Freyja went still. “Why would you say that?”
“Because he is clearly interested in courting you, and you’ve been distracted ever since he arrived.”
Freyja toyed with the edge of her skirt. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she said quietly, though she wasn’t certain whether she was speaking to her father—or herself. “There is no future between Rurik and I.” Snapping her fingers, she headed for the door. “Come, Loki.”
The little fox sprang to her side, licking his lips, as they exited the small house. Freyja tidied her braid as she strode for the barn. Memories of his hands coursing through the silken waves of her hair heated her body. She had no intention of ensuring the fences were tidy. No. What she wanted was to find him. The earlier dismissal vexed her.
Rurik was the one who’d decided to chase her, wasn’t he?
And now, “we’re done here....” Just when she was starting to feel something for him. Just when she’d allowed him to take certain liberties.
Freyja knew she was being unfair. She’d kept him at arm’s length, and insisted nothing was going to happen between them, so why should she be so upset when he turned the tables on her?
Because he’d let her into his life a little, with the talk of his exile and his home. For a second, she’d felt as though she knew him intimately.
Because I’m lonely too.
The small herd of ewes hovered against the stone fence outside the barn, eyeing her with wild eyes. Ever since that blasted dreki stole her ram, they’d been riding on the edge of their nerves. It was a wonder her goat was still producing any milk.
The barn lay empty, though Hanna snorted when she saw her, as if asking for reassurance. All the jobs she’d given Rurik were completed, thought there was no sign of the man himself.
“Not you too,” Freyja grumbled to Hanna as the mare whickered with nervousness. Sunlight spilled between cracks in the loft floorboards, and dust spiraled through each shaft.
Loki bumped into her ankles, almost tripping her.
“Rurik?” she called up into the loft.
A shadow moved up there. She hadn’t seen him since they’d spoken of dreams, and a part of her felt sympathy for what he’d shared of his past. Enough sympathy that she’d brought out the hangikjöt and carved it, broiled some potatoes and set a loaf of rúgbrauð baking in the warm spring behind the house. It was the type of meal she might serve at Christmas, and the scent of smoked lamb already filled her small kitchen. The bread would almost be ready.
“I wanted to invite you in for dinner,” she called, craning her neck. Floorboards in the loft creaked, but why hadn’t he replied? “I made something special.” Freyja hesitated. “To remind you of home, perhaps.”
Still no answer.
All the hairs on the back of Freyja’s neck rose. “Rurik?” she called, crossing toward the ladder to the loft.
Loki barked, and Freyja tried to hush him. Then he darted into the shadows, growling deep in his throat in a sound she’d never heard from him before.
“What is it?” she asked, taking a step back. There was something about the sullen silence in the barn that bothered her. Someone was there. And she didn’t think it was Rurik.
A man cursed under his breath, and then Loki yelped and fled. “Little bastard.”
“Who’s there?” she demanded, peering into the shadows of the stall. “Loki?”
Noise whispered behind her. Freyja whirled, and another man stepped out of the shadows. Darting toward her pitchfork, she turned and almost ran him through, baring her teeth at him. “Rurik!”
“He’s not here,” someone said behind her. “Seems you ran him off.”
Rurik was gone? The warmth drained out of her. What had she done or said to him? She didn’t understand. He’d said he... cared for her. Was it all just a jest? Or had Rurik merely been interested in bedding her, and given up?
That didn’t make any sense. He could have had her yesterday afternoon if all he’d wanted was to bed her. If she were being honest with herself, she wasn’t certain she would have said no.
Laughter spilled out of the shadows as another man appeared. “Can you blame him? Look at those eyes.”
Three men circled her. The words shouldn’t have hurt, but they did. The speaker made a vague sign of the cross.
“You,” she said, recognizing one of them as Haakon’s man, Gunnar. “Get off my property.”
“Haakon wants a word with you,” the man replied, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
“If Haakon wants a word, then perhaps he should have asked nicely.” Freyja made a feint toward the man on her right as he took a step toward her—the one who’d made comment on her eyes. Fear filled her chest, tightening her ribs around her lungs. What did they want of her? She’d thought Haakon was a man driven mad by loss, but he’d seemed to hold some common decency. Had she been wrong?
“Just grab her,” the third man ordered. She still hadn’t gotten a good look at his face, though he was taller than the others and something about his presence made her uncomfortable.
“Make one more move,” Freyja told them, knowing she couldn’t hold all three off with her pitchfork, “and I’ll set my magic loose.”
Silence fell. All three men froze. The only noise was Loki yipping and barking madly from where he seemed to be locked within a stall.
“You like my eyes?” she told the man who’d sneered at her and made a sign of the cross. “One of the huldufólk gave them to me, along with the gift of magic. I can manipulate storms, and throw lightning from my fingertips.”
Two of the men exchanged a look.
“She’s lying,” said the taller one, the one who scared her a little. He snorted. “Why would one of the álfar gift her with magic?”
“Don’t call them that,” Freyja murmured. “They don’t like that name.”
Gunnar muttered something about “there are no hidden folk” under his breath, but it seemed her ruse had worked. He wasn’t going to grab her.
Crossing to the stall, the sinister man reached down and hauled Loki up by the scruff of his neck. “I am done with talking.” He reached for his knife—
Loki! “No!” The power seemed to flood up from somewhere within her, sending a whirlwind through the barn. Stalks of hay flew through the air, and both Gunnar and the superstitious man backed away from her, faces pale.
Freyja summoned heat into her hands, and turned on the man who’d grabbed Loki—
He hauled Loki against his chest, putting a razor-sharp blade to the little fox’s neck. “Use your magic against me, and I’ll cut his throat.”
Freyja let the power spill through her fingers, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. She could feel Loki’s terror and protective urges pushing against her mind. He wanted to rescue her, though he was frightened of whatever the tall man smelled like....
“Let him go,” she whispered, swallowing hard.
“Easy, Magnus,” the man with the enormous beard said. “We’re not here to spill blood.”
“We’re getting nowhere without it,” Magnus replied, and his eyes burned as they locked on her. “Release your power.”
There was no choice. Her gaze met Loki’s frightened amber eyes. Freyja let the wind and fire fade, the barn falling into silence. “If you hurt him,” she said coldly, “then I will not rest until you are naught but ashes.”
Gunnar and the other man grabbed her by the arms. Gunnar’s grip was at least gentle. “You won’t be hurt, I promise. Haakon just needs you for bait.”
Bait? For what?
The other man plunged a hood over her head, and the world faded, her breath refracting back from the black wool and making her feel slightly claustrophobic. Tears pricked her eyes.
“Keep her eyes covered!” Magnus ordered. “If she cannot see, then she cannot work her magic.”
And Freyja shivered, because how had he known that?
Rurik soared back to earth behind Freyja’s ba
rn, his form shrinking and power rushing through his veins as he made the change. A dreki’s bugle to the south had sent him hunting, circling Krafla and looking for the challenger, only to find nothing.
Or maybe that was an excuse. He was still haunted by that moment during their picnic, when something monumental seemed to shift inside him.
Freyja.
Sighing, he found his clothes where he’d left them, and was about to pull on his trousers when Loki’s terrified barking caught his ears. Rurik froze. It seemed to be coming from within the barn.
“Little brother?” he asked, his thought-thread tangling with the fox’s.
—angry, snapping at air, took the mistress, hurt her, hurt her, let me out—
Rurik tried to sort his way through the terror and fury. “Freyja? Someone took Freyja? Who?”
Images assaulted him: the bearded giant who rode at Haakon’s side, and a stranger he didn’t recognize.
But it was the image of the third man that made him suck in a sharp breath. A man with sharp, predatory features, amber eyes, and raven-dark hair. A man who held a knife to the little fox’s throat and used the threat to force Freyja to submit.
“Magnus,” he whispered, turning his face toward the village.
His cousin had Freyja.
Chapter 12
They tied her to the village green, both of her hands bound and tethered by pegs they drove into the hard earth. A rough strip of black linen covered her eyes, leaving her blind to the nightmare about to befall her.
“Please,” Freyja begged, but without her sight there was nothing for her to work with. She was blind to the world around her, and the ropes they used to tether her had been drenched in blessed water. It itched against her skin, resisting all her attempts to free herself.
The truth of it stung. They had planned this—no, Benedikt had planned it. He alone knew of the strength of her unnaturalness, and had worked to counter her.
Her heart thundered raggedly in her ears as the crowd fell silent. She could hear the harsh rasp of Benedikt’s breath behind her. Excited. Enjoying her discomposure. Be careful of a man’s pride, my love, her mother had whispered when they’d both noticed the way Benedikt began to watch her. It is a dangerous thing, and unpredictable if rebuffed.
“Blow the horn,” he instructed.
The enormous bellow of the troll horn cut through the silence, rumbling across her skin and vibrating in her ears. Freyja flinched. She had never felt so helpless in her life. This was what her mother had warned her of. Choose your battles wisely, Freyja… for you are not invulnerable. Every creature of power had a weakness, even the mighty dreki they were summoning to claim her.
Where was Rurik? She didn’t believe he’d left her. She couldn’t believe. But if he hadn’t gone, then he would have heard the villagers take her. He wouldn’t just let them do this to her. Would he?
The thought made her breath catch.
Unless he truly had gone. She shivered as her memory of their words that morning washed over her. “We’re done here,” he had said, a death knell of finality underscoring the statement. Stepping back, bowing his head politely to her.
Rurik! She threw the thought out into the world on an ache of despair. I’m sorry!
There was no answer but the wind swirling through her skirts. Then the thundering bellow of the troll horn again. The last time a man had blown that horn had been thirty years ago, when her father and the other villagers called the dreki forth to forge the treaty.
“Here he comes,” Benedikt murmured with satisfaction. His voice dropped even lower as he stepped closer. “I’ll see you when you return, my sweet.”
No mistaking the dark intent behind those words. If he couldn’t have her now, then he would take the scraps that were left once the dreki had finished with her.
Freyja strained at the ropes to no avail. Her shoulders sagged as she heard the villagers moving back, scurrying for the safety of their homes to watch.
She couldn’t see. Yet she felt, more than anything, the mighty thrust of wings through an icy sky; the sudden ache of the pressure his immense presence wrought.
Wind beat down upon her as the dreki wheeled overhead. Freyja went to her knees, but there was no escape. She was almost flattened by the wind his mighty wings stirred, as the tether binding her left arm was tugged, then fell away.
The right snatched loose, the rope nearly jerking her arm from its socket. Free? She froze for one tremulous second, gathering her feet beneath her.
“Not free,” the dreki whispered in her mind. “Mine.”
Then its massive claws curled around her shoulders with a delicate gentleness, and with a mighty surge, he thrust into the sky.
“Now!” Benedict bellowed, as Freyja’s feet left the ground.
She screamed and wrapped her arms around the scaled claws; terrified the dreki would drop her.
“Release!” That was Haakon’s voice.
The world turned upside down as the dreki’s war cry pierced the air and it threw itself into a tumble. Over and over and over, her body jerked around like a rag doll. Something screamed through the air as it tore past them, and Freyja suddenly realized what had happened.
They’d used her as bait. Something to lure the dreki from his lair so they could kill him.
She ripped the blindfold from her eyes as the dreki righted himself, catching a glimpse of the tableau beneath them. Wind whipped at her skirts as little figures ran and screamed, pointing at the sky above them.
Haakon was clearly visible, the muscles in his biceps straining as he loaded the ballista and cranked the shaft back. The heavy steel cable tautened, the deadly sharp spear gleaming in the sunlight.
And Freyja felt a rage she’d rarely felt before.
Not powerless now. Not blinded, her magic muted within. She lashed out, her temper a whip she wielded with ruthless efficiency. She couldn’t touch the iron cable—iron was one of the few things that refused her power—but the heavy wooden wheels of the ballista were made of the earth. As Haakon reached for the release, she smashed each wheel.
The ballista angled forward, its sharp steel point dropping as the handle tore through Haakon’s grip. The cable let go, steel snapping with an audible twang as the javelin cut straight through cloth and flesh and buried itself in the stone wall of one of the houses, with Benedikt dangling from the end of it.
He squealed like a stuck pig as the dreki wheeled around curiously to watch.
“Remind me never to allow you near that thing,” the dreki whispered in her mind with a laugh.
Then he angled sharply, his fluid shape cutting through the wind as he soared toward Krafla.
“What makes you think I need a ballista?” she replied.
The flight was barely ten minutes, but even Freyja was starting to shiver with cold by the time Krafla loomed in front of them. The sparse, barren fields that surrounded the volcano smoked and bubbled, but she could see the glittering white of the glacial fields further south, and her breath caught, even as the wind stole it from her.
She could scarce believe the sight before her. The entire world stretched out in miniature, like a map come to life.
The dreki touched her mind, as if wondering what had caught her attention so. A light caress against her senses, a sudden connection where she sensed his curiosity.
“You wish to see the glaciers? I will take you one day….”
And just like that her sense of wonder died, protective walls sliding into place between her mind and his. “Put me down.” She eyed the sheer rock walls of the volcano’s side. “Gently, please.”
They wheeled lower, the sudden downthrust of his wings halting them mere feet above the ledge that led to the caves. His claws released her, and Freyja dropped. She landed on the ledge, her ankle giving way beneath her as she fell. Though his touch had been gentle, her shoulders ached from his grip, and for a moment she simply lay there, trying not to hurt.
The sinuous head was suddenly directly in her f
ield of vision, and Freyja screamed despite herself, scrambling onto her back and away. The dreki froze, his golden eyes gleaming.
“Are you hurt?”
Freyja stared at him with the rock walls against her back, her breath coming hard and her skirts tumbled around her knees. “Am I hurt?” she gasped weakly, hot and sharp emotion dampening her eyes. She could barely hold it in anymore. The only creature that gave a damn about her was the dreki, and even he had ulterior motives, though what they were she couldn’t even begin to guess.
“I have been kidnapped, tied down, and offered as sacrifice to… to you. Then dragged through the air, dropped, and—” She couldn’t hold it in anymore. Rurik, damn you. “Nobody came to save me! They all just watched! My father will be beside himself with worry! Who will care for him? What do you want with me? Damn you, what?”
She exploded into tears, angry, damning tears that blinded her to the world around her. The last thing she thought she saw was an expression on the dreki’s face that could only be described as perplexed. And that set her off, laughing, crying, and hiccupping all at the same time.
“Why am I even telling you?” she whispered, scrubbing at her hot eyes. “You would not even begin to understand what is wrong with me. With the world.”
“There are many things wrong with the world. These puny humans insist on marking it as theirs, even though it belongs to no one.”
“Not even you?”
His glorious eyes narrowed. “Only a fool thinks he owns such power. I may wield it, but I do not own it. And why would I wish to?” Even she heard the hesitation. “I admit I am not certain what is wrong with you, however. It is difficult to understand in this form. Where is your blindfold?”
“M-my blindfold?” she stammered. “I tore it free.”
“Make another.”
Freyja’s jaw dropped. “What for?”
“So you cannot see.”
And blinded, she would be powerless again. “No.”
“I will not hurt you, Freyja. I swear it.”
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