Filed to story: A Fate Inked In Blood Free
I waited for the jab to land, wanting the petty satisfaction of seeing her embarrassment, but the woman’s dark eyes only met mine with a smile. “Or he’s that good in bed.”
All the other women laughed, and despite knowing the comment was foolish, it was me who flushed. Me who fell silent as they drew me from the bath and set to combing out the long lengths of my hair, trimming the ends so that bits of white gold covered the floor.
I gritted my teeth as the servant woman began to braid, my hair drawn so tight that my head ached. Taking a deep breath, I tried to turn my mind back to more pressing issues. But instead it lingered on Bjorn.
More heat rose to my cheeks as I remembered the things I’d said to him with Liv present, comparing him to the god of beauty like a girl who hadn’t had her first bleed, despite being a grown woman who’d endured a year of marriage. Visions of my behavior replayed through my mind, my horror growing with each passing moment. Bad enough that we’d had our flirtation on the beach. At least then we’d had no notion of each other’s identity, but then I’d gone on to all but declare my lust for him in front of Liv, fully aware that I was intended to wed his father. It was no wonder he’d been mortified. While it was tempting to blame Liv’s narcotics for my behavior, all they’d done was loosen my tongue of the truth.
When I closed my eyes, the vision of him coming out of the water filled my mind’s eye, all tattooed skin and muscle, not a spare ounce of flesh on him. Every bit a warrior, and that face…Mortals shouldn’t be allowed such beauty for it made fools of everyone else, his silver tongue making it all the worse because even if he’d been ugly as a pig’s arse, Bjorn was bloody charming. Yes, he’d very nearly killed me when we’d been forced to fight, but given that I’d been equally willing to put a sword through his heart, it seemed petty to hold it against him.
Stop it, Freya, I chided myself. Think about something else. Think of worms or night soil, or better yet, the fact you’re apparently destined to unite Skaland as his father’s wife. Think of anything but Bjorn.
I might as well have told myself to flap my arms and fly for all the good my admonitions did. Bjorn’s face, his body, and the ghostly echoes of his touch tormented my thoughts as the servants finished my braids and painted my eyes with kohl, the fantasies only vanquished when they brought me the dress I was to wear. Finer than anything I’d ever seen, the dress was thin white wool, the shoes butter-soft leather, and the jewelry…Not in all my life had I dreamed of wearing such wealth, my throat and wrists wrapped with silver and gold, one of the women pushing needles through my earlobes so that I might wear the heavy earrings.
Then Ylva appeared carrying a bridal crown.
It was made of twisted wires of gold and silver strung with pieces of polished amber the same color as my eyes. Ylva herself fastened it to my braids with endless tiny pins. She turned me to face a round piece of polished metal so that I might see my appearance, the servants all smiling and laughing, pleased with their efforts.
“Finally,” Ylva breathed. “Finally, you look like a child of the gods.”
I stared at my reflection, feeling as though I stared into the eyes of a stranger.
Ylva placed a mantle of gleaming white fur over my shoulders, my braids almost indistinguishable in color as she smoothed them over the expensive pelt. “Snorri will be pleased.” Then she snapped her fingers. “Gloves. She must be perfection.”
All eyes immediately moved to my right hand, and I fought the urge to hide my scarred fingers in the pocket of my dress, not sure what was worse, disgust or pity-only that I hated both. So I voiced no argument when one of them handed me a pair of white wool gloves, feeling no sensation in my right palm as I pulled them on.
Numb.
The crack Geir’s leg had made when Snorri had broken it filled my head and I flinched, because I knew so much worse could be done.
I needed to be numb. To do what needed to be done, to say the things that needed to be said, and to be what these people wanted me to be, because those I loved most depended on my compliance.
And I refused to fail them, no matter how much it cost me.
It was snowing.
That was the first thing that struck me as I stepped out of the great hall. Snow in springtime was far from rare, but I couldn’t help but feel that the gray sky and flat light were fitting for the day. Fat flakes of white spiraled down, the narrow paths leading between homes thick with mud and slush, forcing me to hold my skirts up lest I arrive at the ceremony looking like I’d been wallowing with the pigs.
The people of Halsar came out of their homes to watch me pass, the expressions of those who met my gaze cold despite the fact all would be feasted tonight by their lord. “Your people do not seem to favor this marriage,” I said softly to Ylva, who walked at my left, her mouth drawn in an unsmiling line.
“Because they do not know the power you bring,” she said. “They see only an insult to their beloved lady of Halsar.”
I’d have rolled my eyes at her ego except that while the people scowled at me, they smiled at Ylva, touching her as she passed and offering her praise for her strength. I wanted to snarl at them that it was their jarl who had made this choice, therefore it was their jarl who deserved their ire, but it would be a waste of breath. They wanted to blame me.
“Freya!” A familiar voice reached me, and I turned my head to find Ingrid standing between two buildings, a sword clutched in her hands. Her brown hair was sodden, her freckled face pink from the cold as she stepped toward me. For a heartbeat, I was certain that she’d come to tell me not to do it. To tell me that she and Geir would accept the permanent loss of his place in Snorri’s war band if it meant sparing me this union. To tell me-
The thought vanished as a pair of warriors drew their weapons and leapt between Ingrid and me.
“Stop,” I shouted, trying to intervene, but another warrior caught hold of my arm. “She’s my friend!”
“You cannot know that for certain,” Ylva snapped. “Now that your identity is known, friends may become enemies to achieve their own ends.”
I was tempted to snap back that she needed to be more selective in her friendships, but one of the men had Ingrid by the arm, the other right up in her face. Twisting, I kicked the man holding me in the knee, ignoring his shouts as I stormed toward my friend, mud splattering the skirt I’d tried so hard to keep clean. “Let her go! Now!”
The men made no move to unhand Ingrid. I wasn’t certain if it was because they didn’t recognize my authority or if they believed that Ingrid, who was timid as a mouse and could barely wield a cooking knife without cutting herself, was truly a threat.
“Let the woman go.”
I tensed at Bjorn’s voice, for I’d not realized he’d been part of the procession. Though I was glad he was when the warrior holding Ingrid immediately complied with his order.
“It is not your place to involve yourself, Bjorn,” Ylva snapped. “Already Freya has been injured while in your care.”
Leaning against a wall, Bjorn disregarded the comment and said, “If Freya says this woman is a friend, then you should believe her, Ylva. Or do you not trust the woman you’re about to share your husband with?”
Ylva’s face purpled. “She’s naive. She-“
“Is a widowed woman, not a child, so you should not treat her as one.” Bjorn lifted one shoulder. “Though…she is about to wed a man old enough to be her father, so perhaps it is fair.”
“Bjorn, you need-“
Ignoring Ylva, he turned to Ingrid. “What’s your name?”
“Ingrid.” My friend looked ready to piss herself from fear, and I hated that. Hated that she’d come all this way to speak to me, only to be treated in such a manner.