A Fate Inked in Blood: The number 1 Sunday Times bestselling fantasy romance

Unreasonably flustered, it took me until nearly midday to finish with the catch. I loaded the cart for Vragi before selecting two choice fish for my mother. By that time, the thrill of my encounter with the warrior had faded, replaced with the grim reminder that Vragi lived, I was his wife, and that I had angered him.

Wind whistled down the mountains, carrying with it the smell of melting snow, and I inhaled, glad to be away from the stink of fish and guts and my own shame, though a fair bit of all three still clung to my clothing. Pine needles crunched beneath my boots, filling my nose with their sharp scent and easing the tension in my shoulders.

It was fine. It would all be fine. This wasn’t the first time I’d fought with Vragi, and it wouldn’t be the last. I’d survived a year with him already and I’d survive another. And another.

But I wanted to do more than just survive. I wanted my days to be more than time I needed to endure. I wanted to live them, to relish them. To find passion and excitement in them the way I had for that fleeting moment on the beach with a stranger.

It was the wanting that made my life hard. If I could only stop wanting, perhaps I might find some happiness in what I had. Even as the thought rolled through my head, I cringed, because it was exactly something my mother would say. Quit wanting more, Freya, and you shall be content with what you have.

Gripping the wrapped fish under my left arm, I bent and snatched up a stick. Twisting, I cracked it against one tree and then another, moving down the pathway as though the forest around me were a horde of raiders, not caring that I was acting more like a child than a grown woman. I lifted my package of fish like a shield, knocking back imaginary attacks, my breath turning to rapid pants, sweat dampening the hair clinging to my temples.

I relished the burn in my muscles as I attacked and defended, savored every gasped breath, delighted in the sting in my palm each time my stick struck a tree. This was what I dreamed of: not of gutting fish next to the fjord to sell to the same villagers every day, but of fighting. Of joining the jarl’s war band in raids against our rivals to the east and west. Of standing strong in defense of our lands against Nordelander raiders, and of earning wealth with the strength of my sword arm. Then to spend the winter with my family, feasting and drinking and laughing until raiding season came again.

My older brother, Geir, had pursued the same dream, and he was well on his way to achieving it. When I was fourteen and he was sixteen, our father had brought Geir to the allthing and Jarl Snorri had gifted Geir an arm ring, inviting him to join the raids. Now, at twenty-two, my brother was a respected warrior.

Yet when I’d voiced my desire to follow in my brother’s footsteps, my words were met with laughter until my family realized I was serious; then their humor had changed to silent horror.

“You cannot, Freya,” my father had finally said. “It would be only a matter of time until they discovered what you are, and then you’d never choose anything ever again.”

What I was. My secret.

My curse.

“Once you have a babe, Freya, you’ll give up these foolish desires to always do what your brother does,” my mother had said. “You will be content.”

“I am not content!” I shouted at the memory, flinging my stick into the trees. But as I did, one of the fish slipped from its wrapping to fall on the forest floor.

“Shit.” Kneeling, I picked it up and did what I could to clean away the needles and dirt that clung to it, silently cursing myself for thinking the thoughts I did. For dreaming about things I couldn’t have.

“I hope that wasn’t intended for my belly.”

I leapt to my feet, whirling to find my brother standing behind me.

“Geir!” Laughing, I closed the distance to throw my arms around his neck. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing my lunch, it would seem.” He straightened his arms, giving me a critical once-over, and I did the same. Like me, my brother had pale skin, hair so blond as to be nearly white, and amber eyes that glowed like eclipsed suns. He’d put on more muscle since he’d gone to live in Halsar with the jarl, his frame no longer slender like mine, but thick and strong.

“You should eat more—you’re scrawny,” Geir said, then added, “Jarl Snorri is in the village speaking with your husband.”

My skin prickled with unease, for while Vragi was often summoned to speak with our lord, the jarl had never had cause to come to him. “On what matter?”

Geir shrugged, then took one of the fish, making its gills flap with his thumbs. “Fish, I expect. What other reason is there to talk with Vragi?”

“Truer words were never spoken,” I muttered, snatching the fish from his hands before starting down the path toward our family home.

“How swiftly the glow of new marriage fades.” Geir fell into step next to me, his weapons clinking. The axe and seax were familiar, but the sword was new. As was the mail he wore beneath his cloak. Either plunder from raids or paid for with his cut. A flicker of envy soured my stomach. Shoving the sensation away, I cast him a sideways glare. “What glow? There was never any glow.”

“Fair.” My brother kicked a rock, sending it toppling down the path ahead of us. He’d grown a beard over the last year and it was decorated with silver rings. It made him look older than his years, and fiercer, which was likely his intent. Reaching up, I gave it a tug. “What does Ingrid think of this?”

With his good looks and charm, Geir had the pick of women, though I knew he only had eyes for my friend Ingrid, whom he’d loved since we were children. Knew that he hoped to earn enough raiding this season to build a hall and ask her father for her hand.

“She loves it. Especially the way it tickles when—”

I gave him a shove hard enough to make him stagger. “You’re a pig.”

Geir smirked at me. “Guilty. But you change the subject, Freya. We all know Vragi is a greedy prick, but he is your husband. With Father gone, the duty falls to me to—”

I caught his ankle with my own and jerked, grinning as my brother sprawled onto his back. Stepping on his chest with one foot, I said, “I love you, brother. But if you start lecturing me on my wifely duties, I won’t like you half as well.” I leaned my weight on him. “It’s not been so many years since I beat you bloody that I’ve forgotten how.”

I waited for him to laugh. For him to mock Vragi and call him a land fish. To say he was sorry that I’d been forced into this marriage against my will. To tell me I deserved better.

Instead Geir said, “We aren’t children anymore.” Then he grabbed my ankle and yanked.

The impact of my arse hitting the dirt rattled my spine and I nearly bit my tongue off, but Geir ignored me spitting blood as he sat upright. “Vragi has wealth and influence with Jarl Snorri. I may have been given my arm ring because of the goodwill the jarl still holds for Father, but it’s because of Vragi that the jarl pays me to fight for him all year round. If you anger Vragi enough that he casts you aside, Snorri might not let me keep my place. And if I lose my place, how will I gain the wealth I need to marry Ingrid?”

As if I could forget.

“And if you don’t care about me and Ingrid, think of Mother.” Geir rested his elbows on his knees. “Vragi ensures she’s cared for. Pays for men to tend the farm and feed the animals. If not of her, then think logically of your own position. You have a home that others covet, and the wealth to purchase endless ornaments.” He reached over to flick one of the silver bands encircling my long braid. “What would you do without Vragi?”

“Fight. Raid. Earn my own wealth,” I answered. “I don’t need Vragi.”

Geir huffed out a breath, then climbed to his feet. “Let’s not quarrel. It’s been months since I’ve seen you.”

I stared at the hand he held out, part of me wanting to keep arguing. Except we both knew I’d never make a decision that would harm my family, and that made all my arguments moot. So instead, I took my brother’s hand and allowed him to haul me to my feet. “Where does Jarl Snorri plan to raid this summer?”

Before Geir could answer, the sound of hooves filled our ears. A group of warriors on horseback appeared, and my stomach tightened as I recognized my husband at their head, his expression smug.

“My lord.” Geir nodded at the big man who rode at Vragi’s side, who must be Jarl Snorri. I’d never seen him before, having never traveled more than a few hours from Selvegr and never to his stronghold at Halsar. Tall and thick, he had dark brown hair and a beard laced with gray, his eyes lined with deep wrinkles, and his mouth set in a frown. Most would have called him attractive, but the way he stared at me made my skin crawl.

Like I was something to be possessed.

“Geir,” Snorri replied, but his eyes remained fixed on me. The last thing I wanted to do was meet his gaze, so I looked beyond him at the rest of the party. Besides Vragi, there were three men dressed in mail coats. They carried seaxes, as well as axes and swords, the weapons speaking volumes of their battle fame. The lone woman with them bore no weapons beyond a short-bladed seax fastened to her belt, the bodice of her dress cut low enough to reveal a long stretch of cleavage beneath the ties of her cloak. Yet my eyes skipped past all of them to land on the one who rode at the rear of the party.

Oh gods.

Though it made sense for him to be here, shock still radiated through me at the sight of the warrior from the beach. Shock that was mirrored in his green eyes as he looked from me to Geir then back again, as the jarl spoke.

“This is the sister you always speak of, Geir?” Not waiting for my brother to respond, the jarl said to Vragi, “She’s your wife, yes?”

“Yes, my lord. This is my Freya.”

Not yours, I wanted to hiss. Never yours. But I bit my tongue, because something was going on here that turned my guts to ice, the sensation a thousand times worse because of the expression on Vragi’s face.

He was grinning like a cat given a bowl full of cream. What was he so happy about? Why were Snorri and his warriors here? What did they want?

“You never mentioned to me that your sister was also a warrior, Geir,” Snorri said. “Vragi tells me that she wishes to join the raids this summer, is that true?”

“No,” my brother blurted out, then tried to cover the outburst with a laugh. “Freya knows only of gutting fish and keeping house. She’s no warrior.”

I bristled, then bit the insides of my cheeks when Snorri gave me an amused smile. “You disagree, Freya? You believe you can fight?”

“I…” I swallowed hard, sweat trickling down my spine because they were all staring at me. Best to give the truth, especially since my skills were known. “My father taught me to fight when I was a girl. I can handle myself.”

“Your father is Erik.”

“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.”

My stomach dropped, the world around me suddenly too bright. To the death?

“This is madness,” Bjorn snarled. “You’d have me kill this woman? Why? Because that waste of flesh”—he gestured at Vragi—“wants a new wife?”

“Vragi is a child of Njord. He is a man of value, and he’s proven his loyalty.”

I was no longer certain if this was about me. Or if it was about Bjorn. Or if it was about something else entirely. The only thing I knew for certain was that fear strangled me, refusing to give me a voice.

“And I haven’t?” Bjorn lifted his flaming axe, and the jarl had the wits to take a wary step backward. “I’ve done everything you ever asked of me.”

“Then what is one more thing?” Snorri tilted his head. “You will do this, or you will give back your arm band and go into exile, no longer my son in name or spirit. And lest you think your sacrifice will spare the woman, know that it will not. I’ll merely have someone else fight in your stead.”

The muscles in Bjorn’s jaw stood out in stark relief and his green eyes were narrow with fury, but he gave a tight nod. “Fine.”

“Freya!” my brother shouted. “Run!”

I couldn’t unfreeze from where I stood. Couldn’t think of what I might do to extract both me and Geir from this situation with our lives. The only path I saw was to fight.

And to win.

“What if I kill him?”

I half expected Snorri to laugh, but he only lifted one shoulder. “If you kill Bjorn, Freya, I’ll pull that arm band from his corpse and put it on you. You may have his place in my drakkar when we sail on summer raids, and his share of the wealth that comes with it.”

I lifted my chin, hating that there was part of me that felt the allure of such a prize. “And a divorce from Vragi.”

That drew a soft chuckle from Snorri’s lips, and he glanced at Vragi. “You agree to the end of this marriage?”

My husband sneered. “Gladly.”

The chances of me defeating a famed warrior such as Bjorn were slim. Made far slimmer still by him being gifted by Tyr. But fights were unpredictable, and I was not without skill. “Fine.”

Snorri nodded, then looked to the beautiful woman watching from her horse. “We will have a song of this, Steinunn. One way or another.”

“As you say, my lord,” the woman answered, curiosity growing in her eyes as she met my stare. Whatever was going on here, she clearly knew no more than I did. Rolling my shoulders to ease the tension in them, I said to one of the still-mounted warriors, “Might I have use of your shield?”

He shrugged, then reached to unhook it from his saddle. “This will not save you,” he said. “But anyone willing to fight Bjorn has earned their place in Valhalla.”

His words bolstered my strength as I took the shield, gripping the handle behind the thick steel boss, but I showed none of my confidence as I circled Bjorn. The heat from his axe drew sweat on my brow, but he seemed untouched by it. Must be untouched by it, given he held naked fire with his bare hand.

“Sorry for this, Freya,” he said. “May Odin himself greet you with a full cup.”

“I’m sure he will.” I smiled sweetly. “Because you’ll warn him to be ready for me when you arrive. Which will be sooner than you think.”

A grin split his face, and for a heartbeat I once again saw the man who’d flirted with me on the beach. If I somehow managed to kill him, I would not relish it, but that didn’t mean I’d hesitate with a killing blow. Bjorn glanced over his shoulder at Vragi. “You’re a fool to—”

I struck.

My sword sliced toward his stomach, but some sixth sense must have warned him, because Bjorn twisted away at the last moment, the tip of my blade catching only the fabric of his shirt. Pacing in a circle, he eyed me. “This wasn’t how I thought it would go.”

“Fate cares little for your opinion on how things should go.” Blood roared in my veins, my eyes skipping to the flaming axe, though I knew that wasn’t what I should be watching. Knew it was the eyes and the body, not the weapon, that led. “All that is and all that will be is already woven by the Norns.”

I cut at him again, our weapons colliding and his strength sending me staggering.

“If you are going to proselytize, best to be correct about it.” He blocked another swipe of my blade but did not offer any attack of his own. “My fate is my own to weave.”

Because he had god’s blood in his veins. I knew that. Knew it well, because Vragi often bragged of that power despite it being one impossible to prove. “Then it will be a fate decided by your father, for it seems you do what he tells you to.”

Anger flared in Bjorn’s gaze and I attacked again, blade swinging hard at his ribs. He danced out of the way, far faster than I’d have guessed for a man his size. He gave a halfhearted swipe at my sword and as the two weapons collided, I flinched. Flames flickered over my blade, and I wrenched it away, blocking another slash of his axe with my shield.

The blade embedded in the wood below the boss and I dug in my heels as he wrenched it free, the force nearly pulling the shield from my hand. But worse, the smell of smoldering wood filled my nose, smoke rising where the shield had ignited.

Yet I didn’t dare drop it.

Fear raged through me, my body soaked with sweat and everything seeming too bright. I needed to attack now, before fire forced me to drop my shield. Before my strength failed me.

I threw myself forward in a series of attacks, panic rising as he deflected them one after another, his face expressionless as he stayed on the defense.

Why bother attacking, given the fire burning my shield would do the work for him?

“Show your worth, Bjorn,” Snorri snarled. “Show her what it really means to fight!”

My breath came in rapid pants as I swung again and again, knowing that my only chance was to win. To kill him, as much as I didn’t want to. “Why are you doing this?” I demanded of Snorri between gasps. “What do you have to gain from my death?”

“I gain nothing from your death,” he answered. “So fight!”

None of this made sense.

Bjorn alone seemed to agree. “There’s no sport to this contest. It’s nothing more than this weasel-cocked fishmonger wanting bigger men to punish his wife for his own failings beneath the furs.”

“I plowed her nightly,” Vragi shouted. “It’s her fault!”

“Perhaps you plowed the wrong field!” Bjorn laughed and jumped out of the way of my swing, knocking his axe against my shield as though batting a fly.

My temper flared bright, less for the crass implication and more for the fact he wasn’t even giving me the honor of trying. “Lemon juice made quick work of any seed his prick had to sow.”

Probably not wise to give up my secret, but given that my death seemed imminent, it was worth seeing the look of stunned outrage on Vragi’s face. Bjorn howled with laughter, staggering backward and clutching at his stomach, though he was quick to block my attack when I tried to stab him.

“Gods, Vragi,” he laughed. “The world is truly better off without your progeny if you don’t question why your woman tastes of lemons.”

Tastes? I froze, staring at Bjorn, who gave me a slow smile.

“Seems he was most definitely doing it wrong.”

“Bjorn, shut the fuck up!” Snorri paced in a circle around us. “Kill her now or I’m going to cut out your tongue to silence you!”

The humor fell away from Bjorn’s eyes. “I wish fate had been kinder to you, Freya.”

Without warning, he attacked.

Gone were the halfhearted swats and effortless parries, and in their place were heavy blows that sent me staggering.

I’d thought I knew how to fight. What it would be like to be in a real battle. Nothing could have prepared me for the understanding that no matter how hard I swung, how quick I parried, the end was coming for me.

My shield burned, smoke and heat stinging my eyes, but I didn’t dare drop it. Bjorn attacked again. I moved to defend, but his axe caught hold of my blade and ripped it from my grip, sending it spinning into the forest.

This was it.

This was the moment.

Yet Bjorn hesitated, stepping back instead of moving in for the kill. A killer, yes. But not a murderer.

“Get it over with,” Snorri shouted. “You’ve dragged this out long enough. Kill her!”

I was afraid. So painfully afraid that though I sucked in breath after desperate breath, it felt like nothing reached my lungs. Like I was being strangled by my own terror. Yet I managed to heft the burning shield, ready to fight to the end. Ready to die with honor. Ready to earn my place in Valhalla.

The burning axe blurred toward me, striking my shield. A split formed in the wood even as I stumbled backward, barely keeping my feet. My arm ached with the force of the impact, and a sob tore from my lips.

He swung again.

I saw it as though time had slowed. Knew the force of the blow would shatter the shield and sever my arm. Knew that I’d smell my own burned flesh. My own scorched blood.

My courage wavered, then failed me.

“Hlin,” I gasped out the name forbidden to me all my life. “Protect me!”

A clap of thunder shattered my ears as Bjorn’s flaming axe struck my shield, which was no longer formed of wood but of silver light. The impact sent him soaring through the air, his body slamming into a tree a dozen paces from me with enough force that the trunk split.

Bjorn fell to the ground in a heap, stunned, his axe landing in a pile of pine needles and swiftly setting them ablaze.

Yet no one did anything to smother the flames. No one moved. No one so much as spoke.

Slowly, Bjorn pushed himself upright, shaking his head to clear it even as his eyes fixed on me. His voice shook as he said, “She’s the shield maiden.”

A shiver ran through me, and I vanquished my magic. But it was too late. They’d all seen.

They all knew.

“You see, my lord,” Vragi said, his voice loud and grating. “It is as I said: Freya is a child of the goddess Hlin and has been hiding her magic.”

Though it mattered little, the first thought that rose in my head was: How did he know?

Vragi chuckled, seeing the question in my eyes. “All those times you sneaked away, I thought you were lying with another man. So I followed you. Caught you out sure enough, even if it had nothing to do with another cock.”

My stomach hollowed. How had I been so blastedly stupid? Why hadn’t I taken more care?

“Steinunn,” Snorri said. “This will be the song of a generation, and it will be composed by your magic.”

The woman didn’t answer, only stared at me with such intensity I had to look away.

Bjorn smothered the fire his axe had caused, though the weapon still blazed in his hand as he drew closer. “I take it you don’t actually want me to kill her.”

Snorri snorted. “I’m not sure you could if you tried. It was foretold that her name would be born in the fire of a god. Her fate was never to die at your hand.”

“She’s unfated,” Bjorn retorted. “No one could predict whether I’d kill her, not even the gods.”

A huff of amusement exited Snorri. “You think I don’t know my own son? I knew you’d withhold a killing blow long enough for terror to force her hand.”

Snorri had played us off one another.

The hollowness in my chest began to fill with the smoldering heat of anger. That heat turned to inferno as Snorri pulled a purse from inside his coat, tossing it to Vragi. “As compensation for your lost bride price. And for your loyalty.”

“You traitorous fucking prick!” I snarled. “Is there no end to your greed?”

Vragi pulled a gold necklace out of the purse, admiring it as he said, “It’s not greed, Freya. I’m only honoring the gods by setting you to your true purpose. You really should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?”

“Yes.” He grinned. “You will soon be second wife to the jarl, which means you’ll be living in his great hall with endless baubles and riches. And he’ll take you to fight in the raids, which is what you wanted.”

Second wife. I looked to Snorri with horror, and though I saw annoyance in his eyes, he gave a nod of confirmation. “Nearly two decades ago, a seer spoke a prophecy to me of a shield maiden who’d been birthed the night of a red moon. She told me that this woman’s name would be born in the fire of the gods, and she would unite the people of Skaland beneath the rule of the one who controlled her fate.”

“Fate is woven by the Norns.” My tongue felt thick and I swallowed hard. “They control it.”

“All is fated except the lives of the children of the gods,” Snorri corrected. “Your path is unknown and as you walk it, you rearrange the threads of all those around you.”

A dull whining noise filled my ears, the sun turning impossibly bright. I was no one, and Hlin…she was the most minor of gods, barely thought of and never mentioned. Certainly not powerful enough to unite the clans beneath one man.

“You are to be a king-maker, Freya,” Snorri said, moving to grip me by the arms. “And as your husband, the one who decides your fate, I will be that king.”

This was why my father had demanded I keep my magic a secret, why he had been so convinced that I’d be used against my will if I revealed my magic. He’d been one of Snorri’s warriors, which meant he would have heard of the prophecy. Would have known Snorri’s intent, and hadn’t wanted that life for me. I didn’t want that life for me. “No!”

“It’s not your choice,” he answered. “With your father dead, it’s Geir’s decision.”

The warriors restraining my brother dragged him forward, and he spat blood in the dirt before the jarl. “If Freya says no, it is no. I’ll not dishonor my sister by forcing her into another marriage she does not wish.”

“I think you should reconsider.” Snorri stepped over the spittle, moving to stand before my brother. “I demand loyalty from my warriors, most especially those who sail on my drakkar. This is not loyalty, boy.”

Geir clenched his teeth, and I watched his dreams go up in smoke.

My heart broke as Geir touched the iron ring on his arm, but then Vragi said loudly, “I heard Ingrid’s father is looking to make a good match for her.” He hefted the purse he’d been paid to betray me. “I think this would make a fair bride price.”

Geir’s face blanched even as my stomach plummeted, because we both knew Ingrid’s father would accept the gold no matter how Ingrid protested. I couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t allow both my brother’s and my best friend’s lives to be ruined for the sake of my own. Especially when it had been my recklessness that had put us in this situation in the first place. “Fine.” My voice sounded strangled and strange. “I’ll marry you. On one condition. My brother keeps his ring and his place.”

Snorri scratched thoughtfully at his beard, then nodded. “Agreed.” His eyes flicked to Geir, who gave a tight nod, looking anywhere but at me. “Agreed.”

Snorri addressed the group. “You all bear witness? Freya has agreed to be my bride. Does anyone contest my right to take her?”

Everyone muttered their agreement. Everyone, that is, except Bjorn. His axe still blazed in his hand, his gaze fixed intently on me as he lifted his weapon, seeming on the verge of taking action. And for reasons I couldn’t quite articulate, instinct drove me to take a step back, my heart giving a rapid thump thump.

But he only lowered the weapon again, giving a slight shake of his head.

“Then it is done.” Snorri motioned for his warriors to pull Geir to his feet. “You will keep your ring and place, Geir, but we must address the matter of your loyalty. You knew I sought a daughter of Hlin but said nothing to me of your sister, despite knowing the goddess’s blood runs in her veins. For that, you must be punished.” He hefted the axe he held.

“No!” The shout tore from my lips, shrill with panic. “You gave your word!”

I moved to step between them, but Bjorn was faster. He caught me around the waist, hauling me backward so my shoulder blades pressed against his chest. “He won’t kill him,” he said in my ear, breath hot. “Once it is done, it will be done. Don’t get in the way.”

“Let me go!” I struggled and fought, trying to slam my heels down on his boots, but he only lifted me off my feet like a child. “Geir!”

My brother stood straight-backed with his chin up. Accepting his fate.

Snorri swung.

The flat of the blade struck my brother in the shin, the sound of cracking bone echoing through the trees. I screamed.

Geir did not.

My brother’s face turned deathly white, but he emitted not a sound as he dropped to the ground, his hands clenched into fists.

Snorri fastened his axe back at his waist. “You will rejoin me when you can walk, understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” Geir gasped out.

I clawed at Bjorn’s arms, trying to get to my brother. Needing to help him. But Bjorn would not let me go.

Snorri met my gaze, eyes boring into mine. “You are a sought-after woman, shield maiden. With Steinunn’s songs, word of you will swiftly spread and everyone will seek to possess you. Many may seek to strike at those you care about to harm you.” He paused. “My men will watch over your family to ensure nothing…unfortunate should befall them.”

His words stole the breath from my chest, my stomach plummeting. It was no promise to protect my family—it was a threat to ensure my compliance. Given what he’d just done to Geir, there was no doubt in my mind that this man was capable of far worse if he was crossed, so I gave a tight nod of understanding.

No one moved. No one spoke, the only sound my brother’s ragged breaths of pain.

“I’ll be off, then,” Vragi announced, breaking the silence. Going to his horse, he swiftly mounted. “Wouldn’t want Geir to beat me to a meeting with Ingrid’s father.” His laugh was cruel.

My fury burned hot, and I screamed, “Don’t you dare! You leave her be!”

“Ingrid will make a fine wife,” Vragi answered with a chuckle.

To my right, Geir was crawling after Vragi. Was begging for someone to lend him a horse. My brother, begging. “You have what you want,” he cried. “You are rid of Freya, paid with gold, you do not need Ingrid!”

I would not stand for this.

Slamming my head back, I caught Bjorn hard in the chin and he dropped me. The second my feet hit the ground, I closed my fingers over the fiery handle of his axe, ripping it from his hand. Agony lanced up my arm as the flames licked over my skin, burning my flesh, and I screamed as I raised it over my head, fire kissing my cheek.

And then I threw the weapon.

It flipped end-over-end as it arced through the air, sparks trailing in its wake.

Embedding with a meaty thunk in the back of Vragi’s skull.