Snorri crossed his arms, jaw tight.
“I’d say that it must be pleasing to have found the shield maiden of your prophecy, yet the rumor is that she has cost you far more than she’s earned,” the king said. “Halsar attacked, men lost to Gnut, more lost along the way to Fjalltindr. I’d be concerned that I’d misinterpreted Saga’s words.”
“We are here to give our offering to the gods,” Snorri interrupted. “Not for idle chatter with our enemies.”
“Enemies is such a strong word. Especially given we were once friends and allies.”
“Once,” Snorri snarled. “Then you murdered my seer and stole my son from me. Kept him as your thrall!”
A flash of emotion passed across the king’s face but his smile swiftly returned. “As a hostage, whom I raised as though he were my own son in honor of our friendship,” the king corrected. “And what choice did I have? Though I was innocent, you blamed me for Saga’s death to all who’d listen, using it to create support among your people for raiding my shores. If I’d not kept Bjorn at my side, those raids would have come to fruition. You’d have slaughtered my people, and it would’ve been war.”
“It will be war.” Snorri stepped nose-to-nose with the king. “You can no longer use my son to defend yourself, Harald. Soon he will stand across from you on the field of battle with the shield maiden at his side, and Nordeland will bleed as Skaland has all these long years you denied it a king. Before the gods”—he gestured violently at the statues—“I swear it will be so!”
I bit the insides of my cheeks. Not only did Snorri wish to become king of our people, but he also intended to wield Skaland like a weapon against the man whom he seemed to blame for delaying his destiny.
My pulse raced as visions of sailing across the strait to make war against Nordeland filled my eyes, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Part of me reveled in the idea of striking back against the man who’d kept Bjorn from his family to achieve his own ends.
But another part of me remembered how Bjorn had spoken of the kindness of the Nordelanders to him while he was a prisoner.
I glanced sideways at Bjorn, whose eyes were fixed on the ground rather than on the arguing men. Do something, I willed him. Say something.
But he barely seemed to be aware of the argument before him.
My anger flared to life because I hated seeing him behave this way, so entirely not himself. Being in the presence of the man who’d kept him prisoner should have him raging, but instead he was utterly still, eyes lowered. My anger found its way to my tongue. “Any man who uses a child to hide from battle is a coward who will never see Valhalla. It will be Hel who takes you in death, King.”
No sooner had the words been spoken than the ground beneath our feet quivered. Everyone in the hall started in alarm, except for Snorri, who laughed. “You see?” he said. “The gods are watching her and show their favor.”
“Indeed,” Harald replied. “She is even more formidable than I’d anticipated.” Stepping sideways out of our path, he added, “I will not stand between you and the gods, old friend.”
Snorri snorted, then caught hold of my arm and hauled me forward, everyone else following at our heels, including Bjorn. Yet once we’d all passed, Harald called out, “Bjorn. What befell Ragnhild?”
At mention of the spy, Bjorn stopped in his tracks and turned back. “She’s dead, although I suspect you know that.”
Harald inclined his head in agreement. “Who killed her?”
Silence.
“What difference does it make?” Snorri demanded, stepping between Bjorn and Harald. “She spied on me and suffered the consequences.”
“No difference.” Harald lifted one shoulder, his gaze meeting mine. “Though yours was the last face she saw, Freya, and she died because of it. Come, Tora.”
Without another word, the king of Nordeland and the tall woman left the hall, leaving us alone with the statues of the gods.
“Harald is not our current concern,” Ylva said, shoving Snorri in the opposite direction. “Nor an immediate threat.”
“The woman with him is Tora, child of Thor,” he answered. “And he’ll have Skade with him as well, both of them deadly.”
I had no notion of who this Skade might be, but a child of Thor could call lightning, and that was terrifying enough.
If Ylva felt the same, she didn’t show it, only said, “Neither can use their magic within Fjalltindr, so they are an obstacle for a later hour. We must do what we came for. All your vows of war will mean nothing if Freya does not make her sacrifice and the gods turn on her for her failure.”