I bit my lip, tears threatening. “That’s not what I asked.”
“Skade’s a killer,” Bjorn answered. “But she’s loyal to Harald and won’t go against his orders.”
“Bjorn…” Tears trickled down my cheeks because I was the reason Skade was here. I was the reason my mother was in danger. “Will Skade hurt her?”
“I don’t know.” Bjorn kicked a rock. “This…I don’t know what he intends, only that if we go after them, we’ll be giving him exactly what he wants.”
I’d told my mother that I was through with her. It’s time you made your own way in the world.
A lie, because I refused to abandon her.
Catching my horse’s reins, I swung onto the mare’s back. “Are you coming with me, or do I need to do this alone?”
Bjorn swung into his own saddle. “Where you go, I go, Born-in-Fire. Even if it’s to the gates of Valhalla.”
I dug in my heels, taking the lead, for I knew this ground by memory. We swung wide of Selvegr so that those left with the drakkar wouldn’t catch sight of us, then down the narrow tracks and game trails that would take us to the rear of my mother’s farm. We dismounted, leaving the horses and hurrying through the trees, the hunting skills my father had taught me serving well and Bjorn making almost no sound, despite his size.
“Skade does not miss,” he said softly. “Her arrow is no more made of wood than my axe is of steel. The only way to kill her is to catch her unaware, but her instincts are second to none.”
“But my magic can block her arrow,” I said, tightening my grip on my shield. “Just as it blocks your axe and Thor’s lightning.”
“Her arrow doesn’t travel as a mortal’s does,” Bjorn answered. “Skade might appear to aim at your face but be aiming at your back. Kill her before she shoots or die where you stand.”
Reaching the edge of the tree line, we dropped low, keeping behind brush and scrub as we pressed closer to my family home. My mother stood in the field, grazing goats around her. Birger was on the roof, likely repairing the leak my mother had complained about. I opened my mouth to shout a warning when he abruptly stiffened, and I gasped at the sight of a glowing green brand jutting out the back of his head. It disappeared almost immediately, and Birger fell backward, rolling off the roof to land with a heavy thud.
My mother heard the sound and started, eyes searching, but Birger had fallen out of her line of sight. I moved to rise, to defend her, but Bjorn pulled me down a heartbeat before Skade appeared from the trees on the other side of the clearing.
“Who are you?” my mother demanded, pulling out the seax she wore, the short blade glittering. “Birger! Birger!”
“I am known as Skade,” she answered, her voice carrying the accent of Nordeland. The same accent as Bjorn’s did. “I am King Harald of Nordeland’s warlord.”
My mother took a step back, but Skade’s warriors were encircling the clearing, leaving nowhere to run. I held my breath as two passed only a few paces from the brush behind which we hid. Which meant there was no chance of us getting close enough to attack Skade before she killed one of us.
Sweat poured down my back, my fingers icy cold where they gripped the handle of my shield and the hilt of my sword. Please, I prayed to Hlin, protect her.
“You are Kelda. The mother of Freya, Erik’s daughter, yes? Also known as Freya Born-in-Fire, child of Hlin?”
My mother didn’t answer.
“We know it is so,” Skade said. “Your clansman brought us to you.”
Traitorous bastard, I wanted to scream, but at the same time, I understood why he’d chosen to help her. He’d smelled the danger and chosen to protect himself and his own.
“Has your daughter come to see you?” Skade asked. “It was her intent.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I don’t,” Skade answered. “King Harald does. So you’d be well to give me the answers he seeks, else meet the fate of Snorri’s man.” She smirked. “He died with a fist full of thatch, so I think he is not on his way to Valhalla.”
Tell her the truth, I willed my mother. Tell her what she wants to know so that she leaves you alive.
My mother hesitated, then said, “She came. Left an hour past.”
Next to me, Bjorn’s hands tightened around a handful of dirt, his knuckles turning white.
Skade didn’t answer, only tilted her head.
“On horseback,” my mother swiftly added. “The jarl’s son, Bjorn, known as the Firehand, was with her.”