Filed to story: A Fate Inked In Blood Free
“The Ingrid that Geir is so desperate to wed that he threw his own sister to the wolves?” Bjorn snorted in disgust. “You could do better than that spineless piece of weasel shit.”
It was my turn to snarl, “Bjorn, don’t be an arse!” but he paid me no more mind than he had Ylva as he said, “You aren’t here to harm Freya, are you, Ingrid?”
A tear ran down my friend’s face and she snuffled out a “No. I’d never hurt Freya.”
“I didn’t think so.” Hooking his thumbs in his belt, Bjorn looked to me. “Say what needs saying, Freya, but be quick about it.”
Giving him a withering glare for his comment about my brother, I elbowed my way past the warriors, drawing Ingrid enough away to give a semblance of privacy. “What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to ignore the lingering hope that Ingrid came bearing salvation.
“I came to thank you.” She wiped the tears from her face. “Geir told me everything. What you’ve agreed to and why. What you did. That you did it to spare us. From the bottom of my heart, thank you, Freya.”
My stomach gave a slight twist of discomfort as my foolish hope turned to ash and I looked away from her. Nothing she could have said would have dissuaded me from this course of action. Yet it still stung that she hadn’t offered any protest. Still hurt that she wasn’t willing to suffer a blow to her future to spare mine. The fact that I wouldn’t have accepted didn’t matter; what would have mattered was that she cared enough about me to offer.
She cares, I silently chided myself. She’s just afraid. “Is Geir all right?”
Ingrid gave a tight nod. “He would’ve come if he could, only the pain is bad. But your mother says it was a clean break and will heal well with time and rest.” She tentatively held out the sword. “Geir sent this. It was your father’s.”
My chin quivered as a rush of emotion raced through me, for this was the weapon that Geir would have gifted Ingrid when they were wed, and she was giving it to me to wield. Not the sacrifice I’d foolishly hoped for, but it still meant all the world to me that they’d wanted me to have it. Unsheathing it, I smiled to see that it had been polished and sharpened. “Thank you.”
Ingrid whispered, “I’m sure the jarl will be honored to wield it.”
My smile immediately fell away. Not a gift for me, but a gift for Snorri.
When I’d wed Vragi, I’d given him my grandfather’s sword, polished to a high shine, whereas the one he’d given me was a rusted blade pilfered from the grave of a distant cousin, so poorly made that the hilt broke off in the middle of the ceremony.
Logically I knew that my family needed to provide a blade for me to gift Snorri, but did it have to be this one? This was the last piece of my father that existed. It was precious to me, which both Ingrid and Geir knew, yet they were giving it to Snorri to earn his favor. The urge to tell her to take it back filled my core. Instead I shoved it into its sheath.
“Freya,” Ylva said loudly. “You may speak to her afterward. The jarl should not be waiting on you.”
The desire to twist around and scream at Ylva to shut her mouth nearly overwhelmed me, but I managed to keep my anger in check, instead leaning close to Ingrid. “Don’t stay. It isn’t safe. Get home and warn everyone to stay away unless the jarl summons them, understood? Out of sight, out of mind.”
The snowflakes melting on her face mixed with her tears, but Ingrid nodded. “Congratulations, Freya. I know you didn’t ask for this match, but I think you will find more happiness in it than you would have with Vragi. You will get to be a warrior, like you always dreamed. And you’ll be able to use your magic.”
I blinked, something about the way she said the last, without shock or hesitation, triggering a realization. “You knew.”
Ingrid bit her lip, then nodded. “Geir told me some years ago. I think…I think keeping the secret weighed upon him.” Her expression grew earnest. “But I didn’t tell anyone, Freya. I swear it.”
Weighed upon him? My chest hollowed and I looked at the mud between us. For most of my life, I’d hidden my magic, my heritage, which meant keeping it from everyone I’d ever known. Never once had I told, because I’d understood intrinsically that it wouldn’t just be me who would be hurt if my secret got out, it would be my family. “It doesn’t much matter now.”
Ingrid hugged me tightly, my one hand trapped between us, the hilt of the sword digging into my breastbone painfully. “This is a gift from the gods, Freya. You must look at it as such.”
I didn’t trust myself to say anything, so instead I only nodded and turned back to those waiting. Ylva scowled at me, but Bjorn’s gaze was on Ingrid, who was splashing away through the mud. “I take it back,” he said. “She does not deserve better than your brother.”
“What do you know?” I muttered, not bothering to hike up my skirts again, for the hems were already stained gray and dripping.
“Very little,” he said. “But I’m neither deaf nor blind, so I saw how she spun your sacrifice into a gift from the gods so that she need not feel guilt over it. You are well rid of her.”
He wasn’t entirely wrong, but Bjorn’s words only made the hollowness in my core grow.
Alone, that was how I felt. As though I faced a great army, and all those I’d been so certain would be at my back had vanished. My eyes stung and I blinked rapidly to keep tears from forming, but a few still escaped, mixing with the melting snow running down my face as I walked toward the beach.
I’d not gone more than a handful of steps when Bjorn’s hand closed on my arm. “Ingrid’s cowardice does not diminish the honor of what you did.”
Swallowing, I met his emerald gaze as I said, “I regret nothing,” then pulled from his grip and carried on.
A crowd had gathered, Snorri standing apart with an ancient woman who I supposed was the matriarch who’d conduct the ceremony. My eyes drifted from them to the long stretch of dock, next to which sat several drakkar, the flags on their masts fluttering in the wind. They were huge, capable of holding at least a hundred warriors, and I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to stand in one, the drummer beating a thundering rhythm as the oarsmen drove the drakkar into battle. What it would be like to leap into the water, shield up against a rain of arrows, racing onto a beach where the sword in my hand would clash against that of my enemies as armies collided. My fingers clenched on the hilt of my father’s weapon, my heart driving away the sluggish weight of grief in my veins and filling them with fire. For Ingrid had not been wrong that there was much to this new path I faced that sang to my soul.
And that, at least, was something to live for.
–
The ceremony was brief and lifeless, both Snorri and I saying what needed to be said, then exchanging blades, the one he gave to me newly forged and unsharpened, rendering it as devoid of sentiment as it was of edge. If he noticed or cared that the sword I gave him was my father’s, he didn’t show it. Yet the moment the ceremony was over, it was as though a bolt of Thor’s lightning struck, filling Snorri with an urgent energy as he turned me to face the crowd.
“Twenty years ago,” he shouted, “the seer spoke a prophecy of a shield maiden, a child of Hlin, born under the blood moon and destined to unite the people of Skaland beneath the rule of the one who controlled her fate. A prophecy that said her name would be born in the fire of the gods. For twenty years, I have searched for this maiden, hunted for the woman who’d unite our people against our common enemy, King Harald of Nordeland.”
The crowd shifted restlessly, several calling out curses at the king who ruled across the Northern Strait.
“Many of you have asked why I would wed this woman when I have a wife such as Ylva,” he continued. “Let me assure you, it is not for love or lust, but for you, my people! For this woman is the shield maiden, the child of Hlin, her name revealed in the fire of Tyr!”
He took the shield one of his warriors held out and offered it to me. My skin burned hot despite my dress being soaked with melted snow, and taking it in my grip, I whispered, “Hlin.”
Magic flared to life inside of me, rushing through my hand in a hot flood to cover the shield with silver light, glowing like a beacon. The crowd gasped and stepped back, their eyes wide at the sight of magic they’d only heard of in stories. Magic they didn’t understand, which explained their apprehension.