“All this time!” Skadi resisted the urge to hurl a stool, her slaughter seax, anything against the wall. “All this time he was plotting behind my back!”

Her friends and crew sat or stood in wide-eyed shock, the central fire burning bright, the much-improved home warm and smoky.

“To have negotiated a marriage in five weeks’ time?” Skadi paced to the far wall, turned about savagely, and glared at them all. “He must have begun communicating with this Afastr the moment he laid eyes on me!”

Begga exchanged a glance with Ulfarr, then nodded reluctantly. “Aye, he must have. And negotiated fast and hard to have this matter resolved so quickly.”

“None of you knew, did you?” Skadi paused to glare at them. “None of you heard word of this?”

Their shock redoubled, and she saw their innocence writ large on their faces.

“My lady,” began Kofri, climbing stiffly to his feet, his beard trembling as he worked his jaw. “On our honor—”

“No, no, forgive me, of course not.” She pressed her hand to her brow, resumed pacing. “It’s all been a mockery, hasn’t it? Letting Marbjörn train me. Giving us this house. Letting me dream that I could be a shieldmaiden, that I could earn the right to a ship and crew. He’s been laughing at me this whole time.”

“Marbjörn certainly has,” said Damian darkly from the back bench.

Skadi paused, thinking of the bear-like man’s mirth, and then that moment of troubled indecision when he started them on their axe work. “He knew. But… I don’t think he liked it. Or his part in it.”

“The question is, I believe, what now?” Glámr was slowly sliding a whetstone down a curved skinning knife by the fire. “Our stay here in Kráka has been somewhat pleasant, insofar as we’ve not had to face an Archean invasion, but nothing says we must remain.”

Skadi studied him pensively. “We take flight?”

“Your uncle will be gone for a month, maybe more,” said Glámr. “He’ll take his best warriors with him. I am confident an intrepid and resourceful band such as ours could escape during that time.”

Skadi couldn’t help but notice Begga’s shoulders sag. She’d put her heart into turning the old storehouse into something livable, had begun to weave on their new loom, was incredibly proud of the meals she cooked, the flowers she’d planted in the windows. Had made friends with other elders in town.

Had begun to think of this place as a home.

The idea of venturing forth into the cold, inhospitable dark at her age couldn’t appeal.

But nor could she stay behind. If Skadi fled, then any of her crew would be punished in her stead. They’d have to come with her.

“To where?”

“Stóllborg,” said Kofri gruffly. “Where we should have gone, if you’ll pardon my saying so. It’s where we’ll learn news of your father’s whereabouts, and where we’ll be the safest.”

“Oh yes,” said Glámr grimly. “As safe as we were here.”

Aurnir remained quiet but wrung his hands as he picked up on the distress in the room.

“Ulfarr?” The old pilot had remained quiet all this while, puffing on his pipe. “Your thoughts?”

“A hard matter, Skadi. I may have earned a little wisdom in my time, but this is a matter for jarls. If you flee now, you will humiliate your uncle. He will have to make redress to Kaldrborg if he can, but most likely will be forced to fight this jarl. If all goes well with Djúprvik, then that might be within his abilities, but if his summer battles go poorly, Kráka could be in trouble.”

“Kráka,” said Glámr sharply, “is not our concern.”

“Aye,” agreed Ulfarr calmly. “But blood is blood. If Styrbjörn agrees with his brother, then Skadi will be cast out of the family and be left without protection or resources. An outcast in truth.”

“He wouldn’t,” said Skadi sharply.

The silence that followed was awkward.

“Think on this,” said Ulfarr. “What is your father’s future? To rebuild Kalbaek? Not while the Archeans own the whole isle. Then what else? He has five ships filled with fine warriors, but those warriors will remain loyal only for as long as your father can reward them with gold and glory. With no hall, with no town, they will be wanderers.”

“They will want revenge just like we do,” said Skadi. “Their families suffered, their homes were burned.”

“Aye, at first.” Ulfarr’s equanimity was infuriating. “But men, especially young, violent men, will not fight forever for a grudge. In time they will desert to other jarls who can pay them better, can host them over a long winter, can offer them new battles and fresh glory.”

“What are you saying?” demanded Skadi.

“That your father is without a home, and a jarl no longer.” Ulfarr lowered his pipe. “He will either come here, to help his brother, or settle for being one of King Harald’s men, attendant on his court in Stóllborg, the captain of a ship, perhaps, and a handful of men. His ability to command loyalty will depend on King Harald’s generosity.”

“No.” Skadi stared at Ulfarr, horrified, but the truth of his words struck home. “He will fight.”

“Against the Archeans?” Ulfarr sighed. “Perhaps. But if he does, he will lose men and be hunted. Where will he go come winter? And the Archeans are true might, Skadi. Not as a jarl, or even a king. Their might is vast like the ocean. Your father has five ships. They have hundreds. And this he knows.”

Skadi felt trapped, furious, helpless. “So what are you advising me, Ulfarr?”

“I’m not. I’m making our reality clear. Kalbaek, if it exists again, will be an Archean settlement. Your father in time will become part of another jarl or king’s hird. Your mother is gone. Your brother is dead. You must decide your own fate based on those truths.”

Skadi’s eyes filled with tears, but she felt nothing but fury. Her hand itched to draw Natthrafn. She wanted to scream, to cut something down.

But what?

A nebulous empire?

Her uncle for using her as men had always used daughters and nieces?

Aurnir moaned, low and piteous, upset at her distress.

“We can always flee,” said Glámr, voice soft. “It might make matters difficult between your father and uncle, but that is their affair.”

“Flee where?” Her voice sounded desperate, lost, horrified. “To Stóllborg and King Harald’s mercy?”

“Your best bet,” said Kofri firmly. “Though it will take some doing getting there without a ship.”

It felt wrong. To flee to another powerful man, to cast herself on his pity and royal generosity.

But she couldn’t marry Afastr. All that she’d heard of Kaldrborg was brutal and horrifying: a frozen hold, the snow perennial, the people there half-troll, the men more beast than civilized. A land of darkness and ice, of fire and iron, of black waters and white snow, of icebergs and north bears, teeming with elves and dwarves at the very edge of civilization.

What kind of man could rule such a place?

“You need not decide yet,” said Begga placatingly. “You have all of summer, do you not?”

“But what will change?” Skadi looked from one friend to the next.

It was Damian who answered her, his eyes gleaming in the firelight, his manner sorrowful, composed. “We cannot guess. But much may happen in the next few months. The summer is the sun’s greatest season. Under his watchful, loving eye, there is always hope. That, and nobody in this room can deny the power of your fate. You are beloved by your gods, Skadi, and I believe my own watches over you as well. In the next few months, a miracle may occur. After all, it has before.”

Nods all round, some thoughtful, others in complete agreement.

“It’s hard, waiting,” said Glámr, running his whetstone down the length of his blade once more. “I waited for fifteen years in Kalbaek for something to change for me, to turn toward the better. Fifteen long, hard years. But then—change came.” He smiled at her, the expression as wry and mocking as always. “And now here we are, in Kráka. We need not decide tonight. Give it time. Think on it. See what opportunity presents itself. And if you decide you don’t like where your wyrd is taking you? Why, then we shall escape and find another.”

“Skadi,” said Aurnir, his voice deep and rich, filled with need and support and loyalty and fierce love.

“All right.” Skadi sighed, the tension leaving her. “We have some little time yet. But I’ll not stop my training. Even if Marbjörn is gone, I’ll keep running and doing my stonework, keep training with axe and spear. Whatever it is that’s coming, I aim to be ready when it gets here.”

“You do that, dear,” said Begga approvingly. “It’s a large and cruel world. It’s good to be strong, as strong as you can.”

“Must we?” groaned Damian. “I thought perhaps now we could relax a little. I can’t remember the last time I took an afternoon to read in the sun.”

Skadi snorted. “You know what I’ll say to that.”

“Yes, yes,” sighed Damian. “Very well.”

“We’ll give them no sign that I’m not happy with the idea,” said Skadi. “Aurnir, you continue helping the blacksmith, all right?”

Aurnir smiled happily. He loved being around hot coals and the hammering of reddened metals, and though he couldn’t wield a hammer himself, his obvious happiness at helping the smith with carrying supplies and pumping the bellows or fetching fuel made him a welcome presence at the forge.

She wasn’t sure what Glámr did with his time, but socializing with the other half-trolls clearly wasn’t part of it. He avoided the other two as best he could, and usually slunk out of Kráka into the woods to go hunting, or skirted along the water’s edge to find a fishing spot. As far as Skadi could tell, what he most desired to do after a lifetime of being a slop-troll was provide them with food and beyond that, as little as possible.

Which suited her fine. He’d laughed at her invitation to join at axe-hurling, and Begga had soon learned to not bother giving him tasks or requesting that he help around the house.

Skadi excused herself from the others and walked down to the docks. Even at this hour, there were men on the dragon ships, working by lamp light, so she avoided them and walked along the pebbled shore to where she could stand and gaze out over the fjord unobserved.

Her fury had simmered down to a coal-like burn; she knew in her heart that she’d never agree to marry a stranger, that her destiny was to be more than a mere peaceweaver. She would fight. The völva had seen as much. Freyja had chosen her for a reason.

She gazed out over the dark, rippled waters and felt her resolve harden. Her uncle might be within his rights, but her wyrd was her own.

She would watch for an opportunity, and when it came she would seize it with all her strength—or die trying.