Mira would have liked to say that Dania was wrong—that it took her a long time to warm up to the Northern ways, fortnights for her to find things that made her smile, moons for her to find reasons to laugh, and years before she began to forgive Fell and Sigyn for their grievous error. But this could not be further from the truth.

The music was the first thing that got to her. It crawled under her skin and made her blood rush. There was something raw about it, truthful even. The swift rhythms, the thick, rounded pulse of the drums, the reedy warmth of dozens of deep voices brimming within each tune. It was nothing like the melodies back home—even the great hearth at the center of the village seemed to twist and dance to the sound.

As the nights passed, she found herself swaying a little, then a lot. At first, she fought the urge, forcing herself to sit with her back straight and her hands in her lap. If I am a prisoner, I should act like one. But the rhythms were hypnotizing, and quickly she would forget she was trying to act detached, and her fingers would begin to drum against her thigh.

Fell noticed this and tried to pull her to the grass to dance with him, but she was too shy to accept the offer at first. In her homeland, all the dances were planned, each step was known by everyone on the floor. But in the North, people moved as they felt. She was afraid she would move wrongly, but there was freedom in it, and each night Mira grew more tempted to join in.

The night she finally did was also the first time she got drunk. Fell returned from his work early that evening, and they went to the hearth as soon as he came home. It was not yet dark when they began drinking. Mira hadn’t meant for it to happen, but it did. And everything about the night was beautiful.

The sweet-strong wine coated her tongue and throat, her cheeks and lips, heating and then numbing. It swirled her mind around until she found herself giggling at the simplest of things. The stars were bright and the moon full, and it was perhaps the first time in her life she had ever been happy. More. She wanted more and then more after that. She could not have enough.

Each time Fell spoke to her, she would repeat the words she knew to show him how little she understood. “Do not…drink wine…drum Myret.”

He would rephrase, using fewer words and then say, “understand?”

And Mira would say, “no understand.” And both of them would laugh.

She grew sloppy with her legs and then her arms, and then her whole body, leaning on Fell as she spoke to him. She told him things in her own language he had no sense of—entire stories from her youth. He listened and interjected mismatched responses, “Yes?” “Why?” “What next?” as if they were having a real conversation.

This was also the night she burnt her corset in a drunken frenzy. Though it was only clothing, Mira felt something in her shift as she watched it curl and blacken within the flames—there was an inhibition within her that she’d carried for so long she’d forgotten about it. But once the corset was gone, the forgotten restraint was also gone; her whole being felt lighter.

When Fell pulled her up to dance with him, she went without question. She did not think about how she was to move or why the gods thought to make her a guest-slave or whether she would ever go home again. She thought nothing at all. There was only feeling, and it was dazzling.

Sadly, there came a point in the evening where Fell did not allow her to take more wine.

The land was the second thing that got to her. Midday, the air grew warmer by the day, and Dania would take her to wander in the nearby fields. Everything was coming to life and doused in sunlight, and the wind would rustle the grasses and flower buds so that it seemed like the world was dancing around her. Back home, it rained nearly every day. Even when it didn’t, Mira was not allowed to roam whichever direction she pleased.

She and Dania would take off their boots and feel the feathery grass on their bare feet, and Dania would tell her about the different forces of nature and how the Northerners believed that the gods spoke through the land. Blackbirds were Torleif, and spiders were Tova; the velvety flowers were Hanya, and the wreathe of a flame showed Yorunn’s mood. The meandering wind was Hyrold himself, his cool refreshing voice pressing into their cheeks, trying to turn their heads.

“Look,” Dania would say. “He’s telling us to look to the hills. There is something he wants us to see.”

If Mira had ever gone out of her bedchamber without boots on, she could not remember it. To feel land on her skin made her come alive in a way she could not explain. There were some days she did not put her boots on until the air grew cold in the evening, and some nights she drank enough that she did not feel the chill of night, and on those days, her feet did not touch boots at all.

On the horizon to the sea, there were always wisps of blushing clouds, and as the sun set, the sky turned pink, and the light would coat the grassy hills, giving the whole world a rosy glow. Facing away from the sea were imposing mountains—shaped by the breath of Hyrold, Dania said—the top of the bluffs hidden by a thick veneer of twisting clouds. Sheets of mist floated down their sides, dripping into the valleys and fields. Never in her life had Mira seen such beauty. Never had she been allowed to run towards the things that called to her.

The third thing that got to her was more complex. It likely began before Mira noticed it, but there was one night in early Spring that made it impossible to ignore.

It had been one moon since anyone in town had their stones cast, and enough people were irritated that Valdis, a man who raised cattle and provided milk and cheese, gave Fell a stern warning.

Dania overheard the conversation and relayed it to Mira after one of their leisurely midday naps in the meadows. “He said he was tired of Idra’s whining—Idra is his woman. She’s the one that always wears her hair on just the one side, with the blue apron—”

Mira nodded. She knew who Dania spoke of.

“He asked Fell to make you hear your reading. Fell refused. He said it would be unkind because you fear the stones.” Dania laughed. “Valdis said Fell should make you face your fear as Northerners do. He said Idra has not taken him between her legs for at least eight days because of the stones. He warned Fell it would come to blows soon. He warned that many would join with him.”

Mira should have thought more about the conversation, but she didn’t. She forgot about it, and did not visit the witch, and continued to enjoy her nature-filled days and her music-filled nights.

Valdis had spoken the truth. It did come to blows, but it was not Valdis who threw the first punch. It was a man named Orvir. Mira saw the fist coming one night at the hearth. She cried out in warning, though a little too late. Within moments, Fell and Orvir were rolling around in the mud, clobbering each other and slamming each other into the hard earth beneath the muck. There was a slick sucking noise each time a part of one man flopped against the water-logged soil and an oozy slurp each time a limb was lifted out of the mud’s grip. At one point, there was a sickly crunching noise, and then someone’s blood was mixed into the chaos of limbs and leather and skin.

They tossed around in the filth until Fell found himself holding Orvir’s arm as if to break the bone and everyone knew the fight was finished. When they were still, Mira could see where the blood was coming from—out of Orvir’s nose. They spoke to each other, and Fell released him, and then they stood, breathless, clasping hands and embracing, laughing together as if they had not just been fighting.

Fell raised his eyebrows and looked around, meeting the eyes of many who watched. The air was thick with people’s thoughts. If anyone wished to make the same point as Orvir, that was the time to do it. People kept silent, and there was not a second fight about the casting stones.

The air only grew thin again when Fell laughed and began sloughing off the thick sludge that coated him. Despite being covered in grime and having just been attacked, Fell was in fine spirits. He bid Mira follow him in a direction she had not yet gone—into the black woods.

As they walked, Mira tried to make sense of her feeling and the things that crossed her mind while she watched the fight. She had called out to warn Fell. In theory, she was more than fine with him suffering, but in the moment, when it was happening, she had not wanted him to feel pain. Mira winced each time Fell took a hit, and her chest ached when Orvir clamoured on top of him and pushed his mouth down into the mud, and she thought for a moment he was to drown. She’d had to swallow to keep herself from crying out when she heard the crunch. Was it guilt she felt?

The further from town they got, the darker the night seemed. The wind rattled through the trees and mixed with Mira’s confusion. Unease clawed up her spine. Perhaps Fell was frustrated with her? Could he be taking her away from town to punish her somehow? Was there some awful form of suffering used to correct people in the North?

As a child, Mira had difficulty keeping her hands to herself. She liked to touch paintings, stained glass, and the hems of pretty dresses. She’d been told many times not to do this, but when she was certain her mother was not looking, she sometimes couldn’t help herself. There was a day, not too long after Hamon was born, when many people came to visit. Mira could not remember what it was that she’d touched, but her mother was livid. She dragged Mira outside and told her to hold out her hands. She used stinging nettle, and the searing poison bit at Mira’s flesh for a full hour no matter how vigorously she washed or how much she scratched at her skin.

Mira looked to Fell, trying to gauge his feeling, trying to determine if she needed to prepare herself for what was to come.

“Angry?” she said.

He smiled. “No angry.”

She was not convinced.

He said something else—words she’d not heard before. He laughed and pointed to his sleeve, but still, she did not understand. Mira wanted to apologize for causing the fight, but she didn’t have the words, so she said “thank you,” and hoped that was enough.

They came across a pool, moon-washed constellations blurring together on the sleek, black surface. The sight was so still and potent that Mira almost reached for Fell’s arm to hold him back before he approached. It seemed to her that the pool was a secret place, like in a fairy tale, that should not be touched by man or woman or even child, as it was too pure. Fell did not share the sentiment; he tore off his mud-crusted clothing and waded in. The night air was so cold that Mira could not imagine how he managed not to freeze within the water. She also did not want to be anywhere near him while he was naked.

He urged her, “Come, come.”

Mira shook her head and spoke in her own language. “It’s too cold.” She made a shivering gesture to help explain.

Fell laughed at her and climbed out, blue, intricate markings running across his chest and arms. He offered her his hand. When she did not take it, he placed his hand on her cheek. It was not cold, as she expected, but hot. Extremely hot.

He led her to the pool and knelt with her, leading her hand into the thin warmth. The pool was as hot as a bath. Mira did not understand, and Fell laughed at her confusion. He reached for the lacing of her cloak, and she pulled back, her heart thudding against her ribs.

“No trouble,” he said, lifting his hands up in innocence and laughing again.

This was a phrase she’d just recently learned; it was what Dania said to her boys whenever she left them with someone for a few moments.

“No trouble,” he repeated, his hands leafing beneath her dress to her shift. “This stay.” He touched the dress and the cloak and her boots. “This come.”

Mira understood his meaning. Her heart slowed a little, but it still was not back to its usual pace. She hadn’t worn underclothes in front of anyone except her handmaiden before, and she was not sure how she felt about Fell’s knowledge of the layers of a woman’s clothing. She knew she shouldn’t trust him with the sight, but for some inexplicable reason—maybe the wine she’d already taken, or the blows he’d received to protect her from having to visit the witch, or from how secret and unreal the pool felt buried deep within the forest—she did. She removed her cloak, boots, and finally her dress, leaving only her underdress on. She slid into the steaming water, bewildered as to how it did not lose its warmth.

To bathe in hot water after a moon in the foreign land was a great gift. Fell swam to the middle of the pool and disappeared beneath the surface. Mira could not follow him. The water was almost too deep for her, meaning she needed to keep one hand tangled into the grassy bank, ready to grasp the thick roots beneath her fingers in case she slipped. Fell surfaced near her, scrubbing at his face with his palms, before reaching out for her and trying to pull her towards the center of the pool.

“No,” she said, clenching her fingers tightly around a dampened root.

“Come,” he laughed, tugging at her playfully with a terrible smirk upon his face.

How could she explain this to him? She did not have any of the words. He pulled.

“No!” she yelled at him.

He found her anger funny and kept pulling. Suddenly, her grip on the root was gone. She was beneath the surface, unable to touch the earth below and unable to push up to the air. She kicked her legs, but nothing happened.

She was drowning.

Fell’s giant hands grasped her ribcage, lifting her above the water’s surface. She gasped, taking in as much air as she could.

He understood now. Now that she had almost drowned, Fell could see that she did not know how to swim. He held her up and pulled her back to the water’s edge, laughing and exclaiming something in the Northern words. Mira had not a drop of patience for the man. Of course, he laughs.

“I tried to tell you!” she shouted in her own language, sounding far more like her mother than she ever wanted to.

“Understand.” He could not stop laughing. “Si understand.”

Mira tried to keep her expression firm and furious, but the corners of her mouth fought against her, begging to be allowed to grin. It was enraging and confusing and comical all at once. His raised eyebrows said to her, you are well, there’s no need to be so cross with me; how could I have known? His grin said, you can try to stay angry, but you will fail; no one stays angry with me. And beyond these impish hints of thoughts, there was a steadiness in his eyes that said, you do not need to worry; I will not let you sink.

Mira managed to keep herself from smiling or laughing, but she could not hold onto her anger. It slipped through her fingers just like the root. Without rage or humour to hold her focus, her mind wandered to the feeling of Fell’s hands on her ribs. Never had she felt the touch of someone with so little fabric between their skin and her own. She wanted his hands to move—not off of her, but along her—so that other parts of her being could feel as her ribs did. She wanted him to look away from her face because his eyes were too pale and too blue, and he did not blink enough. She could see some of his feeling, and it was so potent it frightened her. But also, she wanted him to keep looking at her, exactly as he was, forever.

Mira wanted him to kiss her, and she wanted not to want this. She wanted to please her mother, even though the woman could not see her or possibly know what she was up to. But she also wanted to be rid of all thought of her mother while Fell’s hands were on her. She wanted to feel like he was not watching every thought rise and fall in her with curious amusement. But also, she wanted to amuse him.

The wind picked up, saving Mira from the complicated despair of endless, contradictory wishes. It drew Fell’s attention away, and he laughed, musical and lively.

“Hyrold,” he said through his laughter. That part, he said to Mira. The next part: “Si ti kvearnen,” he said to the sky.

The mood was changed, and Fell placed his hand on her back and lifted her so that she was lying on the water’s surface, like she would a bed. He kept her up like this, moving about in the water.

She felt light, almost as if he could remove his hands, and she would stay atop the surface. He lifted one hand, then the other, and for a moment, she did stay. But as he stepped away from her, she became fearful and started to sink beneath the water. Fell returned, laughing (of course) and lifted her up again. He did this many times until she grew less afraid and could stay relaxed atop the pond’s surface. Fell spoke to her a lot during this, and though she did not understand any of it, she found it comforting.

After that night, Mira and Fell spent a little more time together. He continued to teach her how to swim, and soon she was able to jump into the sea with Dania when the day was warmest and feel the pleasure of the water flowing against her skin.

As she learned more words, Fell began to teach her other things as well. They would lay on their backs in the field at night, and he would tell her the names of the stars. They would hike through the dense, pine-scented forest, and he would help her say the names of the flowers and trees and critters. He would borrow toys from the village children and tell her the stories behind different mythic heroes. Mira had not been allowed to play with toys since she had been very small, and even though she knew she was far too old for them, she would move the little cloth goddesses and heroines around in the grass and make up tales about what they were doing. Always in the tales, the girl would be taken captive by a Northman—but rather than a scary ending, they would fall in love.