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

“Fuck,” Bjorn snarled, then caught hold of my arm, both of us racing down the dock. There wouldn’t be much time, and I prayed that the warriors enjoying my wedding festivities were armed and sober enough to swing a weapon.

I knew raids. Had lived through them. Had lost friends and family to them. They were vicious and bloody, and the victors rarely spared anyone they caught.

And Halsar was far from prepared for an attack.

Mud splattered my skirts as we crossed the beach. We had minutes, if that, before the drakkar hit shore, and then the enemy would sweep through the streets, killing as they went. And they shouldn’t even be here. “There is still ice on the water. How are the Nordelanders raiding so early?”

“Whoever it is isn’t here to raid—they’re here for you!”

For me? “Why?” I demanded between gasped breaths. “How could anyone even know I’m here?”

“Because the foretelling is no secret,” he answered. “And every jarl across Skaland has been watching and waiting for the day Snorri found you so that they can put you in your grave.”

The sweat pouring down my skin seemed to freeze to ice. “Why do they want me dead?”

A stupid question, because I knew.

Bjorn looked down at me, his eyes shadowed. “Very few relish the idea of being ruled.”

Dragging me behind the great hall, Bjorn slid to a stop next to the entrance to the escape tunnel. “Get inside. Warn my father.” Then he broke into a sprint toward the front entrance.

I crawled on my hands and knees in the mud, and then slammed my hands against the trap door. “Snorri! Ylva! Raiders!”

The trap door swung open, revealing a bare-chested Snorri. “Raiders,” I gasped out again. “Many ships. They’ll have landed by now.” Remembering that I wasn’t supposed to have ventured out, I added, “I heard the warning shouts!”

“Raiders?” Ylva demanded. “Not possible! There is too much ice on the strait for Nordeland to come.”

“Well, then it’s another jarl,” I snapped. “If you don’t believe me—”

Shouts of alarm filtered in from the main hall, one name being repeated over and over again.

“Gnut!” Snorri roared the name, his eyes blazing in fury. Reaching down, he hauled me into the room.

Gnut Olafson was jarl of the territories to the east of us, familiar to me only because his stronghold was one fjord over from my village and we often needed to pay his warriors to leave us be. Close as Gnut’s territories were, he still must have had a spy within Halsar with magical abilities to have learned of my identity so soon. The means mattered little, though; he was here now. All because of me. Because of what I would supposedly do. And he was here to kill me. “I need a weapon.”

Snorri leveled a finger at me. “You need to stay here with those who can’t fight, where you can be kept safe.”

“But I can fight!” For the first time in my life, I finally had the chance to defend my people against raiders without hiding my magic and it was being taken from me.

“For twenty years I hunted you.” Snorri gripped my arms hard enough that I’d have bruises tomorrow. “I refuse to lose my promised destiny within hours of possessing you.”

Possessing. The word made my muscles tighten as though my body itself rejected such a notion, but I said nothing as I watched him pull on a shirt and then a vest of mail before belting on a sword. “Keep her here,” he ordered Ylva, then strode out into the chaos of the great hall.

I paced back and forth as Ylva pulled a dress over her naked body, which was a combination of long lines and rich curves that helped explain Snorri’s devotion to her, though in my opinion even perfect breasts couldn’t compensate for her personality. “Don’t be frightened, Freya,” she said. “Snorri will defeat him, and Gnut’s people will see the smoke from the pyres of their dead warriors when they wake in the morning. It will be an omen that the foretelling is coming to fruition, and respect for Snorri will grow.”

I wasn’t afraid. I was furious. People would die tonight defending me, and instead of battling alongside them, I was hiding with the helpless. “Our people will die, too. Don’t you care about them?”

“Of course I care,” she snapped. “I wish for our people to be strong—strong enough that no one dares to attack us, and the only way for that to happen is for Skaland to be united. You will make that happen.”

“How?” I was in her face, though I didn’t remember moving. “I am the child of a minor god, my magic useful only in protecting myself in combat. What is it that you believe I can do that will cause all of Skaland to follow Snorri?”

“Only the gods know, but whatever you do, our skald will see. And she will sing the songs of your exploits across all of Skaland until every man and woman swears an oath to Snorri.”

“All she will sing, then, is that I hid from danger in the great hall like a child.” I turned and walked out of the room.

The hall was empty of warriors, with only women, children, and the elderly sitting silently where before they had danced, the garlands hanging from pillars and rafters drooping, the remains of the feast congealing on the platters. It smelled of mead and vomit and fear, and it took all my restraint not to force my way out the doors, because this was not where I belonged.

I needed a weapon. I needed to defend these people. I needed to fight.

Spotting the sword Snorri had gifted me at the wedding ceremony where it leaned against my chair, I reached for it before remembering the dull blade. Then my eyes latched on my father’s sword. Snorri’s sword, now, but I didn’t care as I picked it up, examining the keen edge.

Sharp enough to cut. Sharp enough to kill.

Tossing aside my cloak, I strode toward the doors, but Ylva’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “On your life, you do not allow her to leave.”

The two men she’d been speaking to shifted in front of the doors, their arms crossed, weapons in hand. Seasoned fighters from the look of them, but if I took up one of the many shields decorating the hall and called my magic, there was a chance I could get past them.

Except what if I hurt them in the process?

Injuring warriors, and potentially myself, when there was a battle raging outside and dozens of innocents inside needing protection, was a stupid plan.

A better plan would be to find another way out.

“Fine.” I lowered my sword, but as though sensing my thoughts, Ylva said, “The room is locked, Freya. Sit down, pour yourself a drink, and stay out of trouble.”

Gods, but I was beginning to loathe this woman. Gritting my teeth, I took a seat at a table near the edge of the room, sword rested across my thighs.

Screams and shouts filtered through the walls. Clansmen and women who hadn’t been at the feast and who were fleeing Gnut’s warriors, and part of me started to worry that I didn’t need to leave to find the fight.

Because it would find me.

Drumming my fingers on the table, I considered my options. Either fight the men barring my path or try to get through the locked doors to Snorri’s quarters, then out through the escape tunnel. Neither guaranteed success.

The screams outside clawed at my insides. Every muscle in my body tensed, needing to move. Children wept in their mothers’ arms, all of them knowing what would come if the hall was breached. All of them knowing it would be our bodies that burned, the smoke rising like that which escaped through the—

Opening above.

I flicked my gaze to the hole in the roof of the great hall, not even visible in the shadows, though I knew it was there. Big enough for me to fit through if only I could climb into the rafters without anyone noticing.

Except what could I do from the rooftop?

The answer lay in a bow and quiver someone had left behind, likely in favor of a shield and blade. Getting to my feet, I strode to the table the weapons leaned against, slinging them over my shoulder before heading to a ladder leading to the upper level.

“What are you doing?” Ylva snapped.

“If they get in,” I answered, “I’ll kill as many as I can.”

The lady of Halsar eyed me warily, wisely concerned that I might put an arrow in her back, but there was little she could say with everyone else looking on.

I climbed up to the narrow space filled with cots and personal belongings. I leaned against the railing, waiting for Ylva to stop checking that I wasn’t trying to escape. Which didn’t take long.

Fists pounded against the doors, the people outside screaming to be let in. I half expected Ylva to deny them, but she gave the warriors at the doors a tight nod and they lifted the beam, a tide of bloodied and terrified people flowing inside.

This was my chance.

Eyeing the beams and rafters while I tucked my skirts into my belt, I took one final look to ensure no one was watching, then climbed. I’d spent my youth chasing after my brother, which meant climbing many trees, and I put the skills to good use as I heaved myself up, doing my best to remain silent. This high, the smoke was chokingly thick and a cough slipped from my throat.

“She’s in the rafters!”

Shit.

Not bothering to look down, I reached for the opening and hauled myself onto the roof of the great hall. Blinking and coughing, I crawled down the broad center beam, my tears finally clearing away in the thinning smoke so that I could see.

Part of me wished I’d remained blinded.

All through Halsar, homes burned, and in the streets, battle raged. Small groups of warriors fought against one another, men and women falling on both sides. It was too dark to make out faces, but there was one whose identity there was no mistaking.

Bjorn fought alone against a group of warriors, his axe a glowing blur as it arced through the air, a shield in his other hand. I watched in stunned silence as he sent a warrior’s weapon spinning away, then reversed his momentum, axe cutting deep into the man’s neck. Stepping over the body, he blocked a blow from another warrior with his shield, then swung his axe. The man caught the blow with his own axe, the weapons locking. The haft of the man’s weapon caught flame, but before he could retreat, Bjorn slammed his shield into the man’s face. He dropped with a scream, trying to crawl away while clutching his ruined face, but Bjorn’s axe sliced into his chest, the fiery blade cutting through metal and flesh with ease even as he lifted his other arm to block another attack.

His shield shattered.

Rather than falling back, Bjorn threw a broken piece at the attacker’s face, then swung, his axe cutting through the man’s sword like a hot knife through butter. The warrior twisted and broke into a run. He only made it a few paces before Bjorn threw his axe, the weapon embedding in the warrior’s back. As the man fell, the flaming axe disappeared, only to reappear in Bjorn’s hand, already swinging at the next opponent.

I realized then why Snorri had accused him of holding back when he’d fought against me, because this…this was not the warrior I’d battled. This seemed as though Tyr himself had stepped onto the mortal plane.

The skin on the back of my neck prickled and I turned.

Shadows approached the great hall from the south, moving silently and without torchlight, but there was no mistaking the way the moon glinted off metal. The attack from the water had only been a distraction while the bulk of Gnut’s men came at Halsar from behind. Their goal, the great hall itself.

No. Not the great hall.

Me.

I was their goal, and they’d kill everyone in their path in order to achieve it.

Anger chased away my fear, and I knelt next to the opening in the roof to shout, “Ylva, another force approaches from the south! Send someone to warn Snorri!”

Not waiting for a response, I scuttled down the length of the great hall to the north end. “Bjorn!” I screamed, trying to get his attention. “They are attacking from the rear! Bjorn!”

But he couldn’t hear me over the din, his attention wholly fixed on the danger before him. As was the attention of everyone else, none of Snorri’s warriors aware of the threat approaching from the rear.

Below, one of Ylva’s guards sprinted toward the battle. But before he’d gone a dozen paces, he dropped, an arrow sticking out of his leg. He crawled on hands and knees, and another arrow shot from the dark, scarcely missing him.

Extracting an arrow from my quiver, I searched the darkness for the archer and caught sight of a shadow. My arm quivered as I drew the bowstring, for the weapon was designed for someone much taller and stronger. Then I loosed the arrow.

It shot through the night, and the shadow I’d aimed at screamed.

But my efforts were in vain.

Another warrior raced out of the shadows between buildings. He lifted his axe high, and before I could nock another arrow, he sliced off the crawling man’s head. I gasped as blood splattered, the man’s corpse slumping to the muddy earth.

The warrior who’d killed him went still, then looked up, his eyes fixing on me.

Instinctively I crouched, but he only grinned and pointed at me. Blood dripped from his axe as he took up a torch, walking toward the great hall. If he set it ablaze, everyone inside would either burn or be forced out the doors to face the rapidly approaching wall of warriors coming from the rear.

It would be slaughter.

Pulling out another arrow, I ground my teeth and drew the bowstring, cursing my weakness as my arm shuddered. The arrow flew, striking the ground at the warrior’s feet, and though I couldn’t hear him, his shoulders shook with laughter.

I tried again and missed, a shriek of frustration tearing from my lips because I couldn’t keep the bow steady enough to aim.

I drew another arrow, but the warrior stepped out of my line of sight, hidden by the edge of the roof. “Shit,” I snarled, praying to all the gods that the wood would be too damp to burn even as I heard his mockery from below. “Turn over the shield maiden,” he crooned. “Hand her to me and I promise we’ll let you live.”

A lie if I’d ever heard one, so I didn’t bother responding.

Could I jump down and kill him? I moved to the midpoint of the building to eye the distance, my heart beating manically in my chest and my palms slick with sweat.

It was too far. With my luck, I’d break an ankle and that arsehole would cut off my head while I was writhing in pain. Besides, killing him wouldn’t solve the problem, for as I looked south, it was to see that the rest of Gnut’s forces now stood before the great hall, their shields raised high. “Give us the shield maiden,” one shouted. “Give her to us and we’ll go in peace.”

More lies.

They’d slit my throat and then set the great hall on fire just for spite, killing everyone they could before Snorri and his warriors arrived to drive them back. Given the silence from within the great hall, those inside knew the same. Ylva was likely biding her time, praying her husband would arrive to save her.

And me.

Yet as Gnut’s warriors stepped closer to the great hall, torches in hand, I knew rescue wouldn’t come soon enough. At least, not from where Ylva expected it.

Crawling to the north end of the roof, I stared through the haze of smoke to the fjord where the enemy’s ships rested against the beach. Then I moved my gaze to the building nearest the great hall. A long jump, but not nearly as long as the drop to the ground below.

I could do it. And then it would only be a matter of climbing down to warn Bjorn and the others.

Standing, I hooked the bow around my shoulders and carefully backed up several paces. I was an easy target for any archer, so I didn’t hesitate. My shoes thudded against the wood as I sprinted down the beam, but the sound seemed distant as I stared at the gap between the buildings, my fear demanding that I stop. Begging that I not take this risk.

Born-in-Fire.

I jumped.

Cold wind whistled past my ears as I flew through the air, the roof of the building rushing to meet me. My feet struck first, jarring my spine, then I toppled forward to land on my hands and knees, thatch flying everywhere.

I crouched in place for a heartbeat, gasping for breath.

Then the roof collapsed beneath me.