The moss began to grow.
At first, I thought I was seeing things. Yet within heartbeats, the dense green plant covered my palm, circling its way around the back of my hand and swiftly covering my fingers and wrist, not ceasing until all my burns were concealed. “Gods,” I breathed, staring at my moss-covered limb as Bjorn carefully lowered it to rest on my stomach. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Liv was watching Bjorn, her brow still furrowed, and I was not certain whether she was addressing me or him when she said, “Eir has allowed me to heal you, but what form that takes is up to her. When the moss withers, what we find beneath may be flesh as pure as a newborn babe’s or the gnarled limb of an ancient crone.”
“I understand.” A lie, because while Snorri said I was favored, I did not feel so. “Thank you.”
Liv inclined her head. “I serve Eir. Now you must rest, Freya. Let yourself sleep so that your body heals.”
Indeed, I felt the weight of the smoke I’d imbibed dragging me deeper, as though I were sinking into a warm lake, sunlight filling my eyes. I smiled, allowing my lids to shut as I drifted…
“She’ll stay under for hours,” I vaguely heard Liv say. Then, in little more than a whisper, she added, “Is it true? She’s the shield maiden?”
Bjorn made a noise of confirmation. “I struck her shield with my axe and her magic threw me a dozen paces across the clearing and into a tree. On which note, my arse is going to be black and blue for days. You wouldn’t mind—”
“Incentive to keep your trousers on for once,” Liv retorted. “Her arrival means war, and you know it.”
“War is inevitable.”
Liv didn’t answer, and feet thudded against the wooden floor as someone strode away. Curiosity pushed back some of the fog, and I peeled open my eyelids. Liv was gone and Bjorn stood next to my cot, his gaze fixed on my hand. “Why is she so angry?” I asked.
Bjorn jerked as though he’d been caught doing something he should not have been. After a heartbeat of silence, he finally said, “Liv dislikes violence—she’s seen too much of what is left in its wake—and your appearance means more will come.”
A shiver passed over me. “Because of the seer’s prophecy? She thinks I’ll cause a war?”
He was silent for a long moment, then said, “The seer saw a future where you unite all the people of Skaland beneath one king. In our world, power is most often achieved with violence.” He hesitated, then added, “And Hlin is a goddess of war.” He drew the furs higher up my chest, cocooning me in warmth. “But she also protects.”
Frustration wormed its way through the haze. “What does that mean?”
“You are unfated, Freya. Nothing the seer foretold is set in stone.”
Without another word, he walked out of sight.
A beam of light stabbed me in the eyes, and I silently cursed Vragi for leaving the door open when he went outside to piss. Groaning, I rolled away from the light, then froze as my cheek brushed over fur of unfamiliar texture.
Memory slammed into me: Vragi’s laughter as he betrayed me, Geir crawling on the ground, my hand consumed by the fire of a god, and pain…pain like nothing I’d experienced before.
Pain that was now…gone.
I sat up, the furs covering me falling away. My clothes were my own, marked with blood and bits of ash, stinking of sweat and fish, but that was the least of my concerns as I stared down at my hand.
It was still wrapped with moss, but the plant was now dry and dead. I tentatively touched the moss with my left hand, equal parts desperate and terrified to see what lay beneath.
“I told you the gods favored you,” a voice said, and I straightened to find Jarl Snorri standing next to the hangings separating the space from the rest of the hall. “They wished for you to be revealed by fire, not to be consumed by it.”
I wasn’t convinced that was true, given my circumstances, but I kept my mouth shut as he crossed over to the bed. Without asking, he pulled the moss free, bits of dead plant and ash falling onto the dark furs. My breath caught as I saw what lay beneath.
“Make a fist,” he ordered.
I dutifully did so, muscles and tendons obeying with minimal protest.
“Ugly,” he said. “But strong enough to grip a weapon, and the seer said nothing of you uniting Skaland with your looks.”
I tried and failed not to flinch, hunting for gratitude that I hadn’t lost use of my hand and finding it lacking. For I saw what Snorri saw. Scars. The skin was twisted and stretched, in some places pink and in others completely white. Turning it over revealed that Liv’s magic had replaced the skin that the fire had melted away, but it was thick and almost devoid of sensation. My eyes burned with tears, and I blinked rapidly, not wanting Snorri to see that his comment had stung. Not wanting anyone to know how vain I truly was.