Page 57 of A Curse Carved in Bone
“Freya?” His voice was hoarse.
“It’s me.”
In a heartbeat, Bjorn had his arms around me and pulled me close.
His hands found my bound wrists, untying the ropes. “Are you hurt?”
My gut twisted with unspent adrenaline over how close Snorri had come to taking me back. At how close I’d come to calling Hel’s name. “No.”
It felt like a lie.
I buried my face in his throat, my hands clutching at his clothes before finding the bare skin of his arms. It was hot against my chilled palms and I clung to the hard curve of his biceps, unwilling to put to words how close I’d come to breaking my promise to myself.
“The attack was a ruse to take you.” One of his hands moved up my back to tangle in my hair. “If they’d managed to get you to him, then he’d—” Bjorn’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Born-in-Fire.”
His apology felt like a weight around my neck, pulling me down and down, because it spoke of the places we’d have to go to see this through. Of the things we’d have to do. And I could not help but wonder what both of us would be like on the other side ofit.
Skade burst into the clearing, her bow casting eerie light over the forest floor. Harald appeared a heartbeat later, breathing hard. “Freya? Is she hurt?”
“I’m fine.” I pulled out of Bjorn’s arms and got to my feet, hoping they couldn’t see the shake in my knees. “That one tricked me.” I gestured to the man whose skull was split in half. “Put something in the water I drank that caused me to lose consciousness. I didn’t rouse until we were well away from Hrafnheim. They said…” My voice turned gravelly and I swallowed hard, remembering the specter’s face but not sure if it had been a dream or reality. “They said I was to be returned to my king. I didn’t recognize any of their faces.”
“Did they say if Snorri is already in Nordeland?” Harald demanded.
I shook my head. “But they called me a traitor to Skaland.”
“Then it’s only a matter of time.” Harald kicked a rock, cursing. “Skade, do you recognize any of their faces?”
“What faces?” The huntress’s tone was sour. “This one is split in twoand this one is so much meat. Those two,” she gestured in the distance where the sound of rending flesh was audible, “are in the stomach of your pets.”
Bjorn stood, wiping at his face with the back of his hand and leaving behind smears of blood. “His inkwork is Skalander.” Reaching down, he lifted the arm of the man who’d tricked me and then held it against his own tattooed arm for comparison. “You can see it in the knotwork patterns.”
I agreed, but again my eyes were drawn to the tattoos of Fenrir, something about them familiar. As Hati approached and began licking blood off my hand, I said, “I feel as though I’ve seen them before.”
“You likely have.” Skade spat on the dead man. “Men always choose the same things. Bjorn likely has Fenrir inked on his arse and that’s where you saw it.”
My jaw tightened.
“You are only jealous,” Bjorn said, wiping his face again, though there’d be no ridding himself of the blood without water. “I recall very clearly how you fainted when the artist got out his needles, your skin cursed to remain as interesting as spilled cow’s milk, Skade.”
She glared at him, the golden light of her bow reflecting in her eyes.
“What they said to Freya is proof enough that they fight beneath Snorri’s banners,” Harald said. “He knows she is here, and it won’t be long until he learns that the kidnapping attempt failed. Snorri is no fool. He won’t try to use the same ruse twice, so I expect next time, he’ll come in force. Guthrum and Kaja should bring news soon, but I don’t think it will be long until Skaland sails across the strait.”
His eyes locked with mine, waiting. Giving me control of everything, risking everything, all on the belief that I could be a savior rather than a plague.
I gripped fistfuls of my skirt. “I’m tired of waiting for the axe blade to fall. At dawn, we sail down the Rimstrom and bring the fight to him. It’s time to send Snorri to Hel.”
The balance of the night was consumed with preparations made all the more frantic by the arrival of Kaja. Clutched in her claws was a red glass bead, and at the sight of it, Harald sat down heavily upon a bench.
“What does it mean?” I asked, though in my heart, I already knew. What opportunity we might have had to sneak across the strait and quietly cut Snorri’s thread had come to an end.
War was here.
Which Bjorn confirmed as he picked up the bead. “Skaland’s fleet is gathering. The red bead means an attack is coming.”
I drew in a breath, none of the air seeming to reach my lungs. I’d desperately hoped that we’d be able to enact our primary plan, which had been to sail across the strait in secret and get me close enough to send Snorri to Hel with my magic. To end this with no loss of life. A hollow hope, yet one that I’d clung to all through the night.
“I have no choice but to take his soul on the battlefield.” I stared down at the table full of figurines that outlined the plan Harald and I had devised. “Send word to your jarls, and make ready to sail.”
