“Return to the drakkar,” Skade ordered, and she and her men disappeared over the rise, footfalls fading and leaving behind only the wind in the trees and my muffled sobs.
“They’re gone,” Bjorn said, and I pulled from his arms. Abandoning shield and sword, I raced to my mother. My foot caught on a rock, and I tripped, sprawling on the ground. Sobbing, I crawled onward, reaching her.
She was still breathing.
Gasping, I pressed my hands to the wound in her chest, bending over her. My mother’s eyes latched onto me. “Freya?”
“I’m here.” Blood flowed around my fingers, soaked the front of her new dress, her cane lying next to her in the grass. “I’m so sorry. That this happened. For the things I said.”
But the light was fading from her eyes, her chest stilling beneath my hands. “No!” I screamed. “This wasn’t supposed to happen!”
Bjorn was behind me then, pulling me into his arms. “I’m sorry, Freya,” he said, and I buried my face in his neck, the force of my sobs making my body ache.
“The things I said to her.” I sucked in a mouthful of air, trying to get enough breath. “I didn’t mean them. I didn’t. She died thinking that I didn’t love her.”
“To nearly her dying breath, she betrayed her own daughter,” he said. “She earned her fate.”
“Just because she was a coward doesn’t mean she deserved to be murdered!” My fingers dug into his arms, hard enough that it would leave marks, but I didn’t care. “I brought this fate upon her. I chose to come here. My decisions led to her death. Everything I do, it always means death.”
“This is why you need to go,” he said, breath warm against my ear. “Not because you are a bringer of death but because those who are seek to use you to achieve their ends.”
Like Ylva.
“I’m going to kill her,” I hissed, my grief turning to rage. “I’m going to fucking kill that traitorous bitch.”
“You have no proof it was Ylva.”
“My proof is that it could be no one else! Ylva was at Fjalltindr. She witnessed Snorri declaring his intention to take Grindill. Has the skills to use rune magic. Was the only one who knew where we were going.”
“None of which is proof! If you kill her on speculation and hearsay, my father will punish you,” Bjorn retorted. “Regardless of what she did or did not do, killing Ylva changes nothing. What you need to do is run, Freya. To get yourself out of this mess before you lose any more of yourself!”
“And lose the chance to avenge my mother?” I pulled away from him. “Not just on Ylva, but on Skade? On Harald himself? You more than anyone should understand that the need for vengeance is worth any sacrifice.”
“It’s different.” He caught hold of my arms again. “I know exactly who came into my mother’s cabin that night with murder in his heart. Saw it with my own eyes. And still, I will give it up for your sake.”
He’s not going to let you go back, my rage whispered. He’s going to deny you your vengeance.
“Just as I know exactly who knew we were coming here.” I stared into his green eyes, and he recoiled at whatever he saw in mine. “It can be no one but Ylva. Why won’t you believe me? Why are you protecting her?”
“I’m protecting you!” His fingers tightened. “I’m not letting you do this. Not while you’re consumed by this…this rage. You need to be yourself to make this decision.”
“I am myself.”
“Your eyes are red again! Your rage is controlling you!”
You’re going to have to elude him, the voice whispered. Be clever.
“Fine,” I said. “Let us see to my mother and when I’ve calmed down to your satisfaction, I’ll prove to you my choice is the same.”
There was unease in Bjorn’s expression, but he nodded. On my directions, he carried my mother’s body inside the home my father had built and put her on the bed where my life’s story had begun, then muttered, “I’ll retrieve the horses.”
I stared at my mother’s body. There were things that needed to be said. Words that needed to be spoken from deep in my heart, but my fury refused to allow them to my lips. Everything seemed tinged with red, a pulse throbbing in my temples that whispered only vengeance. My focus sharpened as I heard hooves against the ground when Bjorn returned, and I abandoned the home to go outside.
Taking my mare’s reins from him, I said, “Please burn it.”
Bjorn didn’t answer, only handed the reins of his own horse to me before muttering Tyr’s name, his axe blazing bright. My mare recoiled, and I allowed the animal to draw me back several paces, Bjorn’s horse following.
You’ll need to be quick.
My heart pounded, sweat slicking my palms as I fastened my shield to my saddle and flipped the reins over my horse’s head. Bjorn cast a glance at me, and I nodded, waiting until he pressed his axe to the side of the house, the wood instantly blackening.
I flung myself into the saddle and dug in my heels.
Bjorn’s gelding snorted as I hauled on its reins, dragging it along with me.
“Freya!”
My anger faltered at Bjorn’s shout, but the dark voice whispered, He’ll stop you if given the chance. The voice was right. I kicked my horse into a gallop, leading his horse away from my family’s farm.
I didn’t allow myself to look back.
I abandoned Bjorn’s mount just past Selvegr, for the gelding kept trying to bite me, and I knew that I had all the head start I needed.
Then I rode my mare as hard as my anger rode me.
Visions of how the confrontation would play out repeated through my head. Of the things I’d say to the lady of Halsar. Of the ways I could kill her. Of the curses I might spit upon her when the deed was done.
A part of me, deep down, knew this wasn’t right. Knew that I was allowing the darker half of me to have the sort of control that I might one day come to regret, but it was better than the alternative. Better than remembering the last things I’d said to my mother. Better than watching Skade’s arrow punch through her chest. Far better than watching the light go out of her eyes and knowing that it was because of me.
The trail reached the end of the fjord, the northern strait stretching out before me, the water steely blue and covered by whitecaps. I searched for signs of Skade’s blue-striped sails but saw nothing other than small fishing vessels on the water as I cut down the coast. Waves crashed against the rocky beach, gulls shrieking overhead as they dived and fought over scraps flung onto the rocks by the water.
I made better time than Bjorn and I had in the darkness coming here, but my mare was still laboring hard by the time I reached the inlet into which the river Torne flowed, the town bearing the same name on the northern banks. The gates were open, and I trotted my mare inside, heading toward the stable. “I need to trade for a fresh horse,” I said to the man cleaning out a stall.
He eyed my winded animal and, knowing that I didn’t have much time before Bjorn caught up to me, I dug a piece of silver out of my pocket and held it up. “Now.”
The man moved swiftly to retrieve a tall gelding, and I dismounted, leaving him to swap the tack from one horse to the other. I dimly watched the people of the town going about their business. Women bargaining in the market. Men loitering in front of the mead hall, cups in hand. Children chasing chickens and goats through the muddy streets. This town supplied Grindill, was vitally connected to it, yet if the battle and change of rule had made an impact on this place, I couldn’t see it. Life went on, their cares for putting food on the table and shelter over their children’s heads, not for which lord claimed what title in the fortress on the hill.
“I’ll take that silver,” the man said, snapping me from my thoughts, and I handed the coin over before mounting the gelding.