It was nearly daylight when Fell returned from his evening with the king. He kicked his boots off aggressively, and they made a loud thump as they slammed into the door. Fell sat down, hunched over, running his giant hands up and down the back of his neck. Mira had never seen this posture from him before, and it set her uneasy.

She slipped out of their furs, her bare feet hating the cold of the creaking floorboards. “What is it?” she said, sitting in Fell’s lap and stroking his hair.

He sighed. “I will see Hyrold first, and then we will talk.” He kissed her and put his boots back on. “Stay with Rowan today. When I return, I will go there to find you.”

Mira did as Fell bid, finding herself hyper-vigilant and uncomfortably aware as she wandered through the halls of Arik’s great home. Her heart sped every time there was a voice or footfalls. She tried to tell herself that nothing was wrong, but Fell’s angry-worry and his request that she not be alone throughout the day had her on an edge she couldn’t ignore.

When Mira arrived at Rowan’s door, her cheeks flushed hot. There could be no mistaking the sounds of Rowan and Fyrrah wrapped around each other. She waited outside until they had been finished for a reasonable amount of time, getting a little spooked and pressing Halvar tightly to her chest each time one of Arik’s men or servants rushed past. No one gave her a second look, but she was not soothed. When Mira finally knocked, she heard the rustling of the young lovers hurriedly dressing before Fyrrah opened the door.

The girl had an uplifting smile. She hugged Mira and welcomed her into the room with no questions asked. It was not as large or fine as the room Arik had given to her and Fell, but it was lovely nonetheless. Dozens of syrup-scented flowers and pungent herbs hung to dry from the ceiling. The window ledge was full of shells and speckled stones and oddly twisted branches. Bone trinkets and casting stones were scattered on the only table. Rowan and Fyrrah had lived in the city for less than a moon, but they’d made the place a home.

Mira explained that Fell told her to stay with them all day, and Rowan looked suspicious.

“Did he say why?”

Mira shook her head.

“It is because everything will change soon,” Fyrrah said.

Mira’s chest tightened. Fyrrah was always right about these things.

The girl stared at Mira for many moments before taking Halvar out of her arms and handing him to Rowan. She sat Mira down and began combing her hair, dipping the comb into a bowl of something damp and sweet-smelling first. Her hair dried quickly and smelled like summer, and as Fyrrah braided her black strands in a Northern style, slowly and with gentleness, Mira felt her body relaxing.

It took nearly an hour, but when it was done, Fyrrah said, “It will stay for many moons. You will not have to think about your hair at all for a long time.”

Fyrrah smiled at her and placed a hand on Mira’s cheek before sitting down and beginning her own braids, sometimes asking Rowan to hold pieces for her as she weaved the golden strands.

Fyrrah seemed so peaceful and sure, and watching Rowan help the girl with her hair warmed Mira’s heart. She felt the happiness for Rowan she should have felt long ago; he had a beautiful love, he had his freedom and a life that was his own.

When Halvar became fussy and cried, Fyrrah sang to him—a beautiful song about the rain and how it fell on a town with many sorrows, washing away all of their pain, leaving them clean. Briefly, Mira did feel her earlier jealousy for Fyrrah. The girl had a voice that rang clear and crisp and sweet as honey.

When the babe was asleep, Fyrrah opened the window and told them that they must listen. “You can hear the city breathing.”

It was true; the city had a great depth of sound to it, a chaotic rhythm of shouts, animal screeches, blacksmith hammering and the ring of a thousand wooden wind chimes twisting in the breeze, but through the center of it was the beating of its heart.

Fyrrah corrected the way Mira breathed, which was not something Mira had known could be done wrong.

“Pull the breath in through your nose,” Fyrrah said. “And slowly let it come down into your lungs and then your stomach. Hold it there for a moment before releasing slowly.” Fyrrah set a hand on Mira’s stomach as she followed her instruction.

“Valla taught me to breathe this way,” the girl said. “It is easy to feel close to the gods when the breath is right. The gods are in the air.”

At first, it was uncomfortable, but Mira soon adjusted and found herself further calmed, as if all her worries left with the used air and the vibrant energy of Aalt came in with the new.

This was how Fell found them, sitting on the floor with their eyes closed, breathing as Valla wanted them to, listening to the thriving life outside. He seemed calmed from his visit with Hyrold and scooped up Halvar, who was laughing with excitement at the sight of his father. He flipped the child around in his arms, pretending to eat his stomach like a monster. The babe laughed and shrieked. Halvar had only recently begun to enjoy the sensation of being twirled around.

Fell set the boy on the floor, his face settling into a grim seriousness. “We must talk of tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, all of us, we go to Byernen,” Fyrrah said.

How could she know this?

“Yes,” Fell said. “Likely to war.”

“I cannot board the warships with a baby.” Mira felt Fell’s anger from earlier that morning.

“Arik insists. He will not leave you or Halvar.”

Fell called after her, but Mira did not listen. She stormed to Arik’s quarters.

“I need to see the king. Now.”

Uren, the king’s most silent warrior, was standing guard. He smirked and disappeared behind Arik’s thick oak doors.

The time it took for Mira to be given permission to enter was not enough to soothe her rage. All thought of Valla’s breathing was gone. In truth, all thought of any kind was gone.

Arik was slouched over some parchment at his redwood desk when she arrived. Mira opened her mouth to speak, but he lifted a hand to silence her.

“Nearly done,” Arik said. He rushed his reed along, and when he finished with the sentence he was writing, he set the tool down and gave Mira his attention, his hands folded atop one another pleasantly.

“My lady, I have been told you have urgent business with me?”

“Yes.”

“Take a seat; let us row into it then.”

Mira did not sit down. She spit her words out like leeches. “Halvar cannot go on the raiding ships. What you ask is too dangerous.”

“It was not my first choice either, my lady. But I cannot leave him here.”

“You can.”

Arik sighed. “I cannot. Please, my lady, have a seat.” He gestured to the open chair across from him. “I will explain my thinking.”

Though Mira was livid, she did not think it wise to disobey the king a second time. She sat down, folded her hands neatly in her lap, and said with great impatience, “Explain it, then.”

Arik laughed. “My lady, I had not known there was such pith in you.”

Mira did not allow him to steer the conversation in a lighthearted direction. She kept her face flat and waited for Arik to begin.

“You said before that you understood why I did not tell you about my plans. Those reasons are still in play, but, given that Halvar is your child, and you have a mother’s love and worry, I will tell you one small part. You must not repeat this. Do you understand?”

Mira nodded.

“I have discovered that the steel men from the southwest may take their army into my lands while I am away. This is why I must bring you and Halvar with us. I cannot risk Fell’s child. He will be safer with his father and me. My lady, you will be safer with Fell and myself and the Norsern fleet. I take it you know some of Fell’s past sufferings?”

Mira nodded.

“I could not have him return from the season to find that something terrible has befallen you or Halvar.”

Mira understood, but neither her fear nor anger was soothed.

Arik dug through a stack of parchment. “See for yourself, my lady. The risk is very real.” He pushed a blanched sheet across the desk.

When Mira pulled the page closer, her heart plummeted. It was her letter. The one she’d given to the man on the docks in hopes that it could be delivered to Dayne. Her cheeks burned with fear. There could be no denying it. She signed the letter: your loving sister. Towards the end of the letter, she had written the words: I beg you. Do not take men North. There is nothing to be gained, only things to be lost.

Why had she not thought through everything more completely—all the way to the end? Why had it not crossed her mind that Arik could somehow get his hands on the letter? She felt like a fool. Worse than that, she felt like she had secured the king’s wrath, and she did not know what that would mean.

When Mira looked back up at the king, his grey wolf-eyes were steadfast with rage; they burrowed deep into her chest. “So you see, I cannot leave the child here.”

In her fear, Mira could not speak, though the king gave her ample time to say something.

Arik morphed before her eyes. The brunt of his rage left, and as it did, he seemed to grow young and lively. A hint of a smile crept onto his face as he took the letter back. “I trust that this….” He lifted the page to draw her attention to it. “This sort of thing will not happen again?”

Mira nodded.

“Good.” Arik set Mira’s letter into the nearest brazier. Within moments it was gone, and his eyes were fixed on her again. “I am not the sort of man who can forgive twice. Do you understand?”

Mira nodded.

There was a long silence before Arik spoke again.

“Do you not think you should have warned me?” Once again, Arik transformed. He lost the youthful glow in his eyes, and suddenly, he appeared old and worn and heartbroken. “Do you know how many people there are in the North? Children and elderly and women? You would let them be slaughtered when you did not have to. It would have taken only a few words.”

He did not wait for Mira’s response.

“You can go.”

Mira had a fit in the hallway, and when she felt like she could compose herself again, she returned to Rowan and Fyrrah’s room. Fell and Halvar were still there, discussing what was to be done.

Rowan said to Fyrrah, “I feel I must go, but you do not have to. Stay, find work in the city, or return home, and I will come to you at summer’s end.”

She smiled and kissed him. “No. I have told you many times, we are on the same path now. Besides,” she laughed, “you have already prepared for four.”

Rowan sat up straight in shock before moving to drag a chest out from beneath the bed. Within were many things that he had made, including a large axe, which he gave to Fell. Fell spun it around in his hands, swiping at the air.

“This is very fine. I will kill many men with it.”

Rowan had a sword for himself and two small daggers. One for Fyrrah and one for Mira. Mira held the cold metal tenderly in her hands. She hated it.

“One more thing before we sleep.” Fyrrah looked to Fell.

“Yes. We discussed something while you were gone,” Fell said. “It was Fyrrah’s idea, but I also think it is wise.”

Fyrrah poured a dark liquid into a small metal bowl which she hung over the hearth. She held the tiniest blade Mira had ever seen in the flames as well, lifting it out after a moment and testing its temperature against her finger. When it was cool, Fyrrah handed the blade to Fell and turned to Mira. She said, “If something should happen to us, this will prove you are Norsen.”

Mira understood. The girl wished to give her the marks of the Northmen. She nodded—it was something she’d thought about many times already, but she was nervous, as she expected it would be painful. She was also uncomfortable with how Fyrrah had said if something should happen to us. No one else seemed bothered.

Fyrrah instructed Mira to sit, and she pulled Mira’s right arm out of her dress, leaving the left part of her back covered but not the right. She traced a path from beneath Mira’s right breast, under her arm, and to her back. “I think something here would be pretty.” She looked up to Mira for confirmation.

Mira nodded.

“What would you like?” Fyrrah said.

Mira tried to remember what pattern Dania had chosen and why, but she couldn’t. She was worn by her visit with the king and did not feel like making choices. Fyrrah’s arms were covered in the stains, and all of them looked beautiful. “I think you will be better at choosing something than I will,” Mira said.

Fyrrah looked at her for many moments with a furrowed brow. “I think I have a good idea. I will draw it first so you can see?”

Mira nodded.

Fyrrah cleansed the skin with water that was a little too hot before she marked the skin with charcoal from the fire. She took her time, sometimes wiping a mark away with hot water and meticulously remaking it.

“Tell me what you think,” Fyrrah said when she was done. “You must be honest. It will be with you forever, so it is important that you like it.”

Mira looked down at the interweaving curves. “What is it?”

“It is Valla’s protection. Luck is a very good thing to have with you.”

Mira loved it, and she thought the meaning was beautiful as well. She nodded.

“You must hold still,” Fyrrah warned. “It will sting at first, but you will adjust.”

When the inky liquid had boiled, it was taken off the flame to cool. When this was done, Fell dipped the tiny blade into the deep blue-black sludge. Mira’s heart fluttered as he brought the blade to her skin.

He pierced the blade into her flesh, following the pattern Fyrrah had laid out. The jabs were quick and shallow, but it hurt a lot—as if her skin was being scraped too roughly with a blade—Mira needed to press her teeth closed tight to bear it. The places where there was only thin skin atop the bone were especially painful. Fortunately, Fell could sense when the sting was too great, and he would stop and look into Mira’s eyes, waiting until the pain faded enough for him to continue.

Fyrrah wiped away the blood when Fell was done and commented as to whether a mark should be thickened or was good as it was. When Mira’s arm became too tired to be held still above her head, Rowan took it and held it for her. She squeezed his hand when the pain was strongest but was careful not to make noise.

When it was done, Mira’s back muscles twitched in irritation. She was able to move normally, but Fell didn’t want her to cover the mark until it stopped bleeding. He sat behind her, taking her left hand in his right. He placed his wrist beside hers, palms up, and pierced a small sigil—the size of a coin—between them. Half of the sigil was on his wrist and half on hers. Only if their arms were pressed together would the image be complete.

“The mark of Hanya,” he said.

Mira knew that Hanya was the goddess of love and beauty, and her heart was warmed. They said their goodnights and went back to their room.

Myret had told Mira to feed Halvar with each breast evenly, but the skin beneath her right was raw and irritated. She decided to break the rule just that once for fear that his flailing arms would touch the marks and sting her. When the boy was asleep, Mira lay beside Fell in bed, placing the child between them.

“I would like to run away with you and Halvar,” she said. “Into the woods. Let us leave now.” As the words were coming out of her mouth, she knew in her heart they were hopeless. Fell would not agree to them.

He raised his eyebrows. “You would have me run? Like a coward?”

“Did Arik tell you why he would have me and Halvar go to Byernen?”

Fell shook his head, though Mira felt like he was not truly listening. He was staring at Halvar, running a finger along the babe’s tiny hand.

“He is cross with me. I have… I’ve been foolish in speaking to him. He…”

Fell was not paying attention.

“Listen to me!”

Fell’s eyes flicked away from baby Halvar, full of mischievous glee, a great smirk on his face.

“This is serious,” Mira said, trying not to smile along with him. “I have offended Arik. I fear he means us harm.”

“Offended him how?”

“I wrote a letter to my brother. I gave it to a man at the docks to deliver, but somehow Arik found it.”

Fell shrugged. “He told me this.”

Fell’s calm was irritating her. If he knew what she’d done, then why was he not as worried as she was? “He thinks I have betrayed him—”

“No.” Fell laughed. “You have impressed him. He thinks you are clever. He does not understand how I can keep your mind from boredom. He warned me. He said you will leave me for an intelligent man.”

“This is not what he said—”

“Of course not. Arik is not someone who can give compliments to others. Even when they are due.”

“You think he is not angry?”

“No more than usual.”

Mira watched as Fell’s attention moved back to Halvar. He ran a giant finger along the bridge of the babe’s nose.

“What are you thinking?” she said.

“I am not thinking at all,” Fell said. “He grows so fast. I am trying to remember everything of him at this age.”

Mira knew this feeling well. She and Fell fought their sleep together with their foreheads touching and their legs entwined. Just as the dreamworld was about to take them, Fell spoke, light and whispery. “I am thinking of what you asked me when I left after the equinox.”

Mira made a mumbling noise to let him know she was still listening, but she was too sleepy to form actual words.

“You asked if I fought anyone while I was gone, and I said no. But the more I have thought about it… this was a lie. I was fighting—with myself and my father and my skael.”

Mira was listening, only she wasn’t thinking about what was said.