“Your song makes me appear a monster,” I snapped.
Steinunn leaned close. “Perhaps because you are.” Rounding on Ylva, she added, “Snorri wishes for me to leave tomorrow. I must rest. Good night to you both.”
Turning on her heels, the skald strode from the hall.
My hands curved into fists, and I drew in several shuddering breaths, trying to find calm. The rage that consumed me during the battle, that took hold of me not an hour past with Bjorn, was rising again.
It made me wonder if Steinunn was right. That there was nothing more to add to the song.
“The people fear you,” Ylva said softly. “You looked as much a monster as the draug you fought in the tunnels beneath Fjalltindr.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “And I helped bring you down upon them.”
“You’re fated.” My voice was cold. Clipped. “It wasn’t your choice; it was made by the Norns who weave your thread.”
“I do not think that is what it means to be fated,” Ylva answered. “I think it means that the Norns know our threads so well that they see each and every decision we will make.” Her eyes locked on mine. “So I am not released from culpability, only predictable in it.”
A rush of air exited my lips, my anger flowing away, though I wasn’t entirely certain why.
“I love my husband,” Ylva said. “But he sees only the glory, not the backs of those he must step upon to achieve it. I see the faces belonging to those backs, and I do not like the expressions I saw on them tonight.” Her eyes flicked to Snorri, who was laughing and pounding Bjorn on the shoulder. “I do not wish to see him rise to power on a tide of fear. Do not wish for that to be my son’s legacy.”
I held my breath, waiting for a solution from a woman who, I realized now, was more ally than enemy, for many of our desires were the same.
“Ride in secret to Selvegr tonight,” Ylva finally said. “Learn what you can from your mother of the goddess whose magic our fates rest upon, then return with haste. I will tell all that you are seeking guidance from the gods and must not be disturbed, as well as delay Steinunn’s departure until you tell her what answers the gods have given you.” She hesitated, then added, “Enlist Bjorn to help you. He’ll know how to get you in and out of Grindill unseen. Will keep you safe on the journey and ensure you return to us.”
Not giving me an opportunity to respond, Ylva announced, “Husband, Freya must seek guidance from the gods. She requires solitude for a night and a day to see what answers the gods will give her.” She snapped her fingers. “Bjorn, as Hlin has willed you to watch over Freya on this journey, you shall attend her.”
The men all blinked at her, and Ylva crossed her arms. “Well? You would have the gods wait? Snorri, fetch the mushrooms. Bjorn, ensure Freya has all she needs to endure her trial. And you”—she leveled a finger at the two visiting jarls—“should be feasting! We are to celebrate our alliance and our great futures together. Bring in food! Mead! Music!”
Everyone fell to their orders, and I muttered to Bjorn, “Get what we need to ride to Selvegr tonight and meet me in my room.”
Snorri approached and handed me a cup filled with ground mushroom. “Drink deeply,” he said. “I look forward to learning what the gods wish to show you in your visions.”
“As do I.” I nodded at him, then rushed to the stairs, climbing to the second level where my room was located. Entering, I set the cup on a table and immediately began gathering what I’d need to ride through the night. My father’s sword and a seax. A shield. A cloak with a deep hood to hide my face.
The door opened and shut, and I turned to find Bjorn with a sack of provisions. I said to him, “Ylva desires the same truths as I do. She will hide our absence so that we might seek them out from my mother.”
“This is disappointing news,” he said. “I had hoped you’d arranged for us to spend a night and a day eating our fill while our minds raced through the clouds on mushroom-induced visions. Not riding through the night to see your mother.”
I rolled my eyes, then set the bolt on the door before going to the window, hearing drums take up a rhythm in the hall below. “We’ll need horses.”
“Already outside the wall,” he answered, and when I looked at him askance, Bjorn only winked and said, “I assume you’ve no trouble taking to the rooftops?”
* * *
—
We rode through the night, following the river down to the coast, then riding the road leading round to the next fjord over, on which Selvegr was located. It was midmorning by the time I trotted my horse up the familiar path to my family’s farm, dismounting in front of our home. Chickens pecked in the dirt and two new goats grazed at blades of grass around a fence post. The garden boasted an abundance of spring green, and in the distance the cleared field held a crop already high for this time of year, the earth yielding well.
The door opened, but rather than my mother stepping outside, it was an unfamiliar man. Perhaps Snorri’s age, he was stout about the middle, and had a long gray beard decorated with silver rings. He held an axe in one hand with the comfort of one who’d used it as a weapon many times before, and my hand moved to my own weapon on instinct.
“Who are you?” I demanded. “Where is my mother?”
“You must be Freya,” he answered, then jerked his chin toward Bjorn. “Good day to you, Bjorn.”
“Birger.” Bjorn had dismounted as well, leading his horse up to stand next to me. “Snorri has given Freya leave to visit her mother. Is she here or should we seek her out in the village?”
“Kelda’s abed,” Birger answered. “Unwell, but on the mend.”
“Leaving you to play at farming, then?” Bjorn laughed. “You’re a bit heavy-handed for collecting chicken eggs.”
This was the man Snorri had sent to watch over my mother against my good behavior, which meant he probably was the one who would hurt her if Snorri gave the orders. My hands fisted, but it was my tongue that readied a lashing. For while I’d known someone was here, it was different actually seeing him. Different knowing that he was living inside my mother’s house. “What’s wrong with her? If you hurt her, you stuffed piece of weasel shit, I’ll—”
“Silence that viper tongue of yours, Freya, or I’ll scrub it with soap!” My mother appeared from behind Birger, adjusting a fur-trimmed shawl I didn’t recognize over her shoulders before stepping out, her cane thudding against the ground. “I had a flux, but it’s passed. Mercy that Birger was here to mind the animals, what with you wed off and your brother gone to serve in your husband’s war band, Ingrid with him. I’ve been all alone.”
Guilt filled my core, for while I’d considered the danger my mother was in, I’d not considered the practical difficulties caused by my absence.
“So thoughtful of your husband to send someone to care for me,” she continued, taking my hand as she looked me over. I did the same, noting the new dress and boots, as well as a thick silver bracelet around her wrist.
“Seems you got what you wanted, love,” she finally said. “A true warrior now, just like your brother.”
Bjorn snorted and I shot a glare over my shoulder before turning back to my mother. “Are you well enough to walk with me?” The questions I wished to ask were personal, and I didn’t need Birger listening over my shoulder.
“Of course, love. Birger, those goats aren’t going to milk themselves. And mind you climb the roof sometime today to find that leak, else it will be you sleeping beneath the drips.”
Birger’s mouth opened and shut as he looked between me and my mother, knowing full well he wasn’t supposed to give me the chance to take her and run. “I’ll escort them,” Bjorn said. “You get to your chores.”