A quiver ran through my body, because what he spoke of sounded like possession. Like madness. And it didn’t entirely make sense. “How can Hlin make me behave this way, Bjorn?” I met his gaze, though it was hard to see in the shadows. “She’s the goddess of protection.”
“I don’t know.” His grip on me tightened. “She’s a minor god. Only a few stories speak of her, and none tell anything of her nature. I can tell you that with certainty, because many sought to learn everything about her when my mother foretold the power you’d have.”
Which meant I was at war with someone I knew nothing about. Who no one living had ever met. Except…
I sat upright, pulse throbbing. “I need to go speak with my mother.”
“My father isn’t just going to let you go roaming the countryside,” Bjorn said under his breath as he walked with me back to the great hall. “Not with half the jarls in Skaland desiring to capture or kill you, and the other half on their way to Grindill to meet you. You’re too valuable to allow out of his sight. He’ll only have your mother brought here to give answers.”
“No.” My voice was flat. “Bad enough that Geir and Ingrid chose to put themselves within reach by coming to Grindill, I won’t put my mother at risk as well.”
“Then I fail to see a solution.” Bjorn ground to a halt, ignoring the way those in the streets gave us wide berth. I had a more difficult time setting aside the fearful looks many of them gave me. “It is a full day’s ride to Selvegr and another back. Impossible to do without your absence being noted.”
I rubbed at my scarred hand, thinking hard. Then an idea occurred to me. “I need to find Steinunn.”
Bjorn’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because her magic might be able to give me the answers I need.” Twisting away from him, I went into the great hall. As expected, the skald was there, speaking with Ylva and Snorri, as well as two men I didn’t recognize. “Keep your father busy while I talk to her,” I muttered under my breath.
“There is my prize,” Snorri said at the sight of me. “Freya, this is Jarl Arme Gormson and Jarl Ivar Rolfson, who have sworn allegiance to me as king of Skaland.” To the men, he said, “My wife, Freya, and my son, Bjorn.”
Both names were familiar to me, as their territories were not distant from Snorri’s. I inclined my head respectfully, only for shock to ripple through me as both bowed low. “Shield Maiden,” Ivar said, “we were present for Steinunn’s performance, which was a privilege to behold. Our enemies will cower in terror when faced with you on the battlefield, of that there is no question. Especially as Steinunn spreads word of your battle fame.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks, remembering how not so long ago, battle fame had been my greatest dream. I’d thought that would be my reward for enduring Snorri. But now that I’d tasted real battle, those dreams felt like nightmares. Were my nightmares, the parade of people who’d fallen because of me marching through my mind every night.
“As Skaland’s strength grows, soon we will turn our eyes to Nordeland,” Snorri said. “It is rich with gold and silver from years of their raiding. Past time we took back what is ours.”
The men nodded their approval, Arme’s gaze shifting to Bjorn. “To see revenge for your mother’s murder on the horizon must have your blood blazing, Firehand. A thing worthy of one of Steinunn’s songs, when it comes to pass.”
Bjorn inclined his head. “I have waited many years for vengeance.”
The men grinned. “The next time we see each other, it will be on drakkar as our fleet sails across the strait to put Harald in his place.”
“My father believes my destiny is to fight by Freya’s side,” Bjorn said. “So where she goes, I will go. If it is Nordeland, so much the better.”
“My lord,” I said to Snorri, interrupting the exchange. “It was to Steinunn I wished to speak. I…I had some thoughts I might share with her to add to her songs.”
He gave me an approving nod. “It is well to see you coming to terms with your role.”
Nodding, I edged past, leaving Bjorn to make idle chatter with the jarls. I approached Steinunn, who was exchanging words with Ylva. Leif stood at his mother’s elbow, the boy giving me a wary look, his hand drifting to the seax sheathed at his waist. I smiled at him, despite knowing that there was little chance of me ever winning his regard, but the furrow in Leif’s brow only deepened. Ylva’s hands closed on his shoulders, drawing him backward. “Go,” she said. “It is past time you were abed.”