There were carvings in it. Deep gouges that left parings littered on the moss at its base. Runes drawn in a circle, at the center of which was carved an eye. I traced my finger around the circle, uncertain of the meaning, then touched the eye at the center.
Light exploded in my vision, then Snorri’s face appeared. I staggered backward, the vision disappearing the moment I ceased touching the carving.
Runic magic.
I swallowed hard, unease filling me. Tentatively, I reached out to touch the carving again. My eyes flashed bright, then Snorri appeared again, faded and blurred, drifting in and out of focus like I was looking at him through water.
But his words were clear enough.
Heart in my throat, I watched him give his speech about abandoning Halsar and moving on Grindill, his eyes flashing with passion the way they had when I’d witnessed the speech myself. Then the vision faded, and I was left staring at the tree.
Someone who’d witnessed Snorri’s speech had left this message. Had revealed our plans.
But who had cause to do such a thing? And who was the message for?
Gnut was the obvious answer, except everyone who’d witnessed Snorri’s speech had been from Halsar, which surely meant they would hate the other jarl for what he’d done. Another jarl perhaps? Or…
King Harald.
My jaw tightened, pieces of the puzzle falling together. Ylva.
She wanted Bjorn out of the way, I knew that for a fact. And though she’d said she was with Bodil the entire time at Fjalltindr, she’d been gone more than long enough to have a conversation with both of them. But the true proof was in the runes themselves.
This was sorcery that few had the nerve to practice, but I’d seen Ylva do it. First for the ritual where Hlin had given me my tattoos, and then in Fjalltindr when she’d warded the hall. This was within her power, and she had more motive than anyone who’d witnessed Snorri’s speech, because she didn’t want to abandon Halsar.
“Bitch,” I hissed, then spun on my heels, fully intending to drag Snorri himself up to this tree to show him the proof of the conspiracy.
I took one step and ran smack into a solid chest.
Rebounding, I swore and reached for my sword, only to realize a heartbeat before I drew it that the chest belonged to Bjorn.
He crossed his arms. “What are you doing in the woods alone, Freya?”
Not alone. With him.
Which was the exact opposite of what I’d been trying to accomplish. If anyone saw us out here together, it would only add fuel to whatever rumors were swirling, and there would be consequences to that. “Why are you following me?”
One dark eyebrow rose. “Because my father has ordered me to keep you alive, and allowing you to wander off alone and get yourself killed runs counter to that.”
My cheeks burned. “Fine. It doesn’t matter.” It was hard to focus, thoughts dancing in and out of my head as I struggled with what to say. “The specter appeared to me. It walked around the beach and led me here.”
Bjorn tensed. “The specter?”
“Yes.” It was a struggle to meet his gaze. “It brought me up there”—I gestured to the slope—“and it told me to watch. It touched me, and though it was burning, its hand felt like ice.”
He shifted uneasily, and I couldn’t blame him. “What did you see?”
“That signal fire”—I gestured to the now faintly smoking ashes—“was burning hot. A woman was there.”
“A woman? Did you see her face?”
I shook my head. “She was hooded. But she carved the runes on the tree and then disappeared down the ravine.” I turned back to the tree to point them out, and my stomach plummeted.
The runes were gone, only a smoldering circle left where they’d once been. “No,” I snarled. “This cannot be. They were right here!” Rounding on Bjorn, I said, “I touched the runes and they showed a vision of Snorri giving his speech detailing his plans to abandon Halsar and take Grindill. It was a message.”
“I believe you.” Stepping around me, Bjorn bent low to examine the char. “There are combinations of runes that can burn themselves away once their magic has been spent. Prudent for anyone leaving a message that they’d rather no one see.”
“Fuck!” I kicked a rock hard, sending it spinning into the underbrush as my anger rose.
“Why are you so angry?” Bjorn asked, eyeing me warily.
“Because now he’ll never believe it was Ylva!” Picking up another rock, I hurled it at the tree, not caring if I looked childish. “It will be just like Fjalltindr where it is her word against mine that she’s conspiring with Harald, and you know who Snorri will believe.”