Page 39 of A Curse Carved in Bone
“And not just the lives of others! Your stubbornness causes you to risk your own chance at happiness, and for what? What do you gain by digging in your heels and refusing to forgive?” Not giving me a chance to argue, Saga said, “You have the opportunity to travel somewhere warm and wed a man who loves you so much, he’d risk everything for you. To have beautiful babies and never again know the touch of violence. This life could be yours, and though you sit in silence, it is as though you scream in my face, ‘I refuse to forgive him for not being perfect.’ ”
My eyes welled and I blinked rapidly to keep tears from falling. Said like that, all my actions seemed so terribly foolish. The actions of a girl, not a woman grown. I hunted for my anger, for my reasons for refusing to forgive, but all I felt were embarrassment and shame. “He should have waited until I knew the full truth before allowing us to be intimate.”
“Was it Bjorn who pushed you for intimacy, Freya?” Saga asked. “Or was it you who pushed him?”
My whole body was burning, although my hands still felt like ice as my mind replayed all those moments when I’d sought his touch. “Me.”
“He’s but a young man,” Saga said. “Hot-blooded and in his prime of life, and you are a beautiful woman. There was no hope of him resisting what you offered, so is it fair to blame him? He was only giving you what you wanted.”
It was all I could do not to cry, I felt like such a fool. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“Oh, sweet girl, do not weep.” Saga abandoned her cup and came to my side, pulling me against her. “It is a mistake of youth and inexperience to base your decisions on the emotions in your heart. All you cando is learn from your errors and press forward in such a manner that you do not make the same mistakes again. Let us abandon this topic for now. You’ve much to think on and you need to let it sit in your mind before making any decisions. You have time, sweet Freya, for you are safe here in the wilds.”
Breathe,I silently whispered.Just breathe until you find composure.
Except every breath felt too short, as though no air reached my lungs. Saga was right to chastise me. All the nasty things I’d said and done to Bjorn repeated in my head. Yet despite all of that, he was here at my side. I did not deserve his loyalty.
“You already have his forgiveness,” Saga murmured, filling my cup again. “You never needed it, because he is consumed by guilt at having wronged you. Let this strife between you two go. You are both unfated, and together, I have faith that the Norns will bend and the future will be yours to choose.”
Blinking, I drank again. “Thank you for your wisdom, Saga.”
“I am not always so wise,” she said with a shrug. “And my calm temper has come with age. Let me tell you the story of the first time I learned that Harald was sleeping with other women back in Nordeland.”
It was a relief to set aside my own failings and listen to Saga regale me with stories of her youth, including an instance where she chased Harald while throwing eggs at the back of his head. Story after story, until I was so deep in my cups I could barely sit straight on my stool and my whole body ached from too much laughter.
“I must find my bed,” Saga finally declared. “For I will surely regret my indulgence come morning.”
Arm in arm with our dresses held against our chests, we staggered through the ankle-deep snow back to the cabin where Bjorn sat out front.
“Are you both drunk?” he demanded. “You are supposed to be here for wisdom, Freya, and you, Mother, to impart it, and this is how you behave?”
“There is much truth to be found in wine,” Saga snickered, then stumbled over the threshold, weaving her way to her bed. Flopping onto a pile of furs, she pulled one over the top of her. “Sleep where you will,” she slurred. “I have no more wisdom left in me tonight.”
Bjorn had set out my bedroll and pack, and I extracted a nightdress and pulled it over my head. My eyes kept going to the door, waiting for Bjorn to come inside, but the latch never stirred.
Saga was snoring softly now, and in the absence of her stories, the more serious aspects of our conversation moved back to fill my head. Most especially my growing sense that I was in the wrong for being angry with Bjorn and that I needed to make things right. I silently rehearsed an apology over and over as I waited for him to return, but he never came. So I picked up a lamp and stepped outside, marking his larger tracks heading to the sauna we’d just abandoned, his clothing hanging on a hook outside.
“Go to bed, Freya,” I muttered. “You are drunk.”
But notthatdrunk.
And if I didn’t get my apology out of my mouth tonight, I feared that with morning and sobriety, I’d lose my nerve.
Not allowing logic any more chance to talk me out of it, I scampered barefoot through the snow. I flung open the door, stumbled inside, then slammed it behindme.
Bjorn sat on the stool I’d vacated, shoulders resting against the wall, the heavy steam not enough to conceal his nakedness. My heart skipped as I took in the hard lines of his body, the tattoos and scars I had traced my fingers over what now felt like a lifetime ago.
“Forget your cup?” He nudged the cup I’d used earlier, which lay on its side against the wall.
“No. I want to talk to you.”
“It can’t wait until morning?”
I shook my head. “Your mother told me everything.”
“Wonderful.” Bjorn shifted his weight on the stool, the tattoos on his body seeming to move in the steamy light. “Unfortunately, you areso drunk that you’ll likely have forgotten half of it come morning and still won’t believe anything that comes from my lips.”
“Maybe. But right now, I have been made to understand why you lied to me. That you had no choice.”
