Page 44 of A Curse Carved in Bone
My jaw clenched, anger burning in my chest. “Do you truly believe I’m that selfish?”
“I know you love her and will do anything to get her back.” She looked away. “It is not lost on me how you prioritized your own desiresover her well-being while you were in Skaland. Freya is young and has been conditioned all her life to give the men around her what they want, and you took advantage of that.”
Her words were a punch to the stomach, driving the air from my lungs. “I…”
“Banish that word from your lips.” Her eyes shot to mine, green irises bright with anger. “And replace it with Freya’s name. If you truly love her, then you will do what is right for her, even if it costs you what you want.”
“I am trying to do what is right for her!” Yet doubt crept into my mind, despite my protests. “There is a simple solution, Mother. I’ll kill Snorri. I should’ve fucking killed him half a lifetime ago, but you wouldn’t let me. You were so set on your own vengeance and needing to deny him Valhalla that you never stopped to question whether it wasyouractions that secured Freya’s dark fate. So do not speak to me of selfishness.”
Her expression was unmoved. “Selfishness must be in the blood.” Her face tilted. “Doubt my judgment all you wish, Bjorn. But remember the Allfather did not reveal to me Bjorn Firehand cutting his thread free of the false king’s control to weave a new destiny. He showed me Freya.”
Then she twisted on her heel and strode toward the cabin.
Turning my face to the sky, I fought for calm. Fought to reclaim logic and reason. All my life, I’d been driven by prophecy and destiny and fate, accepting the Allfather’s guidance given through my mother’s lips without question.
But I questioned it now.
Questioned why the woman I loved more than life needed to embrace the darkest parts of her soul to achieve a brighter future. Why I had to be the one to order her to do it. Why the weave of fate seemed like a cruel trick played upon the living, no one ever coming out victorious because this life always ended in death.
But I’d sworn to be at her back until the gates of Valhalla, and not even doubt in the Allfather himself was enough for me to break that vow.
The speed at which we traveled did not allow for conversation, our attention all for keeping our horses upright on the rough trail while the wolves raced through the trees on either side. Though the weight of too much wine and too little sleep should have rendered me exhausted, I practically trembled with anticipation.
I’d traveled to see Saga in the hope of finding answers, and though there had been dark moments when it had felt like a fool’s hope, I now had what I’d come for.
I had a goal. Something I could relentlessly drive toward knowing I was on the correct course. It gave me a sense of validation for the uncertainty I’d felt about fleeing with Bjorn. Because I felt no uncertainty now.
We stopped long after the sun had set to rest the horses and eat. While our dinner cooked, I warmed my hands over the fire and stared at Bjorn’s axe beneath the pile of smoldering wood. Waited for him to start arguing against my plan, all my counterarguments ready to deploy. Yet he was silent and entirely focused on digging through his bag, perhaps because he had the wisdom to realize that my arguments were the strongest.
Extracting his hand from the bag, he reached over the fire and handed me a jar.
I opened it and inhaled a familiar scent.
“I made it while you two were drinking Harald’s wine. The herbs I found were old, for it seems my mother has been lax in her gathering, but it’s better than lanolin. You smelled like a sheep. That’s probably why the wolves are so taken with following you about.”
I rolled my eyes, but there was no denying that the heady scent of cloves was much superior to the salve Harald’s servants provided me. Yet the smell reminded me of past moments. There was a part of me that desperately wanted Bjorn to take care of my scars so that I could feel his skin against mine. Feel the strength of his fingers working the tension out of the old injury. Yet even though wine cast a haze over my memories of last night, I still felt the flush of shame at his rejection. Especially given that he’d been in the right.
My anger toward Bjorn was fading, but all of my distrust remained. Maybe that did make me selfish and childish, but after a lifetime of being used by men, I was not sure I had any forgiveness left in my heart for the choices they made that harmed me. To be with someone I couldn’t forgive would be like living with a curse hanging over my head, constantly reminding me of past transgressions and never giving me any peace. Perhaps my destiny was to be alone. To be my own rock in the storm. To take care of myself until the end of my days.
Digging out a glob of the salve, I set to working on my own scars. The relief to my stiffness was almost instantaneous, and yet I kept rubbing at my skin until the friction created a different sort of pain. “I was expecting an argument. For you to tell me what a foolish plan this is and that it is destined to fail.”
“It’s not a foolish plan.” His axe disappeared from beneath the firewood, and the forest grew darker with only natural fire to illuminate our surroundings. “It is a dangerous plan.”
“It’s only dangerous if you refuse to help.”
Bjorn rested his elbows on his knees. “Taking your leash from Snorrionly to hold it myself sits poorly with me. I don’t want…” He broke off and shook his head.
“It’s out of necessity,” I said. “Surely you see that?”
“Necessity according to whom?”
I stared at him. “According to the Allfather. You…you aren’t questioning his wisdom, are you?”
“When my mother spoke of the vision he showed her, no mention was made of me. This is a solution that you and my mother have come up with, so yes, I do question whether it isnecessity.”
Closing the jar of salve, I set it aside. “Offer an alternative, then.”
“Maybe you are more capable of resisting Snorri’s orders than you realize. When Harald brought his army to Grindill, you refused the order to fight. I heard you with my own ears.”
