Had it been a choice? Ylva’s words reverberated in my head, the idea that the Norns did not choose, only implicitly understood what choice a person would make, consuming my thoughts. I held my mother against me, our foreheads touching. “To have your child chosen to hold a goddess’s blood is a privilege none would turn down, Mother. There is nothing to forgive.”
“I thought it was Freyja,” she whispered. “Thought that one day you’d invoke her name and create life where there was none, which is why I named you for her. And thought nothing of it when your father returned from Halsar with word the seer had spoken prophecy of a child of Hlin. Only waited for the day you would come into your power, yet what horror when you did, for it was not life your magic promised but war. I cursed you, my love. Forgive me.”
It was hard not to flinch at knowing that was how she saw my magic, yet still, I didn’t understand why she was pleading the way she was. “There is nothing to forgive. I am content.”
She straightened and held me at arm’s length, eyes locked on mine. “Don’t lie to me, girl.”
I twitched. “I’m not.”
“If you are so content with your husband and your future, why do you risk it all by climbing into bed with his son?”
Shock radiated through me, and I gaped at her. “Pardon?”
“Don’t lie to me, love. I know the look of a man possessive of that which he believes is his, and the Firehand looks at you that way. As you look at him.” My mother’s nails dug into my arms and she shook me violently. “What madness possesses you, Freya? Your life, and the lives of everyone in this family, hangs in the balance of your favor with Snorri, yet you cuckold him with his own son? You think it will remain secret? That he won’t find out? You must end it.”
I quivered, my stomach twisted with anger and shame and fear.
“Is satisfying your lusts worth your brother’s life?” she demanded, and my gut hollowed. “End it, Freya. Promise me that you will end it, for all our sakes. Swear it on Hlin’s name.”
A strange dizziness swept over me, but with it came unexpected clarity. I could not fulfill Saga’s foretelling and be with Bjorn. I could not protect my family and be with him.
I had to choose.
The air seemed to thrum, and from the corner of my eye I saw Bjorn turn from his task, searching for danger.
But I focused on my mother. On what she’d told me. On all the things she’d asked of me over the course of my life. On what she asked of me now. My anger, always simmering, burst into flame. “Do not make demands of me.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Have you lost your mind?”
I shook my head. “No, Mother. For the first time ever, I finally see clearly.”
“What do you mean?”
Her eyes were full of confusion, and that only fueled my anger, because how could she not know? “My whole life, all you have ever done is take from me for Geir’s gain. Or your own. From your own lips, you’ve put me last since before I was born.”
“Freya—”
“You made me hide my heritage, my magic, who I was,” I hissed. “Married me to Vragi because he’d bring wealth and privilege to our family even though you knew how he’d treat me. Offered yourselves up like mindless goats for sacrifice so that Snorri might have leverage to control me, because you knew it would be to your benefit. And now you ask me to turn away the one person who has put me first, the one person who cares about me, because it risks your selfish hide. Perhaps that is the right choice. But it must be my choice, not yours.”
The tension in the air seemed to snap like a rope stretched too tight, and my mother took a step back. “Then I expect you’ll curse us all.”
I huffed out a bitter breath. “You cursed yourself. It would have been easy for you to evade Birger and escape, but all you saw was the benefits Snorri’s silver brought to you. Same with Geir, who could easily have run away with Ingrid, but refused to give up his choice place in Snorri’s war band. In your selfishness and greed, you stuck your own necks under the axe, yet weep that it is my fault when the blade threatens to descend.”
“You dare to call us selfish, you little whore!” She lifted her hand to slap me, but then a much larger one closed over her wrist.
“Apologize.” Bjorn’s voice was like ice.
“You’re the one who should apologize.” My mother tried to pull free, but Bjorn’s grip only tightened. “You’re the one who made her like this. Freya used to be a good and loyal woman.”