Filed to story: A Fate Inked In Blood Free
I frowned, reexamining my poor humor. On the surface, it felt as though I’d made many concessions, but was that truly the case? Though we’d only just met, I’d spent my life sworn to Snorri as the jarl of these lands. The only thing that had changed was that now magic bound me to the oaths I’d inherited from my father. There was little point in dwelling, for the deal was done. Better to dedicate my mind to understanding how I was expected to achieve the results the gods foresaw for me.
How better to learn that than from the individual who had seen my future.
Lifting my head, I scanned the darkness. What were the chances that Snorri didn’t keep the individual who’d spoken his precious prophecy close? I hadn’t seen Odin’s mark, which I knew was a raven, on anyone at the feast, but that didn’t mean the seer wasn’t somewhere in the village. And this might be my only chance to speak with them without someone looming over my shoulder.
Praying that Snorri would take his time with Ylva, I stepped away from the hall. I kept my head low as I strode down the narrow path between buildings. Mud squished beneath my shoes, my nose filling with the smell of dung and fish and woodsmoke, the homes quiet, for nearly everyone was at the great hall celebrating. From time to time, I passed men standing next to small fires, ostensibly on watch duty, but none paid me any mind.
The faint breeze sent wooden wind chimes swaying, the soft clicks welcome after the noise in the hall, and I walked past building after building, searching for the symbols that would mark one as a seer’s abode. I found nothing, eventually reaching the docks stretching out into the black fjord. Walking to the end of them, I paused to take several deep breaths.
I’d never spoken to a seer before. They were either in the service of a jarl or too expensive for any but the most desperate and wealthy to consult, and my mother always said knowing the future was a curse because, good or bad, you couldn’t change it.
Except that I could. The one drop of blood Hlin had gifted me gave me the power to change my fate.
Though how I’d know whether I was succeeding in changing it was a mystery to me.
Without a clear picture of the future, every action that I took might be already woven by the Norns.
Thinking about it made my head hurt. All I wanted was to stand on the docks with the cold air filling my lungs until my mind cleared. Except Snorri and Ylva might have already noticed my absence, and I’d probably pushed them far enough tonight.
One more moment, I told myself. A dozen more breaths.
Then my skin prickled.
Cursing myself for wandering off without even a knife, I spun on my heel, my heart leaping into a gallop at the sight of a shadowy figure a few paces behind me. My lips parted, a scream for help rising, and then I recognized the height and breadth. “Bjorn? What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same thing.” His voice was strange and clipped, and unease filled my chest as I grappled for a lie.
“Ylva was upset. Snorri wished time to make things up to her.”
Bjorn gave a soft snort. “Twice in one night. Didn’t think the old bastard had it in him.”
“What are you doing out here?” I repeated the question, mostly because I wasn’t certain whether I should be worried that he caught me wandering alone.
“Wasn’t in the mood to celebrate.”
He took a step forward and I instinctively took a step back, my heel finding the edge of the dock. “Neither am I.” Hesitating, I added, “This wasn’t where I expected to find myself. Nor the path I’d have chosen, but unfated as everyone says that I am, I still find myself trapped.”
Bjorn went still. “You could run.”
Could I? Could I race away into the night and find myself a simple life that didn’t violate the oaths I’d made? Maybe, but my family would pay the price. “I can’t.”
He huffed out a breath, frustration seeming to ripple out from him. “How did I know you’d say that?”
My unease suddenly turned to trepidation, though I wasn’t entirely certain why. “What difference does it make to you?”
“Every difference.” His hands balled into fists, but then he abruptly went still. “Do you hear that?”
I inhaled and exhaled, listening, then a rhythmic sound filled my ears. It came from the water and grew louder with every passing second.
Oars. The sound was oars moving in their locks, blades splashing into the water.
Not a single set, but many.
Bjorn stepped up next to me, both of us peering out at the water. My skin turning to ice as I spotted the shadow of not one vessel, but the shadows of many.
Raiders.
“Fuck,” Bjorn snarled, then caught hold of my arm, both of us racing down the dock. There wouldn’t be much time, and I prayed that the warriors enjoying my wedding festivities were armed and sober enough to swing a weapon.
I knew raids. Had lived through them. Had lost friends and family to them. They were vicious and bloody, and the victors rarely spared anyone they caught.
And Halsar was far from prepared for an attack.
Mud splattered my skirts as we crossed the beach. We had minutes, if that, before the drakkar hit shore, and then the enemy would sweep through the streets, killing as they went. And they shouldn’t even be here. “There is still ice on the water. How are the Nordelanders raiding so early?”
“Whoever it is isn’t here to raid-they’re here for you!”
For me? “Why?” I demanded between gasped breaths. “How could anyone even know I’m here?”
“Because the foretelling is no secret,” he answered. “And every jarl across Skaland has been watching and waiting for the day Snorri found you so that they can put you in your grave.”
The sweat pouring down my skin seemed to freeze to ice. “Why do they want me dead?”