Page 3 of A Curse Carved in Bone
Kneeling, I took a handful of the gritty sand and squeezed it tight, relishing the feel of Nordeland even as I cursed fate for bringing me back here.
“Fate holds no claim on you, Bjorn,” Harald said as he walked past me up the beach, seeming, as he often did, to know my thoughts. “You are unfated, which means you chose this path, even if you did not know where it would lead.”
I’d never cared to dwell on the power of the Unfated to change the future, because it couldn’t be proven. There was no way to knowwhether a choice had twisted the threads the Norns had woven into another pattern or whether I’d done exactly as they predicted. Everything I’d done in recent days had been with the aim of freeing Freya from those who’d kill her or use her to further their own ambitions, yet all I’d accomplished was moving her control from one king to another. “We are here because of you, Father.”
He only gave me a knowing look and continued up the beach toward the trees.
Knowing,because there was no denying that once my plans to spirit Freya away had been dashed, once she’d learned about my treachery, I’d hoped the truth would cause her to forgive my lies. The hope that the tantalizing glimpse of a future I’d so desperately wanted could be mine again once she understood why I’d done what I had done. The hopes of a man with weasel shit for brains, because notruthwould temper the seething rage that burned in my Freya’s heart.
Not yours anymore,logic whispered even as my greedy heart screamed that she’d be mine until the end of days.
Casting aside my handful of sand, I stood and followed Harald into the trees. The air was colder than it had been in Skaland, the stink of rotting seaweed mixing with the crisp scent of pine, the mossy ground spongy beneath my boots. Wind shook the boughs of the trees, the woods alive with birdsong and the scamper of small creatures. A wild place. For though the summers were mild enough, few had the mettle to survive the cruelty of Nordeland’s winters.
The man who had been a father to me most of my life found a rock to his liking and sat down. Pulling off his boots, Harald shook sand from them and then tossed them aside. As I silently watched, he removed his tunic and wrung seawater from the sodden cloth, his pale skin faintly blue from the cold. Leaner than I remembered, signs of age showing in the wrinkles next to his eyes and the strands of gray in his golden-brown hair. Just a man, though there were times I’d forgotten that during my time in Skaland, as Snorri had ever painted him as a creature capable of preternatural villainy.
In Nordeland, Harald was a savior. A liberator and a champion of the weak. I’d seen with my own eyes his good deeds. Owed him my life, as did so many of those who served him. Yet he was no more a hero than he was a villain. Only a man, and no man’s choices were wholly altruistic, least of all one who had clawed his way up from a small jarldom to become king.
“You sound like a Skalander again.” Harald sighed and twisted the fabric of his tunic again, drops of water falling to the moss. “It reminds me of when Saga first fled to Nordeland with you delirious from the pain of the burns. Just a boy and yet you never wept, only vowed vengeance upon Snorri for what he had done. You and I would have crossed the strait together and put Snorri in his grave if not for your mother holding us back. I wanted Snorri dead more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and yet Saga pleaded that I stay my hand. I have ever been a slave to her wishes but now I wish I’d held firm.”
“I remember.” I heard Skaland in my voice but was unable to slip the accent without concerted effort. I’d adopted it to try to blend in better in Halsar, to encourage the Skalanders to forget that I’d been gone for so many years, but it hadn’t worked. Always an outsider. Always a Nordelander.
Most especially in my heart.
Donning his damp garment, Harald finally looked at me. The weight of his attention was as heavy as it had always been. “Now that we are finally alone, do you care to tell me why?”
Why.
A question that needed no clarification, and I exhaled a long breath before I said, “Does it matter?”
Harald toyed with the gold ring that bound his beard, then shook his head. “Does it matter? Of course it matters why you chose to destroy plans a lifetime in the making. All that I have done was at your mother’s bidding, atyourbidding, and yet you seem content to spit in my face for doing exactly as you wished. These were your plans, Bjorn, not mine, and yet you treat me as your enemy.”
“You aren’t my enemy, Father. But things change.”
“Oh yes.Things.” Harald made a face. “Things such as the shield maiden turning out to be a woman of unparalleled beauty? It is much easier to kill the ugly ones, isn’t it? If Freya had been possessed of a face like a horse’s arse, I’ve no doubt you would have done your mother’s bidding without hesitation, but here we are. Snorri alive. Freya alive. The threat against Nordeland is as much a reality as it was before because our fates are unchanged. All because of a pretty face.”
“Her looks had nothing to do with it.” A lie because I remembered the first time I’d set eyes upon Freya. How the sunlight had illuminated the anger on her face as she’d rescued fish after fish from Vragi’s fit of temper, every part of her screaming defiance. Beautiful, yes, but it had been her ferocity that had drawn me across the fjord to speak to her. Dressed in a homespun dress with no weapon but her words, she’d been fiercer than any warrior I’d ever met on the battlefield. “Killing her felt wrong,” I muttered, not able to put my reasons into words that wouldn’t invite his mockery. “Why should she die for Snorri’s crimes?”
“Because your mother said it was the only way to save thousands of lives,” Harald answered. “Though she did not understand what made Freya so dangerous, Saga knew Freya had the power to bring destruction down upon both Nordeland and Skaland. Snorri is the villain, but the shield maiden is his weapon, and killing her would castrate his ability to do any real damage. Saga set you upon this task because you, unfated as you are, had the ability to change the future the Allfather had shown her. Yet when given the opportunity, you balked. Becauseit felt wrong.” His lip curled in disgust. “Or perhaps it was because your cock was doing the thinking rather than your head.”
“My mother agreed that the plan needed to change,” I retorted. “When I spoke to her at Fjalltindr, she agreed that Freya might walk a different path if we liberated her from Snorri. She is not so bloodthirsty as to wish death upon an innocent woman when another solution is obvious.”
Harald sighed. “Saga did not agree with you, Bjorn, she merely understood that you were enamored with Freya and would not beconvinced to harm her. She asked me to do it for you, but it was the plea of a mother, not the strategy of a seer. I am but a mortal man, and I hold not the power to change the future set by the Norns, which meant I was destined to fail.”
He cast a sidelong glare at me that suggested he knew my role in stymieing the attempt. Unbidden, the vision of Freya bare to the waist filled my mind’s eye, her head crowned by antlers and tilted back as I tasted her for the first time. I blinked, vanquishing the vision because the same threat I had protected her from then was a threat now. “Does my mother still wish Freya dead, then? Does she still believe that is the only way to change the future?” Because the last thing I wished to do was bring Freya deeper into Nordeland if my mother was actively seeking her death.
For the thousandth time in my life, I silently screamed,Why can’t I just kill Snorri and be done withit?
Silently, because my mother had long been adamant that killing Snorri was not an option, refusing to hear any argument to the contrary.
“I don’t know what Saga now thinks on the matter or if the Allfather has given her more visions of the future.” Harald rested his elbows on his knees. “I’ve not seen her in long weeks, for she returned to her cabin after we left Fjalltindr. Being around so many souls exhausted her.”
No surprise, for my mother had always been desperate for isolation, the weight of seeing what were often tragic futures more than her heart could bear. I’d nearly fallen over from shock when I’d first seen her at Fjalltindr, but it hadn’t stopped me from sneaking away later to seek her counsel.
Through the trees, I caught sight of men rushing down the beach. They bore shields painted with the blue stripes of Nordeland, along with their jarl’s symbol. Warriors from Harald’s fleet who’d reached the coast before us. Which meant this brief moment to discover my father’s plans without others listening in was coming to a close.
“What do you intend for Freya?” A blunt question that needed ananswer. Harald had sought Freya’s death for a long time, yet that had changed when he’d seen her use of Hel’s magic. There had been no missing the delight in his gaze upon learning what she could do. I suspected his hope was for her to join his cabal of Unfated that he used to defend Nordeland’s shores. He’d not cast aside a weapon as sharp as Freya unless he had no other choice.
Or unless my mother bid him to do so, which was very much a risk.
