Bjorn’s fingers tightened, sending a jolt like lightning into my core. “No,” he answered. “Because I don’t deserve it.”
“Why would you say that?” I demanded. “Because I assure you, some foretelling doesn’t make my life worth more than yours.”
“There are many who’d argue that is precisely what it means.”
“Well, I’m not one of them.” I stared into his eyes, which reflected the glow of his axe. His rapid breath was hot against my face, his fingers still gripping me tightly, my mail-clad breasts grazing his chest. “And before you start arguing, allow me to remind you that I don’t give a shit about what you think when what you think is complete shit.”
Bjorn huffed out a laugh. “If the gods decide you are not a king-maker, Born-in-Fire, you should become a skald. People would come from all around to hear the poetry of your words. Steinunn would be out of a job.”
My cheeks flushed. “Kiss my arse, Bjorn.”
A smirk worked its way onto his face. “Perhaps later. I doubt that was the last we’ve seen of the draug, and while meeting my end with my lips pressed against your backside might not be the worst death, I don’t think it will earn me a place in Valhalla.”
My skin was blazing, but I managed to get out, “I’m sure you wouldn’t be the first arse-licker to enter Valhalla.”
“It’s licking now, is it?” His shoulders shook with mirth, and I cursed myself because I never seemed to get the better of him. “Such a filthy mind, Freya. Does your mother know the things you say?”
I was not going to win this round, but I vowed that once we were out of these cursed tunnels, there’d be a reckoning. “We should go.”
Bjorn looked like he might say more, but then shrugged and started up the tunnel, leaving me to follow at his heels. Though the screams and drums no longer deafened the air, I knew the whispers and faint tread of feet were not my imagination.
We were being watched. And when the draug came again, they’d be prepared.
* * *
—
Neither of us spoke as we carried on our climb up the mountain, and for me, much of that was driven by exhaustion. Each step was an act of will, my legs like lead, the shield once again strapped to my back having tripled in weight since we started our climb. My bruised throat ached and my battered knuckles throbbed.
But none of it compared to the gnawing sense that we were being trailed, our enemy waiting for the right moment to ambush us. Judging from the tension radiating from Bjorn, he felt the same, meaning it wasn’t my imagination.
Climbing over a crumbled stretch of stairs, Bjorn reached back to help me over. The left side of his face was a mask of blood, the wound on his brow still seeping. “You should let me bandage that cut,” I said. “You’re leaving a trail of blood.”
“I’m fine.” Our hands interlocked, his large enough to conceal mine entirely, holding tight until I was over the broken rocks. “And the cowardly vermin know we’re here regardless of what I do or don’t do.”
The air swirled, and I shot Bjorn a glare as he lifted me over another broken stretch. “Perhaps provoking them isn’t the best course.”
“Why not?” He started down the tunnel, still gripping my hand. “Thieving bastards plan to attack anyway.” Louder, he added, “Why not do it like men instead of lying in wait, you cowardly pricks!”
“Bjorn!” I hissed, hot air gusting around me. “Shut. Up.”
“They’re planning an ambush,” he muttered. “Might as well pick our ground.”
While there was logic to the thought, I was also of the opinion that we could at least try to quietly get to the top without another fight.
Whereas Bjorn was obviously itching for one.
Spotting a pile of treasure, he kicked the lot of it, sending it scattering over the tunnel floor. “Come out and fight like your balls didn’t rot off decades ago!”
The mountain exhaled, and then in the distance, the drumming renewed. Loud thundering beats that made my head throb. “You have maggots for brains,” I snarled. “Stupid, idiotic fool of a man!”
Bjorn unhooked my shield from my back and handed it to me. “It hurts my feelings when you call me names, Freya. Besides, you should have more faith—I’ve got a plan.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s a good plan.” My voice was shrill, my fear latching onto the scrape of skeletal feet racing in our direction. There were more than before. Far more.