Standing next to Ylva and Snorri, I toyed with the hilt of my father’s sword, which I had kept. Snorri had said nothing about its absence, nor even seemed to notice that I had a weapon belted to my waist at all. Together, we watched an ancient woman conduct the rituals, the pyres piled with offerings, those watching either weeping or stone-faced. It wasn’t long until the flames burned high, dark smoke rising into the clear sky and the scent of charring hair and flesh filling my nose. Snorri had ensured that all knew I’d lit the ships on fire, downplaying Bjorn’s involvement, but I didn’t fail to notice that many still cast dark gazes full of blame my way.
Discomfited, I looked away and my gaze locked on a hooded figure walking slowly down the waterline, obscured by haze. At first I thought it was only the smoke from the pyres. But as I watched, I realized the smoke was coming from the individual. Not just smoke, but bits of ember and ash, as though the individual were aflame.
“Ylva.” I caught hold of her arm. “Look at that person. They’re…”
My words trailed away, for the individual was gone.
“Who?” Ylva demanded, following my gaze, which led to the empty beach.
“There was a hooded figure walking,” I said. “They…they looked as though they were burning, but I don’t know where they went.”
Ylva made a noise of annoyance. “Silence your tongue, girl. These people died for you—show them some respect.”
My anger flared, because while Gnut might have come to kill me, I wasn’t alone at fault. As guilty as I felt for the deaths and injuries, it still frustrated me that it was not their jarl the people held accountable, for he had failed to protect them despite knowing the threat. Yet none of that seemed to matter, for more and more people cast dark glares in my direction, their bodies tense with anger.
Only for every single one of them to abruptly turn back to the pyres as a wave of heat warmed the back of my neck.
Bjorn stood behind me and to my right, his axe ablaze in one hand, the flat of the blade resting against his bare forearm as though it were made of no more than steel. It was the first time I’d seen him since he’d told Snorri that I was responsible for the drakkar fires, and though I had more pressing concerns, my foolish mind instantly went to the moment on the beach when he’d held me against the cold. A good reminder of why I needed to stay as far away from him as I could.
“Where were you, Bjorn?” Snorri muttered. “You were supposed to light the pyres. You dishonor the dead in your absence.”
“I slept late.” Though there was nothing in his expression or tone to suggest he spoke anything other than the truth, I sensed he was lying. Why?
Snorri’s frown deepened but before he could respond, I said, “There would be thrice their number if not for Bjorn’s actions. The dead know that. As should the living.”
Snorri gave a soft snort, turning back to the pyres, the smoke now rising in a tower that seemed to touch the clouds above. “Tonight we feast to honor the dead,” he roared. “Tomorrow, we make plans for our revenge against Jarl Gnut!”
The people of Halsar howled their approval, warriors lifting their weapons into the air, but as I turned to follow Ylva and Snorri back to the great hall, I still felt the prickle of ill will directed at my back.
“I would speak to you, Freya,” Snorri said as we approached the building. “And you as well, Bjorn.”
My heart skittered with the sudden terror that someone had seen me and Bjorn on the beach or, worse, into my lustful heart, but Bjorn appeared unconcerned. Nodding, he extinguished his axe and strode through the doors into the great hall.
The injured were still being tended, and we walked past the rows of quiet forms and behind the large chairs on the dais before Snorri paused. “We must discuss your actions last night, Freya.”
I held my breath even as Ylva, who’d been silent, snarled, “What must be discussed is her punishment. She defied your orders. Have her beaten for her actions lest she defy you again. She’s supposed to be under your control, but last night demonstrated that she needs a tighter leash.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but Bjorn beat me to it. “If anyone is to be beaten for failing my father’s orders, it’s you, Ylva.”
Wouldn’t that be an interesting turn of events, I thought even as Ylva glared at Bjorn, her eyes bright with anger. “As always, you speak out of turn.”
“I speak the truth,” Bjorn said with a laugh. “My father did not order Freya to remain in the great hall, he ordered you to keep her here. Which you failed to do. Not because she overwhelmed your every attempt to heed your husband’s commands, but, by all accounts, because you failed to notice your shield maiden climbing into the rafters. You should be punished lest your attention wander again.”