A Fate Inked in Blood

“I love you, Bjorn,” I whispered. “And the only future I wish for is the one with you by my side.”

Instead of a splash, my ears filled with a loud curse, and I whirled to find a man standing waist-deep in the fjord, rubbing at his cheek. Which I’d clearly struck with the fish.

“You’d be giving up so much. Your family. Your people. The chance for vengeance against Harald. The chance to rule Skaland.”

“I don’t want to rule,” he answered. “I want you.”

“There’s no fire, lass,” someone said. “Just Bodil’s armpits. Won’t harm you but for the stink.”

“It wasn’t nothing. Not—” My voice cracked, my chest painfully tight. “Not to me.”

“This is a place for women, get you gone or face our wrath!”

Tall and broad of shoulder, he appeared to be only a handful of years older than my twenty years. His black hair was shaved on the sides, the rest pulled back in a short tail behind his tattooed head. He was all high cheekbones and chiseled lines, and while most men wore beards, he bore only the scruff of a few days’ absence from a razor. He wore no shirt, and water dripped off a naked torso corded with thick muscle, his sun-darkened skin marked with dozens of inky tattoos.

“I know how to gut a fish,” I said between my teeth, every part of me desiring to gut him. “I’ve gutted thousands of fish.”