Something about the king left Mira feeling dreadfully unsure, and, thankfully, Dania seemed to sense this. “I will take Halvar; I can feed him if he’s hungry.”

Mira agreed, setting her child into Dania’s arms and following the rabble of travel-weary drunken men into the king’s tent.

The tent was larger than any Mira had seen before, requiring not one center post but two, and decadent—brightly coloured silks and feathered pillows were set up around a large table that stood low to the floor. The bronze braziers in each corner were roaring and refracting copper light off of the walls and wine-reddened people within. There were at least a dozen barrels of wine, and the table was covered in dried fruits, a variety of cheeses and a large roasted boar. Richly patterned rugs depicting ochre birds, burnt orange leaves, and tawny brown vines covered the floors.

Fell sat very close to Mira, reminding her of all the nights her suitors had come to Arcliff, and Dayne had stayed by her side. She sensed in Fell a slight uneasiness, though no one else could.

Maybe the king can tell? Mira looked to the lively man who was chugging wine so quickly that violet was seeping out of the corners of his mouth into his beard. He seemed both like a drunken mess and a wise old man who missed nothing.

As he jested with his comrades, they feasted on pie-like bread dishes soaked in butter and fragrant herbs, and when they were done, Mira played her harp, her cheeks growing warm with the intensity of the king’s stare. Arik stood and cheered when she finished.

“My lady, you know The Steps of Moore, I take it?”

She did, though before she could answer, the king offered his hand. Mira looked at Fell, trying to gauge whether her dancing with Arik would upset him, but his expression did not guide her either way. She walked with the drunken king to an open space. Two of his companions played a suitable tune, and he bowed. She curtsied. The dance began.

It was sweet and nostalgic but, at the same time, uncomfortable. The king’s wolfish eyes bore deep inside her, and Mira found herself fearing his intentions, not because she knew them to be impure, but because she could not sense anything about them at all. She set her right fingers against his calloused right hand as they exchanged places, moving in a sweeping circle. Then the left hands touched. Then they turned away from each other and back.

Many of the Northmen wore smirks and raised eyebrows, making it clear they found the dance a funny sight. The Northerners did not plan their dances like the people on the Isle; they moved as they felt, with no structure or partnered steps.

How does he know of this? Mira wondered as the king spun her around. He has either lived in the south before or has studied us. Arik kissed her hand when the dance was done, and he did so properly. It was well known on the Isle that a woman could sense a man’s birth by how he performed the gesture. A poorer man would let his lips touch the hand, but a well-bred one would not.

Mira sat back beside Fell, aching for Halvar but thinking it unwise to leave the king’s presence without being dismissed.

“I’ll talk to the girl alone.” The king waved his hand, and this band of scarred, drunken raiders stood to leave.

When Fell stood, he pointed his axe directly at the man. “Keep your hands to yourself.” Fell was smirking, but his face was also saying, do not test me on this.

“Fell, my dear boy, you are strong, but not nearly as strong as you think you are.”

“And you are not as fast as you think you are.”

They both laughed, leaving Mira feeling even more unsettled.

“You know me, Fell. You know I would not hurt a bird.”

“You would fuck one, though.” Fell raised his eyebrows, and the king’s men gathered near the entrance laughed in a way that revealed to Mira the truth in Fell’s words.

“She is the mother of your child; she is safe with me,” Arik promised.

“You had the mother of my children,” one of his companions piped up with a smirk.

Arik smiled. “I’d forgotten about Vyna….”

Soon the men were gone, and Mira was alone with the king of the Northmen. His jovial countenance faded fast into an expression of strength and seriousness.

“I have a lot of questions for you, girl.”

Mira’s heart sped up. So far, the king had been drunk but polite and decent. Still, she imagined that to become king of the Northmen, a man must be brutal. They would not allow a weak man to rule them. Then again, they did not seem to be governed in the way people were back home.

“You need only ask, your Grace.”

“But you must not lie to me, girl. I will know if you do. I can always see a lie.”

Mira’s eyes shifted away from his eyes as she nodded; his gaze was hard to meet, so she focused instead on the chain around his neck and the iron eye-shaped charm dangling from it.

“Tell me what you know of Loric.” The king’s eyes remained fixed on her, sharp and steadfast.

“Um... in truth, your Grace, I do not know much. We met once and only briefly. Even then, we never spoke anything more than pleasantries... He seemed to be a kind and honourable man.” The king did not appear satisfied, so Mira added, “But he did not strike me as very clever.” It wasn’t a lie; Mira had thought that when she’d first seen Loric, although she no longer believed it to be true.

“Why not?”

“No reason, in particular, your Grace. I just had that feeling when I looked at him. He did not speak much.”

“You know he is Lord of Terrowin now?”

“I did not, your Grace.”

“Tell me about the company he keeps.”

“The time that I met him, he was with his father, his younger brother, and a man from very far south.”

“Recall for me each of the conversations you had with Loric.”

Mira’s life on the Isle felt far away and long forgotten; she had to strain her mind to recall any specifics of Loric’s visit. “We were introduced by my brother; he sat beside me. He could not find something to speak about, so I asked him about his trip west. He said it was fine. We danced. He told me that he did not know me very well but that he liked what he did know... I wondered if he was lying... and we said goodnight. The next day he asked me to wed him. I said yes. And he kissed me before he rode home.”

None of this can cause any trouble, Mira reasoned. None of these details give anything important away.

“And now,” the king said, growing even more steely and cold. “Tell me about Dayne.”

Mira’s heart skipped a beat. How did the king know her brother’s name? Did he know Dayne was Lord now? Mira decided she could get away with acting as if she herself did not know that. He’d become Lord after she was taken. How could she know?

“Dayne…” What to say? “Um... Dayne was a good older brother. He was patient with the younger children, and he loved to ride. I would play the harp for him—”

“What did he study?” The king knew how to steer her words, and Mira felt trapped, suddenly aware that Arik wanted certain information and was clever enough to get it.

“He... uh... he studied with my father about the duties of a lord. He knew the different clans and their... um... cultures? I guess you would say in Norsern. He studied etiquette—”

“Did he study war? Archery? Swordsmanship?”

“I know he did train sometimes, but I was not allowed in the barracks, so I do not know which weapons he used or what he knew of war.” It was her first complete lie. Dayne was a gifted swordsman, everyone said so, and he was quite fond of reading histories of war. But perhaps it would be best if the king did not know that.

“Were you close with him?”

“Fairly.” Mira stared at the eye around the king’s neck. She could tell he was not getting the information he wanted from her. She could feel him change tactics.

“You recognize this?” He held the charm up.

“I think so, your Grace. It has to do with the god of truth.”

“It does indeed. And what does a girl from Arcliff know about the god of truth?”

“Not much your Grace, I know his worshippers fought a great battle in the sand against the worshippers of the Sun God once.”

“Do you know who won that battle?”

“I know you could say the god of truth won because his soldiers were left standing at the end of the fray. But you could also say the Sun God won because the survivors went mad from the heat.”

A curious smile spread across the king’s face—was the man impressed? Mira could not tell.

“You might be too clever for your own good, girl. Tell me, what are you thinking right this moment?”

“I am thinking of my son. This is the longest I have been away from him since he was born.” An easy truth to tell.

“We will speak again on the morrow. Goodnight for now.”

Mira stood and curtsied, making sure to walk backwards until she was at the tent’s entrance. She had been taught as a child to never turn her back on a king as it was considered impolite. When she stepped out into the brisque spring night, she found Fell waiting for her, leaning casually against a fence post.

She felt infinitely better about the encounter knowing that he had stayed near, that she had not been left to fend for herself with the drunken king. But at the same time, Fell’s caution made her feel as though her own unease was justified.

When they arrived at Dania’s, Halvar was already asleep. “I fed him, and he slept soundly,” Dania assured her.

Mira carried the boy back to their tent and tucked him in his little basket. Fell lay down, and she lay beside him, her head on his shoulder.

“What did Arik want?”

“I do not know. He asked me about my brother and about my home.”

“You had a man before me?” Fell asked. There was no animosity in his voice, just curiosity.

“No, it was planned, but I was brought here before it could happen.”

“You loved this man?”

She shook her head. “But you had a woman before me.”

“We have spoken of Inga already.”

Mira wasn’t thinking of Inga. “There was another?”

“Yes.” A terrible smirk spread across his face as his eyes shifted away and then back. “Many.”

“And you loved them?”

“Only one.”

Mira stared into his clear, wintery eyes. Fell didn’t know she knew about his other child.

“There are many things we have not told each other,” she said.

“Some things are better not to know.”

“But some things are better to know.”

He laughed. “There is something you wish to speak of?”

“You had a child before Halvar.”

“Yes.” Fell’s demeanour changed instantly, his shoulders and brows and chin seemingly weighed down. “She lived for three days only; she was born too soon.”

“And her mother was the woman you loved?”

“Yes. Myret had to cut her open because the child had begun to come but was stuck.”

Mira knew most of this already, but it hurt her heart all the same to hear it in Fell’s voice. Warm, salty water gathered behind her eyes.

He smiled. “They are with Hyrold now. One day you will meet them. And one day, many years after that, Halvar will meet his sister.”

“I am sorry.”

“It is not your fault.”

“How do you know the king?”

Fell sighed. “It is a strange and sad story.”

“I want to know.”

“When I was a boy, maybe twelve? I got into a lot of trouble. I was going to be killed for my crime. But by chance, Arik was passing by. He was newly king then, and he asked the men who held me about what I had done. He pardoned me and took me with him raiding. When I was grown, he brought me back to where he found me and left me there.”

Mira could not have been more surprised. “What was your crime?”

“I killed a man.”

“That is not a crime in the North.”

“It was not in a fair fight, but while he slept.”

“Why?”

Fell took a long time to answer. Finally, he said, “You will ask until you have the full story, so I will give it to you full. My mother was soten, like you were. My father was Norser like me. But he was not a good father. And he was not a good master... One day he poured boiling water over her, and she could not bring herself to live any longer. She killed herself and died soten. I knew I could not beat my father in a fair fight, so I waited until he slept.”

Mira placed her hands on either side of his face and pressed her forehead against his, crying. “I am sorry.”

He smiled. “No need to be sorry. It is not your fault.” He ran the back of a giant finger across her cheek, wiping away the tears.

Rage rushed through Mira’s veins and mixed with her blood. She wanted to kill Fell’s father herself; she’d never had such violent thoughts, nor could she understand how Fell was so calm while speaking of it. “How are you not angry?”

He laughed. “I have been angry about it enough, for years… maybe most of my life. It was Arik who taught me not to hold on to my anger so tight—to listen to it and hear it and heal it, but then let it pass. Myret has helped with this as well. But also, my father was an angry man, and I do not want to be like him.” Fell said this, but Mira could tell that thinking about everything did stir something in him. His eyes wandered to the hearth, and he was quiet in thought for many moments. Finally, he said, “The song you played for me when I first saw you. I thought it was her song, that she made it up.”

Mira wanted to breathe in all Fell’s pain and hold it in her own chest to give him rest from it. But this was not how men worked, their pain was not something that could be picked up and carried for a time, so instead, she lay with him. It was not enough, but it would have to do. She cried the whole time. Because of the sadness of everything she’d learned, because of her uncertainty of the king and the war that may be coming, but mostly because of the relief she felt from all of the bad things when she was wrapped in Fell’s arms.