He shrugged, then reached to unhook it from his saddle. “This will not save you,” he said. “But anyone willing to fight Bjorn has earned their place in Valhalla.”
His words bolstered my strength as I took the shield, gripping the handle behind the thick steel boss, but I showed none of my confidence as I circled Bjorn. The heat from his axe drew sweat on my brow, but he seemed untouched by it. Must be untouched by it, given he held naked fire with his bare hand.
“Sorry for this, Freya,” he said. “May Odin himself greet you with a full cup.”
“I’m sure he will.” I smiled sweetly. “Because you’ll warn him to be ready for me when you arrive. Which will be sooner than you think.”
A grin split his face, and for a heartbeat I once again saw the man who’d flirted with me on the beach. If I somehow managed to kill him, I would not relish it, but that didn’t mean I’d hesitate with a killing blow. Bjorn glanced over his shoulder at Vragi. “You’re a fool to—”
I struck.
My sword sliced toward his stomach, but some sixth sense must have warned him, because Bjorn twisted away at the last moment, the tip of my blade catching only the fabric of his shirt. Pacing in a circle, he eyed me. “This wasn’t how I thought it would go.”
“Fate cares little for your opinion on how things should go.” Blood roared in my veins, my eyes skipping to the flaming axe, though I knew that wasn’t what I should be watching. Knew it was the eyes and the body, not the weapon, that led. “All that is and all that will be is already woven by the Norns.”
I cut at him again, our weapons colliding and his strength sending me staggering.
“If you are going to proselytize, best to be correct about it.” He blocked another swipe of my blade but did not offer any attack of his own. “My fate is my own to weave.”
Because he had god’s blood in his veins. I knew that. Knew it well, because Vragi often bragged of that power despite it being one impossible to prove. “Then it will be a fate decided by your father, for it seems you do what he tells you to.”
Anger flared in Bjorn’s gaze and I attacked again, blade swinging hard at his ribs. He danced out of the way, far faster than I’d have guessed for a man his size. He gave a halfhearted swipe at my sword and as the two weapons collided, I flinched. Flames flickered over my blade, and I wrenched it away, blocking another slash of his axe with my shield.
The blade embedded in the wood below the boss and I dug in my heels as he wrenched it free, the force nearly pulling the shield from my hand. But worse, the smell of smoldering wood filled my nose, smoke rising where the shield had ignited.
Yet I didn’t dare drop it.
Fear raged through me, my body soaked with sweat and everything seeming too bright. I needed to attack now, before fire forced me to drop my shield. Before my strength failed me.
I threw myself forward in a series of attacks, panic rising as he deflected them one after another, his face expressionless as he stayed on the defense.
Why bother attacking, given the fire burning my shield would do the work for him?
“Show your worth, Bjorn,” Snorri snarled. “Show her what it really means to fight!”
My breath came in rapid pants as I swung again and again, knowing that my only chance was to win. To kill him, as much as I didn’t want to. “Why are you doing this?” I demanded of Snorri between gasps. “What do you have to gain from my death?”
“I gain nothing from your death,” he answered. “So fight!”
None of this made sense.
Bjorn alone seemed to agree. “There’s no sport to this contest. It’s nothing more than this weasel-cocked fishmonger wanting bigger men to punish his wife for his own failings beneath the furs.”
“I plowed her nightly,” Vragi shouted. “It’s her fault!”
“Perhaps you plowed the wrong field!” Bjorn laughed and jumped out of the way of my swing, knocking his axe against my shield as though batting a fly.
My temper flared bright, less for the crass implication and more for the fact he wasn’t even giving me the honor of trying. “Lemon juice made quick work of any seed his prick had to sow.”
Probably not wise to give up my secret, but given that my death seemed imminent, it was worth seeing the look of stunned outrage on Vragi’s face. Bjorn howled with laughter, staggering backward and clutching at his stomach, though he was quick to block my attack when I tried to stab him.
“Gods, Vragi,” he laughed. “The world is truly better off without your progeny if you don’t question why your woman tastes of lemons.”