Filed to story: A Fate Inked In Blood Free
“You don’t deserve to call her family!” Bjorn shouted. “You don’t deserve her loyalty!”
“Freya!” Ingrid grabbed me by the front of my dress, shaking me. “Make him stop! You’re supposed to protect us!”
I stared at her. All of what I’d endured, all of what I’d done, had been driven by my desire to protect my family, including her, but that desire was faltering.
“Please,” she begged. “Please!”
It’s who you are, a voice whispered inside my head even as a darker voice whispered, What if it isn’t?
It was fear that the second voice was right that snapped me out of my stupor.
“Enough.” My throat strangled the word, so it came out no louder than a breath of air. “Enough!”
Bjorn went still, his eyes going to me.
“Let him go,” I said. “They’ve made their beds. Now they can sleep in them and pray that fate doesn’t turn those beds to graves.”
Then I turned on my heel and walked out.
“Where are you going?” Bjorn demanded, quickly catching me with his long strides.
“I’m done fighting it,” I said, stepping around a goat and then over a pair of chickens that clucked their way into my path. “Done asking questions, done trying to change things for the better. It’s time to accept the path that was intended for me. The path your mother foresaw for me.”
Bjorn caught my arm, pulling me to a stop. “Accept it? What does that mean?”
“It means allowing your father the control he was fated to have.” I forced myself to look up to meet Bjorn’s eyes. “He’s meant to rule, not me, so it’s time I swear an oath to him as king.”
“Freya-“
I tried to pull out of his grip, but his hand tightened on my wrist, so I rounded on him. “What exactly is it you want me to do, Bjorn?”
“I already told you.” He bent down so that we were nose-to-nose. “Change your fate.”
He’d said that to me over Bodil’s body, but I hadn’t really questioned what that meant. “You don’t wish for me to unite Skaland?”
“I…” He exhaled a long breath, moving closer. Too close, given that we were in view of dozens of prying eyes. “Ask yourself how Skaland will become united. Then ask what you’ll have to become to achieve that end.”
“What does it matter?” I demanded, because I didn’t want to look into myself to find the answers to those questions.
“It matters to me.” His thumb rubbed over the back of my wrist. “You matter to me.”
You are mine, Born-in-Fire. Even if only the two of us know it. The echo of what he’d said to me on the mountaintop filled my ears, and I shivered. “What do you want me to do?”
He swallowed hard. “I want you to listen to Steinunn sing tonight.”
–
A platform had been placed in the middle of the square at the center of the fortress, and it seemed every last man, woman, and child in Grindill had come to see Steinunn sing her ballad.
Not that I was surprised.
To hear a child of Bragi sing was more than entertainment; it was a privilege very few would have the opportunity to witness in their lifetimes. Not only were the stories the skalds told with their songs passed down from generation to generation, so too was the experience of hearing the song direct from the skald’s lips. Because one didn’t just hear, one saw.
That was the part I was terrified about, because seeing the tunnels leading to Fjalltindr had been bad. This would be far worse.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Bjorn said from where he stood at my left. “I won’t fault you.”
“I’ll fault me.” I squared my shoulders. “I lived it, which means that I can watch it.”
I had to. Needed to see what everyone else had seen that had caused this newfound fear of me. Needed to see what Bjorn had seen.
The crowd stirred, parting to allow Snorri and Ylva to escort Steinunn to the dais.
Carrying a simple drum, the skald wore a dress of crimson wool trimmed with fur, and on her head she wore a headpiece designed to look like a raven, midnight feathers cascading down her shoulders and back. Its eyes were formed of polished glass, its claws and beak of silver, and I swore the cursed thing stared me down as she turned to face the crowd.
Snorri and Ylva retreated to chairs set at the rear of the dais, and with no preamble, Steinunn parted her lips and began to beat the drum she held in her hands.
A deep, huffing chant spilled over the crowd. My heart immediately began throbbing in rhythm, anticipation and trepidation filling my chest in equal parts because I felt her power. Felt the magic of her voice drawing me back to the moment we’d flowed down the mountainside toward Grindill, vengeance burning in our hearts.
And then Steinunn began to sing.
The breath I sucked in was ragged, the air not seeming to reach my lungs. For I didn’t just hear the story in the lyrics.