“No.” He gave a sharp shake of his head, irritation palpable. “Your idiot brother paid a healer to mend his leg, then came to beg he be allowed to have his place back in my father’s war band. Which my father has agreed to as reward for the successes you have achieved.”
Geir had chosen to come to Grindill? Had brought Ingrid of his own volition?
A tide of anger surged through my veins at his utter fucking stupidity. “Where is he?”
“Enjoying the fruits of your labors, I expect.” Bjorn pushed away from the wall. “I’ll bring you to him.”
He led me into the great hall, and though I’d probably come this way when I’d been given a room after the battle, nothing seemed familiar. My eyes skipped over the riches that Gnut had accumulated over his time as jarl of this place, carved furniture and thick wall hangings, all of it now Snorri’s. All of it befitting a king.
“Already Jarl Arme Gormson and Jarl Ivar Rolfson have come to swear oaths,” Bjorn said, breaking the silence. “More will follow, especially once Steinunn begins her travels through Skaland, spreading word of your”—he hesitated—“battle fame.”
More like infamy.
“Steinunn wishes me to listen to her sing,” I said, wondering if Bjorn was one of the people she’d spoken to, whether part of her story was his. “I told her no.”
He said nothing, but I felt his eyes on me as we stepped out of the great hall and into the streets of the town.
Little had been done in the way of repairs to the damaged buildings, though a quick glance told me that was because all efforts had been put toward repairing the gaping hole I’d blasted in the wall. Dozens of men and women worked to replace the charred planks of wood, even the children set to helping, small forms racing about on errands. Busy though they were, everyone paused in their tasks to watch Bjorn and me pass, and I felt their wariness as though it were a tangible thing, not one of them meeting my gaze.
Nausea twisted in my guts because this was what I’d been hiding from.
Judgment.
And it didn’t feel fair. Ours was a violent people, and what I’d done was no worse than what any of the warriors here had done. Bjorn had likely killed more men than he could count, yet no one was watching him like they half expected him to cut off their heads for looking at him.
“That wall won’t rebuild itself,” Bjorn shouted. “And I think none wish for there to be a hole in it when our enemies arrive at the gates!”
They all obeyed, but I still felt them watching me from the corners of their eyes, as though unwilling to turn their backs entirely.
“Why are they staring at me like that?” I muttered, though I felt like I was choking on a strange mix of anger and guilt. “They have walls because of me. They are safe because of me.”
“I’m sure they are planning how best to lick your boots later.”
Bjorn’s tone was clipped, and I jerked my eyes to him. “Why would you say that? I’m not asking them to grovel in gratitude, but I don’t see why they hate me.”
“They don’t hate you, Freya,” he answered, stopping before the door of a long house. “They fear you.”
Before I could say anything, he pushed open the door, revealing a large common space. Ingrid sat at one of the tables. My friend’s eyes widened at the sight of me, face filled with dismay that I half wondered I’d imagined as she swiftly smiled. “Freya!”
Shoving past Bjorn, she hugged me but I swore she felt stiff as a board as she called, “Geir, Freya is here!” before stepping back, smile still plastered on her face.
“Good to see you too, Ingrid,” Bjorn said, leaning against the door frame.
Ingrid’s smile faltered, but she called out, “Bjorn is with her.”
A heartbeat later, Geir appeared from one of the rooms in the back. “Sister!” He caught hold of my hands and pulled me into a hug, squeezing me tight. “My sister the shield maiden! The warrior! The victorious!”
“I see your leg is healed.” Extracting myself from his grip, I moved inside, noting that the home was far finer than anything Geir could have paid for himself. Large and full of heavy wooden furniture, it had probably belonged to one of Gnut’s warriors killed in battle.
Perhaps one I’d killed.
Shoving away the thought, I waited for Bjorn to shut the door behind him and then said, “Why are you here, Geir? What madness drove you to come to Grindill, and to bring Ingrid with you no less?”
My brother made a face, turning away from me to retrieve a silver cup of wine sitting on the large table. “Jarl Snorri told me I could return to his war band when I could walk. I can walk, so here I am. And Ingrid is my wife—her place is by my side.”
Ingrid’s eyes shifted back and forth between us. “Freya, the jarl was pleased for us to come. He gifted us a room in this house. Said it was fitting, as we are family now.”
Behind me, Bjorn huffed out a laugh and I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to control my temper. “Of course he wishes you here, Ingrid. You and Geir and my mother are hostages against my good behavior, which means having you close allows him to use you against me on a whim. Whereas before he had the inconvenience of sending someone to Selvegr to mete out punishment.” My head was aching. “A home—which is stolen, I might add—is a small price for him to pay to tighten my reins.”
Instead of appearing chastised for his stupidity, Geir gave me a look of disgust. “What are you, Freya? A small child who will only behave properly for fear of punishment? You are the wife of the jarl. You are given everything your heart desires. You are living the life you always dreamed of. Yet still you gripe and misbehave. Always I gave you the benefit of the doubt in your complaints about Vragi, but now I wonder if it was not him that was the problem.”
Shock lanced through me, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Bjorn tense. I held up my hand because I could fight my own battles. Especially against my brother.
“You are an idiot.” The words came out as a snarl between my clenched teeth. “How do you not see the stakes?”
“I earned my place in the jarl’s war band before he even knew your name,” Geir shot back. “It was because I kept your secret that I lost it at all! I belong here just as much as you do, Freya. More, because I earned my place whereas you are here by virtue of a drop of blood.”
Gods, he was jealous.
I could see it stewing in his amber eyes, knew it, because once, I’d felt the same emotion. The difference was that I’d chosen to hide everything I was rather than to pursue it. “You bloody fool. You care more for your wounded pride than you do for keeping your wife safe.”
“That’s not true,” he hissed. “I love Ingrid.”
“Then you should keep her as far from me as possible!”
People around me risked their fates being tangled by my choices. People around me risked losing everything. People around me risked their threads being cut short.
Geir stepped back and I saw the flash of cruelty in his eyes a heartbeat before he said, “Why, Freya? Is it because what everyone says is true? That you’re a mad bitch?”
Before the weight of his words could register, Bjorn was across the room. He caught my brother by the throat and slammed him down on the table, shattering it. Ingrid screamed as they fell to the floor in a flurry of fists, ending with Geir facedown, arm twisted behind his back.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. Does he really think that about me? That I’m a mad dog, feral and dangerous?
“I’m going to break both your wrists, you stupid piece of weasel shit,” Bjorn snarled. “See how well your wife tolerates your stupidity when she has to wipe your arse for the next month!”
Ingrid screamed at the top of her lungs, and the door exploded inward, three warriors racing to investigate the commotion. They stopped, staring in confusion as Bjorn lifted my brother and slammed him down again, Geir groaning.
“Help him!” Ingrid shrieked. “Stop this!” But the men stood their ground, unwilling to intervene.
“You don’t deserve to call her family!” Bjorn shouted. “You don’t deserve her loyalty!”