Filed to story: A Fate Inked In Blood Free
“Was,” I corrected. “He died a year ago.”
“It was in a fight, wasn’t it?”
My cheeks stung as I bit into them, unsure whether my brother had lied or if the lord had simply not cared enough to remember the details. “No, my lord. Dropped dead the night of my wedding. Herb-woman said it was his heart.”
Snorri rubbed his chin. “Shame. Erik was a fierce warrior in his prime. We fought side-by-side in many shield walls. If he taught you, then what you’ve learned is good. And I can always use more warriors.”
“She’s a married woman,” Geir responded before I had the chance to answer. “With respect, Freya should be focused on family, not fighting.”
“Agreed,” Snorri replied. “But Vragi tells me that’s not the case. That Freya thinks more of fighting than of babies.”
Oh gods.
Understanding of what was happening struck me at the same time it did Geir, his face blanching. Vragi wished to end our marriage and had asked the jarl to witness it. Bile burned up my throat, because as much as I wished to be rid of him, I knew the consequences. Knew it would be my family that suffered because I couldn’t keep my cursed mouth shut.
“Let us see if Freya is a better warrior than she is a wife,” Snorri continued. “Give her a weapon, Geir.”
My brother didn’t move.
The jarl’s eyes hardened. “You would defy me in this?”
“I would not see my sister harmed.”
Geir would protect me out of pride. I knew it, and I refused to watch it happen when all that needed to be done was for me to accept shaming. Maybe that would be enough to appease Vragi, and he’d reconsider. “Give me your sword, Geir.”
My brother whirled on me, amber eyes blazing. “Freya, no!”
I held out my hand.
He stared me down, and I silently willed him to understand how this would play out. To see that the only harm I’d come to was a few bruises and a solid blow to my pride. A blow that I was willing to take for the sake of him and our mother.
Seconds passed, the tension in the clearing mounting. Then Geir reluctantly drew his weapon, handing it to me hilt-first. I closed my fingers over the leather grip, feeling the weight of it. Feeling the rightness of it. Behind the jarl, one of the warriors began to dismount, but Snorri shook his head at him and looked to the dark-haired warrior I’d flirted with on the beach. “Bjorn, you will test Freya’s prowess.”
Bjorn.
My confidence shattered at his name, understanding of who he was hitting me like a battering ram to the gut. He was Jarl Snorri’s son and heir. Which would have been bad enough, but he was also a child of Tyr, the god having granted him a drop of blood and all the magic that came with it at his conception. My brother had told me many times of this man’s prowess on the battlefield-a warrior without equal who left only the dead and dying in his wake. And he was who Snorri wanted me to fight?
I might have vomited, but Bjorn started laughing.
He slapped a hand against his saddle, spine bent backward as he let out loud guffaws. This went on for several moments before he wiped at his eyes, leveling a finger at Snorri. “All those who say you have no sense of humor are liars, Father.”
“I made no jest.” Snorri’s voice was cool, and beneath his beard, his jaw worked back and forth with obvious annoyance.
Or at least, obvious to me. Bjorn only barked out a laugh. “You want me to fight this…girl? To fight a fishmonger’s wife who has barely the strength to lift the weapon in her hand?”
It was a struggle not to scowl, for while the weapon was heavy, it was no heavier than a bucket of fish and I carried those all day.
“Yes, Bjorn. That’s exactly what I wish you to do.” Snorri tilted his head. “Unless you wish to give me cause to doubt your loyalty by refusing?”
Father and son stared each other down, the tension palpable enough that the other warriors shifted in their saddles. This was a test, that much was evident, and it was my misfortune to be caught in the middle of it.
It was Bjorn who conceded, breaking off the stalemate with a shrug. “As you like.”
He slid off his horse, then strode toward me with predatory grace, flirtatious smile long gone. I was swiftly reminded of how much larger than me he was, and all of it muscle. But that wasn’t what filled me with fear. No, the fear that lit my veins and made me want to run, made me want to cower, came when his mouth formed the name Tyr and an axe made of fire appeared in his hand.
I could feel the heat of it, the weapon burning far hotter than natural flame, the flickers of red and orange and blue so bright they stung my eyes. The flame of a god. The flame of war.
“What do you wish to achieve?” he asked Snorri. “You want proof she can’t fight? Here-“
He swung at me.
I stumbled back with a yelp, tripping on a root and falling on my arse, losing my weapon.
“There’s your proof. Send her back to her husband and the fish.”
“That is not the proof I seek,” Snorri answered, and my stomach flipped with the fear that this would cost me far more than pride.
I climbed to my feet to discover that the other warriors had my brother by the arms, holding him back. Vragi sniggered from beyond.
“To first blood, then?” Bjorn demanded. There was anger in his voice, the flames of his axe flaring with the emotion. He didn’t want this fight, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it to prove his loyalty. To do otherwise meant dire consequences, which I doubted he would be willing to suffer for a woman he didn’t know.
“No.” Snorri dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to another warrior before crossing his arms. “To the death.”