Bjorn’s younger half-brother looked ready to argue, but one glare from his mother sent him hurrying to the rear of the hall. Crossing her arms, Ylva said, “I’m less forgiving of your conduct than Snorri, girl. Sulking in your pillow for days, only to go out and inspire fistfights before storming out of a performance meant to honor you. It’s—”
“It wasn’t meant to honor me, Ylva, it was to make people fear me,” I interrupted. “Which is why I wish to speak to Steinunn.”
“My magic speaks the truth,” the skald swiftly said. “If the truth is terrifying, there is nothing I can do to change that.”
“Unless there is more to the story,” I said. “An untold piece that might add needed depth.” Turning to Ylva, I said, “Snorri wishes to entice the other jarls to swear oaths to him with tales of battle fame, which is well and good. But the people who are to be ruled by him—they need something different. Something…more. A king takes an oath of loyalty from his people, but he, in turn, gives an oath to protect them. The people must see that. Must believe it is the truth, which cannot be proven by any way better than a skald’s song.”
Ylva’s eyes narrowed. “What precisely could you add, Freya? All you’ve proven is your adeptness for killing.”
I flinched. “Then perhaps what Steinunn’s song needs is not more stories about me, but rather the tales of the goddess whose power I wield.”
“There are few tales,” Steinunn interjected. “What is known of her is already known to all. To make these songs worthy, they must hold new stories that will entice men to action. There is no one who has seen or spoken directly to the goddess in our lifetime who might provide such.”
“Except Freya’s mother.” Ylva pursed her lips, blue eyes distant, though they swiftly fixed on mine. “Is there a compelling story surrounding your conception, Freya? Because I do not think tales of lust and divine fornication will inspire people to think better of you.”
“In truth, I don’t know,” I admitted. “My father forbade anyone in our family to speak of my heritage. But Steinunn could travel to Selvegr and speak to her. Learn whatever my mother knows of Hlin, and then use it to temper her song.”
“My song requires no alteration,” Steinunn snapped. “Already it has proven its effectiveness. On Snorri’s orders, tomorrow I leave to travel across Skaland, performing to all who listen so that they might hear of Freya Born-in-Fire’s battle fame. Long have these men desired to make war on Nordeland, and the opportunity to make it happen will be beyond their power to resist.”
“Your song makes me appear a monster,” I snapped.
Steinunn leaned close. “Perhaps because you are.” Rounding on Ylva, she added, “Snorri wishes for me to leave tomorrow. I must rest. Good night to you both.”
Turning on her heels, the skald strode from the hall.
My hands curved into fists, and I drew in several shuddering breaths, trying to find calm. The rage that consumed me during the battle, that took hold of me not an hour past with Bjorn, was rising again.
It made me wonder if Steinunn was right. That there was nothing more to add to the song.
“The people fear you,” Ylva said softly. “You looked as much a monster as the draug you fought in the tunnels beneath Fjalltindr.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “And I helped bring you down upon them.”
“You’re fated.” My voice was cold. Clipped. “It wasn’t your choice; it was made by the Norns who weave your thread.”
“I do not think that is what it means to be fated,” Ylva answered. “I think it means that the Norns know our threads so well that they see each and every decision we will make.” Her eyes locked on mine. “So I am not released from culpability, only predictable in it.”
A rush of air exited my lips, my anger flowing away, though I wasn’t entirely certain why.
“I love my husband,” Ylva said. “But he sees only the glory, not the backs of those he must step upon to achieve it. I see the faces belonging to those backs, and I do not like the expressions I saw on them tonight.” Her eyes flicked to Snorri, who was laughing and pounding Bjorn on the shoulder. “I do not wish to see him rise to power on a tide of fear. Do not wish for that to be my son’s legacy.”
I held my breath, waiting for a solution from a woman who, I realized now, was more ally than enemy, for many of our desires were the same.