Filed to story: A Fate Inked In Blood Free
An emotion I couldn’t quite read flickered through his eyes, and Bjorn looked away. Immediately, I regretted my words. He’d spent much of his life separated from his family, kept as a prisoner. If he didn’t understand, it was because he’d never had a chance to.
Swallowing hard, I forced myself to finish. “If you continue to try to make things worse than they are, I will return the favor tenfold. So perhaps you might do us both the favor of saving your ire for the individual who has forced us to such close proximity.”
Bjorn said nothing, only treaded water, his shield slowly drifting past us toward shore.
“You may get out of the water now,” I said, extremely aware that we were being watched. “And then you may apologize.”
“I’m too afraid to get out.” He continued swimming in place. “You have thrown me in the water, possibly broken my fingers, and threatened to murder me. At least in the fjord I don’t need to fear you pursuing me.”
Though I knew damn well Bjorn had no fear of me, a hint of unease filled my chest that I’d gone too far. My mother always said that I had the temper of a caged mink, prone to saying the worst sorts of things, only to regret them later. “I’m not going to murder you.”
“Just batter my feelings until I wish I were dead?”
“I’m not-” I scowled as a smile grew on his face and I crossed my aching arms. “I won’t do anything to you that you don’t deserve. Now get out and apologize and we may carry on.”
He eyed me for a moment, then swam closer and took hold of the dock. Only to snatch his hand back with a hiss of pain.
Concern flooded me. Had I truly broken his fingers? Should I go fetch Liv?
“Help me up,” he muttered, reaching with his other hand.
Without thinking I grasped it, realizing his deception a heartbeat before he pulled. A shriek tore from my lips as I fell headfirst into the fjord, the shock of cold worse than I remembered.
Righting myself, I spat out a mouthful of seawater and glared at him. “This is not a good start.”
He inclined his head. “I am sorry for being an arse and not showing you the respect you deserve, Freya Born-in-Fire.”
“And you needed to get me wet to tell me that?” I was bloody freezing, and from the beach I could hear the laughter of the onlookers who’d watched me go arse-up into the fjord.
“I needed to be a little bit more sorry before I could get an apology from my mouth,” he said. “But now it is said, and we may move on.”
“Don’t be so certain,” I grumbled, watching as he swam under the dock, then reached up to hook his fingers through the boards. Every muscle in his body stood out in stark relief as he hung from the dock, water running in rivulets through the dips and valleys of taut skin.
He eyed me for a long moment, green eyes thoughtful, then asked, “Has Snorri told you anything of his plans for you? Said anything about how he believes you will make him king?”
“No,” I answered around chattering teeth. “He’s barely spoken to me at all.”
“Marriage at its finest.” Bjorn chuckled, but before I could ball up my fist to punch him in his stomach, he added, “No one knows. I asked around last night and spent a small fortune in mead, but no one knows anything.”
My cheeks heated as I realized that he’d not, as I’d thought, spent the entirety of his night getting drunk and having sex with random women. He’d spent at least some of it trying to discover the answer to the question I was desperate to answer myself. “If he were to confide in anyone, I should think it would be you.”
He looked away, scanning the fjord, though there was nothing to be seen but water. “We are not as close as you might think.”
I had no business prying, but I still asked, “Because of the years you spent in Nordeland?”
Bjorn’s eyes shot back to me. “What do you know of that?”
“Nothing other than that you were taken prisoner as a child and that Snorri rescued you.” I had a million questions I wished to ask, but I settled on the one that had bothered me the most. “Why didn’t you escape?”
It was understandable why he hadn’t tried to escape as a child, but much less so as a grown man, because as a child of Tyr, Bjorn was always armed. And even untrained, a boy with an axe made of a god’s fire could do a great deal of damage.
Silence.
I cringed internally. When will you learn to shut your mouth, Freya?
He cleared his throat. “I swore blood oaths as a child not to try to escape. Harald has many powerful individuals in his service, including those adept with rune magic.”
“Being rescued didn’t violate your oath?” I asked, curious given that I’d recently sworn my own.
“Clearly not.”
“I heard that Snorri lost many men and drakkar rescuing you,” I said, unsure why I kept pressing the topic. “He must care for you very much to have kept trying.”
“He knew he needed the fire of a god to find you,” Bjorn answered. “His rescue attempts didn’t begin until I’d been in Nordeland for two years, which was when he learned my magic had manifested.”
Oh.
It hadn’t been sentiment that had driven Snorri to rescue his son, but the selfish need to claim the destiny he dreamed of. It was no wonder they weren’t close. Needing to change the subject before I dug up any more wounds, I said, “What about the seer who spoke the foretelling. Why not ask them for information about what I’m supposed to do?”
“Because she is dead.”
His voice was sharp, and understanding slowly dawned on me as I put the pieces together. Swallowing hard, I said, “The seer was your mother?”