Say something, I urged myself. Now is the time.
My lips parted, but rather than anything useful coming forth, I only gaped like a fish with my tongue frozen. What if I was wrong? What if this attraction was entirely one-sided and the admission of my feelings horrified him? In my mind’s eye, I imagined saying, Bjorn, I know I’m married to your father, but we need to address how we both want to strip naked and have sex, and a look of panic and disgust filling his eyes as embarrassment slowly buried me with barrow stones.
Better that than the alternative, a voice whispered. Quit being such a coward and broach the issue.
Gathering my courage, I said, “Bjorn—”
But he was pointing up the steps to where the faint glow of sunlight illuminated the walls. “It appears we’ve reached the top.”
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I inhaled clean mountain air. We’d made it to Fjalltindr.
Which meant the moment to speak, and the moment to act, was over.
A crushing wave of relief washed over me, and pushing past Bjorn, I all but sprinted up the last set of stairs and stepped out onto a mountaintop.
All around was cloud and mist, and I waited for my eyes to adjust lest I accidentally fall off the edge of the cliff I’d just fought so hard to climb. As I blinked away stinging tears, trees came into view, as well as ground covered with a light dusting of snow.
Standing on that ground was a man who gaped at me, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
“How…？” he said, reaching out to touch me as though to ascertain whether I were real. “How…？”
“The draug are vanquished,” Bjorn announced, stepping up next to me and causing the man to jerk back. “For which you may give your thanks to Freya Born-in-Fire, child of Hlin and lady of Halsar.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks, wishing with all my heart that I might shirk that last title.
The man, who, judging from his robes, was a gothi of the temple, stared at us both with an open mouth before finally spluttering, “She vanquished the draug?”
“That is what I said, yes.” Bjorn leaned an elbow on the stone structure that sheltered the stairs we’d exited. “The temple’s wealth remains within the pathways to be collected, though I’d be mindful of sticky fingers lest the tunnel’s vacancy be a short-lived affair.”
The gothi blinked, then gave his head a shake. “This is an act of the gods, truly.”
Bjorn opened his mouth, but I stepped on his foot, not interested in reliving a highly embellished version of events so soon. Besides, I’d come here for a purpose, and I was keen to see it through. “Might we carry on to the temple?”
“Of course, child of Hlin.” The gothi inclined his head. “You may only enter through the main gates after submitting to the will of the gods.” He gestured to a narrow path running along the clifftop that appeared to see little traffic. “Follow the track until you reach the bridge, where one of my fellows will be waiting to accept your submission.”
If there was only one way into the temple, what were the chances it wasn’t being guarded by the many jarls who wished to see me dead?
Bjorn was clearly thinking the same thing, because he said, “We’ve had a difficult journey and done Fjalltindr a great service, so perhaps you might make an exception and allow us to enter here.” He gestured toward the trees, and through them I could pick out structures, as well as people moving around them. “Who is to know?”
The gothi’s chest puffed out and he lifted his chin. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Even for you.”
I winced, because after days of little sleep, now was not the time to test Bjorn’s good humor. My concerns were verified as Bjorn’s jaw tightened in annoyance.
“And who is to stop me? You? I welcome you to try.” Shaking his head, Bjorn started toward the trees. “Let’s go, Freya. I can smell food cooking from here.”
He made it a half dozen steps and then staggered back as though he’d struck some sort of invisible barrier. Rubbing his forehead and cursing with annoyance, Bjorn reached out and his hand came to a stop midair, like it was pressed against perfectly clear glass. I caught the gothi smirking, though he wisely smoothed his expression before Bjorn turned around, his voice solemn as he repeated, “You must pass through the gates.”
Bjorn’s eyes were narrow with frustration, and I felt the same way. We’d climbed through darkness and violence and death, only to be stymied by tradition. “Do you know who I am?” he snapped.