the moment I’d learned the seer’s prophecy. Bjorn’s mother had not named Snorri as the one who must control my fate, which meant it could be anyone. He controlled me using a farce of a marriage, threats against my family, and oaths bound by magic, and where that had once seemed like more than enough to keep me under his thumb, now…now I wondered if the gods might have something else in mind.
As if sensing his power over me slipping, Snorri said, “Save your spirit for the battle to come, Freya, and remind yourself of the cost of failure.” Then he jerked his chin to Bjorn. “Get her fed and warmed, but no fucking fire.”
“If she’s without feet come morning, blame yourself,” Bjorn answered, motioning for me to follow.
I walked slowly, feeling the impact of each step in my legs rather than my feet, and unease chased away the glow of defiance. The gods had already seen fit to cripple my hand. What was to stop them from taking a few toes with frostbite to further test my will, and thus my worthiness? I considered what I might look like by the time Skaland had its king, scarred and bent, parts of me ceasing to function if they weren’t lost entirely, and my eyes stung. Like a tool used until its blade dulls and its haft breaks, then left to molder in the corner, having served its purpose.
Visions filled my head. Of myself in the future, having achieved all that was set for me, and now forgotten in the corner of the king’s great hall. Old and worn. Surrounded, yet alone. A tear escaped my eye, and I didn’t bother wiping it away.
Dimly, I was aware of Bjorn conferring with Bodil. Of one of them taking my hand and leading me behind a piece of canvas that had been stretched between two trees to block the wind. Of my shield being removed before I was lowered to the ground.
The light from the sun had faded entirely, the thick clouds blocking the moon and the stars, casting the world in darkness so that all I could see were the visions in my head.
Stop, I silently pleaded, begging my mind to quit torturing me, but I might as well have spat into the wind for all the good my pleas accomplished. My body was heavy, no longer shivering, as though the effort were too great. Each breath felt like an act of will.
“Freya?”
I heard Bjorn say my name, but he sounded distant, as though a vast canyon separated us, growing wider with every one of my labored heartbeats.
“Freya, are you all right? Freya? Freya, look at me!”
The muscles in my neck didn’t want to obey, pain lancing through my body as I turned toward his voice. “I…” My mouth was so dry. Too dry to form words.
He cursed, then I felt the heavy cloak pulled from my body. I started to moan a protest as the cold bit into my shoulders, then my body moved and I was enveloped in warmth. Realizing I was wrapped in Bjorn’s arms, I tried to pull away but his grip around my waist was implacable. And as he drew the cloak over us, my will to resist disappeared.
“See to her feet,” he said, and my legs shifted as Bodil pulled off my frozen boots and leg wrappings, a shocked gasp exiting her lips. “Those are cold!”
From the pressure on my legs, I suspected my feet were in her armpits, but I couldn’t feel anything. “My toes…”
“Will be fine.” Bjorn’s breath brushed my ear. “You’ve god’s blood in your veins.”
The rapid pound of his heart against my back belied his words, but instead of my fear rising, I drifted, sound and sensation moving in and out of focus. Is this the end? I idly wondered. Not death in battle but freezing to death on the side of a mountain?
“It’s not a fucking mountain, Born-in-Fire.”
I smiled, not certain whether Bjorn had actually spoken or if it were my imagination. “Is this the hill you wish to die upon?”
“Not funny.” His fingers tightened, and sudden regret filled me. That I’d not had the chance to drown in his touch, to taste him, to feel him inside of me.
“It’s a bit funny,” I whispered, because the alternative was to weep.
I lost myself to darkness, then. Floating in a warm pool of blackness that beckoned me down and down. Dimly, I heard Bjorn calling my name but I couldn’t move my body to swim back up to him. Wasn’t sure I wanted to.
Going back meant pain and grief and loneliness. Why should I fight for that?
“This is not your end, daughter,” a gentle voice answered. “You must battle on, for them.”
“I don’t want to,” I answered, not sure whether it was a truth or a lie. “I don’t want to go back.”
“You must,” a harsher voice, devoid of patience, snarled. “For yourself.”
Hands pressed against my back, lifting me through the dark waters. I struggled, trying to escape back down, but I could not slip their grip. Higher they pushed me, pain burning through my body as I drew closer to the surface. “No,” I moaned as the burning intensified. “It hurts!”
“That means you are alive,” the voices answered in tandem, and I gasped in a breath of air and screamed.
Agony stabbed up my legs, my feet feeling as though they were pressed against Bjorn’s axe and my skin was melting away. I screamed wordlessly, struggling to pull away from the fire, but hands gripped my legs, holding them in place.
“Stop,” I pleaded between sobs. “You’re hurting me!”
“I know it hurts, but the pain is a good thing.” Bjorn had me locked against his chest, the roughness of his chin rubbing against my cheek. “It means your feet are warming.”
“It’s too much heat.” Tears and snot ran down my face. “You’re burning me! Take them out of the fire!” I shrieked the last because no one was listening and oh gods it hurt.
“There’s no fire, lass,” someone said. “Just Bodil’s armpits. Won’t harm you but for the stink.”