My stomach twisted with unexpected guilt, because I’d not considered that either of them had a higher purpose.
“You are the greatest blessing the gods have bestowed upon me, Ylva,” Snorri murmured, and my cheeks heated as they embraced, their roaming hands suggesting that if not for my presence, they’d be ridding themselves of their clothing. That they might anyway, my presence be damned. So I dropped the shield.
The second it left my grip, the magic disappeared, and it landed with a loud clatter against the floor, the pair jerking apart.
“Apologies,” I murmured. “I seem not to have fully recovered my strength.”
Snorri snorted, not fooled by the lie. Yet he stepped back from Ylva even as he said to her, “Prepare for the feast, my love. And prepare Freya to be my bride.”
* * *
—
The servants descended like a horde of raiders, stripping me of my clothing and pushing me into a bath so hot, it nearly scalded my skin. Though I was hardly used to being bathed by others, that wasn’t what consumed my thoughts as I was scrubbed with soap and polished with sand until my skin was nearly raw. It was that in the space of a day, my entire life had been turned upside down, the gods giving and taking in equal measure.
Seers did not lie.
They had the blood of Odin himself, and they spoke with the knowledge of the gods, though their prophecy was rarely clear until the events they foretold came to pass. So if the seer spoke these words directly to Snorri, they were the truth, in some fashion. It was possible that Snorri was lying, but…my gut told me his fervor was genuine.
Because it explained why my father had ordered me to keep my magic secret.
Children of the gods were created when one of the gods gifted a child a drop of their divine blood upon conception. In some instances, the gods were active participants in the sex, but it was not necessary—they need only be present for the act of creation. Which meant that while some parents might suspect the third party of their tryst had gifted them a child with divine blood, some were entirely oblivious until the day the child’s magic appeared. The latter had been the case for me.
The truth had been revealed when I was seven and had shouted Hlin’s name while fighting with Geir. It was a game all children played despite it earning smacks from any adult in earshot for disrespecting the gods: Shout the name of one known to grant their blood and see if magic manifested. Geir and I had invoked Tyr and Thor and Freyja and countless other of the gods, but not once had I thought of Hlin. It had only been because the fight had gotten out of hand, my brother’s stick falling heavy on my tiny shield, that I’d grown desperate, calling the goddess’s name. The magic that came to my aid hadn’t thrown Geir the way it had Bjorn, but it had sent him sprawling.
And my father had witnessed it all.
Never in my life had I seen such a look of panic on his face as I did in that moment; the wideness of his eyes and the slackness of his open mouth were emblazoned on my memory. As was the way he had shaken me so hard my teeth rattled, his breath hot in my face as he shouted, “You never say her name again! Do you hear me? You never say her name!” Then he’d rounded on Geir, gripping my brother by the arms so hard it had left bruises. “You never tell anyone what happened this day! Your sister’s life depends on it!”
His reaction made more of an impact on me than the magic itself, and for a long time, fear of seeing my father angered had kept the goddess’s name from my lips and questions off my tongue. But time tempered my fear and fueled my curiosity. Children of the gods were rare, Vragi the only one I’d seen with my own eyes, but stories of deeds done by those with magic filled the air at every gathering. Those with god’s blood were fabled and honored, and I wanted to join their ranks. Wanted to fight in battles and have my victories sung about by skalds, but every time I gained the nerve to press my father about why my magic was to be hidden, he’d react with fury. Realizing that he’d give me no answers, it wasn’t long until I was sneaking out and experimenting, most often with Geir along with me.
Of course we got caught.
My father’s wrath had been a thing to behold, a terrible twist of anger and fear that no child wishes to see in their parent’s eyes as he’d again forbidden me to use my magic.
“Why must I hide it when no one else does?” I’d demanded. “In every story about children of the gods, the gift of blood and magic is treated as an honor, but you act as though I’ve been cursed. Tell me why!”
“Because you are Hlin’s child, Freya. The only one alive,” he said. “And you were born under the blood moon. If anyone discovers this truth, you will be used. Used and fought over by men with power until you are dead. Do you understand?” He’d shouted the last in my face. “If anyone learns, your life will never be your own!”