A Heart of Fire Read Free Page B

savoring the images her mind conjured—there
was no comparison to be had. She only hoped she came upon her uncle herself,
for her blade would sink deep within his belly should she lay eyes upon the man
who killed her mother.
    Finna finished her hair and went to sit on her bed,
pulling her boots near and stuffing her feet inside, lacing them tightly before
taking her jeweled dagger from beside her bed and sticking it into the top of
her boot, just below her knee. She stood and found her leather vest and fit
herself in, lacing the front before she took up her fur cloak and swung the
long, dark mantle over her shoulders. The fur surrounding the hood tickled her
face as she pulled the ties closed and fastened the top with a gold clasp her
father had given her the year before, when she had begun raiding with the men.
    Lastly, Finna grabbed her sheathed sword and swung the
strap over her head where the thick leather rested firmly across her chest. The
sword glided keenly into place across the center of her back, and she started
from her dwelling.
    Something nagged at the back of her mind, and Finna
stopped at the fire. Something told her they had played the same game too many
times, using their terrain to too much advantage.
    While Jarl Hadarr's numbers dwindled from all their
attacks in recent years, there was always a possibility...
    Finna shook herself. It was unlikely Hadarr's defenses
were any better than they had been a few months before when the men last
attacked.
    She sighed, holding her hands to the flame a moment.
Another cramp assaulted her belly then. Sometimes she wished she had been
raised differently and that she had had the chance to feel like a woman wholly,
at least once. To have had a gentle raising by a mother with a soft hand. Every
time her courses came, she noticed more and more about herself that made her
feel altogether too insecure in her femininity.
    She was a woman.
    Yet she was a warrior, too.
    She reached for her whetstone and picked it up from
its spot on the hearth before turning and walking to the entrance. As Finna
opened the door, she silenced those thoughts of her mother and why she raided
her uncle with such hatred and bloodlust. She took a deep breath of the fresh,
damp morning air. Gray skies rolled low overhead, threatening more drizzle as
the day before. She bent to pull her dagger from her boot and began sharpening
the blade, looking out over their village.
    Few were about at this hour, except for the many
thralls her father owned. She watched as they carried woven baskets and fed
animals kept in open pens outside the byres. The women carried in chickens
still flapping and screaming, dangling from the slave's hands by their feet.
The women came from the pens and went through the garden outside the kitchens
of the great hall to begin preparing food for the day.
    In a way, Finna pitied the thralls. Her father was
fair for the most part, and had granted some freedom over the years, but their
days were long and hard. As for herself, she held no desire to keep slaves. She
would do for herself anything that need be done.
    The rape of some of the thrall women was not something
she tolerated either, and all the men here knew of her disdain for those who
defiled women. Once, she had caught a man in the act and had cut him so badly
she had rendered him useless. Later, he had tried to kill her for what she had
done to him, but her father had run his sword through the man before he could.
    Finna swiped the stone down her blade, the sharp grind
filling her ears. She pushed down the energy coursing though her, tamping away
those thoughts.
    Across the path from her dwelling, Grahund caught her
eye as he stepped from his home and in turn, reminded her that not all the men were so bad. He was one of
the warriors she led and was perhaps the most comely of the lot. She smiled as
she admired him in secret, from under her lashes. She liked his strength
mostly, his demeanor, too. He was not like the rest.