Filed to story: A Fate Inked In Blood Free
My anger faltered at Bjorn’s shout, but the dark voice whispered, He’ll stop you if given the chance. The voice was right. I kicked my horse into a gallop, leading his horse away from my family’s farm.
I didn’t allow myself to look back.
I abandoned Bjorn’s mount just past Selvegr, for the gelding kept trying to bite me, and I knew that I had all the head start I needed.
Then I rode my mare as hard as my anger rode me.
Visions of how the confrontation would play out repeated through my head. Of the things I’d say to the lady of Halsar. Of the ways I could kill her. Of the curses I might spit upon her when the deed was done.
A part of me, deep down, knew this wasn’t right. Knew that I was allowing the darker half of me to have the sort of control that I might one day come to regret, but it was better than the alternative. Better than remembering the last things I’d said to my mother. Better than watching Skade’s arrow punch through her chest. Far better than watching the light go out of her eyes and knowing that it was because of me.
The trail reached the end of the fjord, the northern strait stretching out before me, the water steely blue and covered by whitecaps. I searched for signs of Skade’s blue-striped sails but saw nothing other than small fishing vessels on the water as I cut down the coast. Waves crashed against the rocky beach, gulls shrieking overhead as they dived and fought over scraps flung onto the rocks by the water.
I made better time than Bjorn and I had in the darkness coming here, but my mare was still laboring hard by the time I reached the inlet into which the river Torne flowed, the town bearing the same name on the northern banks. The gates were open, and I trotted my mare inside, heading toward the stable. “I need to trade for a fresh horse,” I said to the man cleaning out a stall.
He eyed my winded animal and, knowing that I didn’t have much time before Bjorn caught up to me, I dug a piece of silver out of my pocket and held it up. “Now.”
The man moved swiftly to retrieve a tall gelding, and I dismounted, leaving him to swap the tack from one horse to the other. I dimly watched the people of the town going about their business. Women bargaining in the market. Men loitering in front of the mead hall, cups in hand. Children chasing chickens and goats through the muddy streets. This town supplied Grindill, was vitally connected to it, yet if the battle and change of rule had made an impact on this place, I couldn’t see it. Life went on, their cares for putting food on the table and shelter over their children’s heads, not for which lord claimed what title in the fortress on the hill.
“I’ll take that silver,” the man said, snapping me from my thoughts, and I handed the coin over before mounting the gelding.
I followed the road that ran parallel to the river at a fast canter, fording the dozens of small streams that fed into it, my eyes on the cliffs in the distance. I could make out the walls of Grindill, the Torne flowing past the fortress to cascade over in a waterfall fifty feet high. Mist exploded from its base, but I drew no closer to it, the road veering south before beginning the steep climb up the hill to the fortress.
The gelding was breathing hard by the time I reached the top of the slope, but I drove him at a gallop toward the gate. The walls were repaired, warriors walking along the tops of them, and I was swiftly noticed.
And recognized.
“It’s Freya!” My name repeated from above as my horse’s hooves clattered across the bridge over the moat of stakes, the gate swinging open to admit me. I rode into the open yard before drawing up my gelding, my eyes skipping over the curious stares of those nearby, hunting for my prey.
“Have you lost your mind, girl?”
Ylva’s voice filled my ears, and my wrath burned wild and hot as I saw her exit the great hall. Flinging myself off my horse, I stalked toward her.
“This was not the plan,” she whispered, holding her skirts out of the mud, her breath coming in rapid pants as though she’d run to intercept me the moment she heard I’d returned. “How am I going to explain why you-“
I swung, my right fist connecting hard enough with her cheek that pain ricocheted up my arm. “You traitorous bitch,” I snarled as she fell into the mud. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”
Ylva crawled backward even as shouts of alarm echoed around us. “I betrayed nothing,” she gasped. “Everyone thinks you are in your rooms!”
“Is that so?” I pulled my sword and pursued her, satisfaction filling me as she recoiled in terror. “Then how is it that Skade knew exactly where to find me?”
Ylva blanched. “What? No…no, Freya, I’ve no notion of how Harald learned this information, but it was not from me. I swear it!”
“Lies,” I hissed. “All this time, it has been you who is conspiring with Harald. To get rid of Bjorn. Now to get rid of me, because you haven’t the stomach for war that you thought you did. Except neither Bjorn nor I are dead, but my mother is! Because of you!”
I lifted my sword. Readying for a down strike that would take her head from her shoulders, only for a wash of heat to warm my face as my blade was struck and wrenched from my grip.
I stumbled, nearly falling, and as I regained my balance it was to see Bjorn astride his exhausted horse just inside the gate. Screaming with wordless fury that he’d deny me my revenge, I snatched up my sword, anger and grief filling me, to find the blade warped from the impact of his axe on the metal. Ruined, but it would serve well enough.
Ylva screamed, but before I could drive the blade into her heart, someone slammed into my side. I toppled into the mud, more hands than I could count pinning me down, shouts filling my ears.
“What is going on?” Snorri roared, and I choked around a mouthful of mud and horse shit, “She’s a traitor!”
Hands jerked me upright and I coughed and spat, trying to clear away the foulness.
“You told me Freya was in her rooms seeking guidance from the gods.” Snorri leveled a finger at Ylva. “Yet she just came through the gate on horseback.”
“She needed to see her mother.” Ylva climbed to her feet, aided by Ragnar. “Wanted to learn what she could about Hlin so-“
“She told Harald where we were,” I screamed. “And my mother is dead because of it!”
“I did no such thing!”
All I could see was red, because even now she denied it. “Then who, Ylva? We know there is a traitor in our midst. One who was in Fjalltindr. One who betrayed Snorri’s plans in Halsar. One who betrayed that I was going to see my mother. You were the only one present all three times, the only one with the magic, the only one with the knowledge!”
“It was not me!” Ylva shrieked, only Ragnar’s grip on her keeping the woman from attacking me. “Bodil vouched for the truth of my words in Halsar!”
“Then she lied!”
“Enough!” Snorri stepped between us. “I will hear you two in private, not listen to you screech like two fishwives in a market!”
“That’s because she is a fishwife!”