I risked a sideways glance at Bjorn, who was the only one who knew with certainty which man was telling the truth and which man was a liar performing for his army, but he was staring forward, hands gripped tight on the balustrade.
“We can stand here shouting accusations at each other all day,” Harald said, rocking on his heels. “But it changes nothing. From your own lips at Fjalltindr, you intend to use Freya to attack Nordeland, and I cannot allow that to happen. So either give her to me, or we will battle over her here and now, allowing the gods to choose the victor.”
“The gods have already foreseen my victory,” Snorri shouted, “but if you need proof, you shall have it.” He looked sideways, his eyes meeting mine. “Shield wall.”
My fingers were numb, and my stomach twisted into knots as I fixed my eyes on Tora, who’d stepped close to Harald’s side. Memory of my last battle with her filled my mind’s eye. Visions of how bolts of lightning had torn into flesh and earth, rending both asunder. How lightning had exploded through Bodil’s chest. Yes, I’d managed to repel a bolt and stopped her, but what were the chances of managing such a feat again?
“Shield wall!” Snorri shouted, then slammed his sword against his shield. “Shield wall!” The warriors around us took up the refrain, hammering their weapons against their shields, the noise growing louder and louder until I could barely hear myself think.
Shield wall.
Sheathing my warped sword, I placed my hands on the balustrade, watching as lightning crackled between Tora’s raised palms. “Hlin,” I whispered. “Protect us.”
Magic surged through me, flowing out of my fingers and onto the wall, spreading left and right with blinding speed until it encircled the fortress with glowing light.
“It’s not too late, Freya,” Harald shouted. “No one need die today. All it takes is you deciding to change your fate.”
I turned my head enough to see behind me. Geir was still on his knees, Ragnar’s blade at his throat. And Ingrid…the child…if I didn’t at least try to fight off Harald, I fully believed whoever had her would kill her for spite.
There was no path through this. No choice that wouldn’t cause death. “Bjorn…” I trailed off because I couldn’t ask him what I should do. Couldn’t put the burden of this on his shoulders when it was mine to carry. But I could ask for the truth. “Which one of them killed her?”
His throat moved as he swallowed. “Neither of them killed her, Freya.”
“But you said you wanted vengeance against the man who harmed her?” I stared at him. “Against Harald?”
With visible effort, he forced himself to meet my gaze. “I do. But neither of them killed her.”
A chill ran through me as understanding sank into my bones. Bjorn had a scar on his shoulder from the first time he’d called Tyr’s flame—from setting a cabin on fire. Saga had burned alive.
“My vengeance is my own, Born-in-Fire,” Bjorn said. “Do not base your choices upon it.”
I clenched my teeth because that only made this harder. I wanted there to be a right path, for then no matter what happened, I could walk it without regret, yet it seemed a fate that would forever be denied to me.
Murmurs of dismay drew my eyes back to the army before me. Civilians from Torne were shoved forward by Harald’s men so that they stood between Tora and the glowing wall of my magic. Some stood frozen, but many raced toward the gate, begging to be let in. Snorri gave a slight shake of his head. “Hold steady.”
“This is your last chance to end this peacefully,” Harald shouted. “Lower your shield and surrender yourself, Freya. End this before anyone dies.”
“It’s a trick,” Snorri snarled at me. “The moment you lower your guard, he’ll take you and then slaughter us all.”
“I swear that if you come down, my army will leave these shores, Freya!” Harald walked through the sea of sharpened stakes in the trenches, stopping close enough to touch my magic. Close enough for any of the archers to shoot, but he still held the white fabric, and honor stayed their hands. That, or the fact that the true threat stood out of reach, lightning crackling between her palms. “Come down,” he said. “There need not be war today.”
I quivered, sweat soaking the hair at my temples, though I felt cold. What was the answer? What was the right path? What should I do? Turning my back on my mother had led to her death. Could I do the same to Geir and Ingrid?