Filed to story: A Fate Inked In Blood Free
Steinunn moved into the room, surveying the mess and then perching on the corner of my rumpled bed. Not for the first time, I was struck by how truly lovely she was, her light brown braids in perfect order and rounded cheeks flushed a becoming pink. Her dress was perfectly cut and devoid of stains, the cleavage I deeply envied peeking out above a modest neckline. Though she was older than I was, the only signs of it were faint crow’s-feet next to her eyes. Yet despite how lovely she was, I’d never once seen anyone pursue her with romantic intent, man or woman, and I wondered if it was because she dissuaded attention or whether everyone saw just a voice.
I remained standing with my arms crossed. “I thought you were still traveling around singing your song about Fjalltindr.” Spreading word and growing my fame, because Snorri believed that was what would bring the jarls to swear oaths to him as their king.
She gave me a faint smile. “Would you like to hear it? You fainted before I’d hardly begun when I sang it in Halsar.”
“Not really.” I knew I was being unpleasant but couldn’t remove the edge from my tongue. “I already lived it.”
“I understand,” she said. “It takes a certain type of person to want to see themselves in the magic of my songs. Bjorn said he’d rather listen to seagulls fight over a fish than hear anything with him in it.”
“Bjorn’s an arse,” I muttered, though I very much agreed with him. “You’ve a beautiful voice. Everyone says so.”
Steinunn inclined her head. “You are kind to flatter me, Freya.”
Given I was acting like a miserable hag, I couldn’t help but grimace. “What do you wish to know?”
“I would like to hear you tell your story of the battle.”
Turning away, I went to the table covered with dirty bowls and cups, loading them onto a tray. I needed to do something productive because it was the only way to curb the rise of frantic emotion in my chest. “There were others there. Ask them.”
“I have. But the song is about you. It’s meant to tell all of Skaland that you are a woman to be respected. To be followed. What you share with me will help shape the song so that it better captures your spirit.”
So that she could use it to spread my reputation. Which really meant spreading Snorri’s reputation, for I served at his pleasure. “There is nothing I can tell you that others wouldn’t already have shared.”
She frowned. “You’re certain?”
Irritation rose in me that she was pressing the issue, and sharp words started up my throat. I gave a swift nod before they could exit, biting my tongue.
Steinunn rose and inclined her head. “I will sing for our people tonight-it would be well for you to be there. Though you should refrain from drinking your weight in mead beforehand.”
Cracks formed in my self-control, my temper flowing out. “I know what happened, Steinunn. I didn’t take pleasure from being there and I won’t take pleasure from seeing it again, so please excuse my absence.”
The skald nodded, moving to the door. Yet instead of leaving me to bury myself back into furs and misery, she paused. “I endured a tragedy that cost me nearly everything I held dear, so I understand your grief, as well as the desire to avoid all mention of it. That said, while you will not enjoy my song, I do believe you need to see what all those around you witnessed and why they feel about you as they do.”
Without another word, Steinunn left, closing my door behind her.
I stood staring at the planks of wood for a long time, my feet growing so cold they ached. Yet rather than climbing back into my furs, I swiftly washed myself with water that a servant had brought at some point, then donned a clean dress. I removed the ties on my braids, combing my fingers through until my hair hung long and loose down my back.
The door creaked when I opened it and I winced, though I wasn’t entirely certain why. Perhaps because I felt uncertain about whether I really wanted to reenter the world, needed my first steps to be taken without notice. Stepping out, I pulled the door shut, and then nearly jumped out of my skin when I noticed a figure from the corner of my eye.
“Bjorn,” I stammered, my heart galloping.
“Freya.”
Bjorn was leaning against the wall, but at his feet was a neatly rolled pallet and a half-empty water cup. I swallowed hard as the understanding that he’d been outside my door filled me. “Please tell me that you haven’t been sleeping out here.”
He lifted one shoulder. “My father is concerned for your well-being.”
My teeth dug deep into my bottom lip because I knew the concern was less about what others might do and more about what I might do myself. “I’m fine.”
His jaw tightened, green eyes boring into mine until I looked away. But not before I noted the dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks scruffier than was his preference, and his clothes rumpled. Whether he’d been here every moment I’d spent hiding in the room, I couldn’t say, but he certainly hadn’t taken any time to care for himself.
“Steinunn told me that my brother and Ingrid have come to Grindill,” I blurted out, needing to end the silence.
Bjorn snorted. “It’s true enough. They arrived with Ylva and the others from Halsar.”
“Did Snorri order him to come?” Unease filled me, because the only reason Snorri had to bring them here was to have more immediate leverage over me. Was it because I’d challenged his authority during the siege?
“No.” He gave a sharp shake of his head, irritation palpable. “Your idiot brother paid a healer to mend his leg, then came to beg he be allowed to have his place back in my father’s war band. Which my father has agreed to as reward for the successes you have achieved.”
Geir had chosen to come to Grindill? Had brought Ingrid of his own volition?
A tide of anger surged through my veins at his utter fucking stupidity. “Where is he?”
“Enjoying the fruits of your labors, I expect.” Bjorn pushed away from the wall. “I’ll bring you to him.”
He led me into the great hall, and though I’d probably come this way when I’d been given a room after the battle, nothing seemed familiar. My eyes skipped over the riches that Gnut had accumulated over his time as jarl of this place, carved furniture and thick wall hangings, all of it now Snorri’s. All of it befitting a king.
“Already Jarl Arme Gormson and Jarl Ivar Rolfson have come to swear oaths,” Bjorn said, breaking the silence. “More will follow, especially once Steinunn begins her travels through Skaland, spreading word of your”-he hesitated-“battle fame.”
More like infamy.
“Steinunn wishes me to listen to her sing,” I said, wondering if Bjorn was one of the people she’d spoken to, whether part of her story was his. “I told her no.”