Skadi found Kvedulf in his hall entertaining guests.

The stench of the rotting frost giant was masked by the piles of fragrant hickory and apple wood that were thrown onto the fire pits, so that their sweet-smelling smoke rose in gauzy curlicues toward the smoke hole. The rear wall was now patched by sufficient scaffolding and beams that the air was no longer frigid but merely chill, and the hird were gathered about the long tables, the mood surly and low.

Skadi entered through the great doors and slowed to take in the scene. Kvedulf sat with his wife and Marbjörn at the head table, but at the head of the left table sat a delegation of new warriors she’d never seen before, while across from them, at the head of the right, was a band of dark-skinned men in elegant finery and richly dyed clothing.

The first were Northmen of rank. Their clothing was finely woven and vividly dyed, and each wore a large gold brooch upon their chest. Their leader was an older man, his blond hair and great mustache streaked with silver, but powerful still, his jaw square, his gaze piercing.

Sharpening her gaze she saw that he boasted a half-dozen threads; this was a man of note.

His companions, however, despite being strong and forthright warriors, boasted no threads. They were clearly here as part of his entourage.

The dark-skinned men were another matter. There were four of them, all bearded, their features delicate and fine, their heads bound in cunningly wrapped black cloth so that their hair was completely hidden, and they wore large, loose white robes over red and blue tunics of impressive vividness. Their clothing had no tablet weave, but was rather stitched with fine metallic threads about the borders, so that they glimmered as they moved.

They all sat with their right hand upon the table, with their left hidden beneath it. They wore no obvious jewelry, but their leader was clad in a yellow robe of such rich color that it seemed to smolder as if with its own inner heat.

Again Skadi sharpened her gaze; their leader in yellow was surprisingly young, perhaps the age of her brother, Svinnr, and from his breast emerged a dozen threads of gold. His three companions were almost as impressive; each had three or four threads of their own.

“They arrived this afternoon,” whispered Glámr, emerging from the shadows beside the front door. “The entire town’s been agog.”

“Who are they?”

“The men on the left are emissaries of King Harald. Their leader, Hafr the Word Master, has made a compelling case for why your uncle should lend his strength to the upcoming battle with the Archeans.”

“Upcoming battle?” Skadi realized she’d nearly hissed and lowered her voice, stepping back into the shadows with her friend. “What is this?”

“Harald, it seems, means to contest the Archeans’ desire to take his kingdom piecemeal.” Glámr was all too happy to fade back into the gloom with her. “He is demanding ships of every city, and even reaching out to the Draugr Coast in the hopes of eliciting support. Hafr painted a vivid scene, a stirring call for the North to rise as one and cast out the invaders.”

“And my uncle?”

“Unmoved, as far as I can tell. Though I’ll admit he’s hard to read; he thanked Hafr most graciously, and encouraged him to enjoy the wine.”

“Hmm. The others?”

“Merchants from Kara Kamar, wherever that is. They say their land lies east of Palió Oneiro, which means it is farther than anything I have ever heard of.”

“East of Palió Oneiro? Where is Damian? I’m sure he must know more.”

“At home, darning socks, I believe. He finds that quite relaxing, he assured me. But yes. They explained via two interpreters, the last of which they hired at the Iron Isle, that they wish to open trade with us, are interested in tin, fur, leather, amber, and ivory.”

“Fascinating.” Skadi studied the men with even greater curiosity. “They traveled the entire world to reach Kráka?”

Glámr smirked. “I doubt we are their only stop. From what I understand, they are seeking partners just about everywhere. We’re not nearly so special as that.”

“And my uncle?”

“Much more amenable. They offer a wondrous blue rock they call lapis lazuli, a sample of which they showed your uncle. It was like the heart of the ocean caught in stone. That, and spices, silks—”

“Silks?”

“I of course wasn’t permitted to paw at it, but they showed a cloth that gleamed and flowed like the wind itself. Suffice to say, Rannveyg was enthused.”

“A cloth like the wind itself. In exchange for fur? Seems a poor trade.”

Glámr shrugged. “They don’t have bears or wolves or beavers where they come from, it seems.”

“Did you catch their leader’s name?”

“I heard it, but did not catch it.”

“I’ll go join my uncle at the table and tell him the news. Oh! Glámr—I have news!”

Glámr smiled in obvious amusement. “Do you now?”

“My father. He’s at Kalbaek right now. Ásfríðr saw him there with his five ships.”

Glámr stilled. “Your father? Returned? Now that is news indeed. What will you ask of your uncle?”

“I’m not sure. Ásfríðr said my father was to set sail for Stóllborg.”

“Not your uncle’s favorite place.”

“I will ask him for passage, regardless.” Skadi straightened and placed her hand on Natthrafn’s pommel. “I am his blood. I have news of his brother. That should suffice.”

“Should,” said Glámr, but he sounded doubtful. “Your uncle is such a pliable man, after all.”

“You sound like Ásfríðr. Well. I’ll ask him regardless. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” said Glámr, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “As always.”

Skadi squared her shoulders and strode into the firelight, walking the outer length of the left table to finally reach her uncle, where she unbuckled her slaughter seax and set it and Thyrnir both against the wall.

“Ah, Skadi, there you are.” Kvedulf turned to her with a half-smile. “I was beginning to think you would miss all the excitement. Let me introduce you to our guests. This is Araxa Andishmand, a lord from distant Kara Kamar, which lies far to the south and east. He has been traveling for three years, and has brought wonders from his land with which to trade.”

Araxa, his gaze sharp and alert, clearly didn’t understand her uncle’s words, but a Northman in the gray garb of the Iron Isles whispered into the ear of a young man who could have been Damian’s older brother, who then stepped forward to whisper in Araxa’s ear in turn.

The trader rose smoothly to his feet and inclined his head graciously. About his waist he wore a belt of knitted gold strands, so beautifully fashioned it appeared the work of dwarves.

Skadi bowed in the manner of warriors, knowing that the trader probably wouldn’t know the difference, and smiled with genuine enthusiasm. “It is an honor to meet you, Lord Araxa Andishmand.”

The trader sat down, expression still alert, but when Kvedulf turned to the emissaries from Stóllborg he relaxed a fraction.

“And here is Hafr the Word Master with his companions, come from King Harald to demand our ships.”

Hafr smiled genially. “Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir! Your father is a true friend of King Harald. It is a delight to make your acquaintance.”

“And you, Hafr.” Skadi sat down. “Have you word of my father?”

“Nothing fresh, I’m afraid. He undertook a serious mission for our king that was decided upon this past winter. To Isern. It was agreed that he would seek to renew the old Treaty of Furze Hyll which bound the fates of the Kingdom of the North to the Kingdom of Carr Domuc. Alas, we’ve not heard of him since.”

“The Treaty of Furze Hyll?” asked Kvedulf, his tone indolent. “Wasn’t that broken by Harald’s father, what, some thirty years ago?”

“It was at that,” allowed Hafr. “Hence the reason Styrbjörn was chosen. If any could impress upon King Aethelwulf the gravity of King Harald’s commitment, it was he.”

“He didn’t tell us about this,” said Skadi, and felt a fool the moment she said so. Of course her father wouldn’t have confided in her. Her mother had to have known. But she? “Regardless. I fear his mission did not go well.”

“Is that so?” Hafr leaned forward, one gray eyebrow raised. “You have word?”

“From Ásfríðr, the völva here at Kráka.” She turned to her uncle. “She saw my father in Kalbaek, all five ships with him, examining the ruins. She said he bore grim tidings to the North.”

“Grim tidings,” said Kvedulf, smirking. “Alas for the Treaty of Furze Hyll.”

“You are sure?” Hafr’s voice had sunk to a whisper. “This was seen?”

“It was,” said Skadi. “I am sorry.”

The older man sat back, staring out into nothing. “Of all the kingdoms of Isern, we had the highest hopes for Carr Domuc. But it seems…”

He trailed off.

“Uncle. My father is found. Surely that changes things?”

“Hmm?” Kvedulf blinked at her. “Changes what, precisely?”

Skadi flushed. “My betrothal for one.”

“Oh, that’s not changed,” said Kvedulf. “While your father remains abroad and on the king’s business, your well-being and disposition falls to me, your closest and eldest male kin. Matters proceed as they are.”

Skadi felt Hafr’s curious stare, was painfully aware of the translator whispering in Araxa’s ear. Knew that this was not the time nor place to press her case, but a rushing roar was in her ears, and she hoped—though she knew it futile—that the presence of the strangers might force her uncle to bend to her will.

“A ship then, for me to travel to Stóllborg. I will meet my father there.”

“That cannot be arranged,” said Kvedulf, turning to accept a drink from a thrall. “With Blakkr sharpening his knives, I cannot reduce Kráka’s defenses at this time.”

Skadi sucked on her teeth and nodded grimly. What could she say? She was a shieldmaiden, yes, but no jarl. Had no wealth, no authority, and while she’d earned much respect from the hird, none would gainsay their jarl.

Marbjörn himself was watching her with something so close to pity that it galled.

“Of course, Uncle,” she said brightly. “But there. I have shared the news. Your brother lives.”

“For which I am most glad. Though in truth I know nothing under the sun that could stop him in his endeavors. You hear that, Hafr? Forget Carr Domuc. You have the renowned Styrbjörn at your command. Send him against the Archeans and all will be well.”

To which Hafr simply stared at Kvedulf in response, his brows lowered.

Talk turned to trade, and the slow, painful process of engaging Lord Araxa in conversation. But even the trader’s descriptions of the wonders he’d seen and his far-off land failed to pierce her anger and outrage.

Anarr the skald began to play, the plates were cleared, and belts were loosened. Kvedulf sat back, his humor fine, and seemed of ever better disposition the more Hafr glowered at him. Three times the emissary sought to reason and cajole, and each time he earned his name twice over, but the very sincerity of his requests and the horrors he depicted only served to make her uncle all the more amused.

Skadi rose from the table as others stood and excused herself. Claimed Natthrafn and Thyrnir, and returned to the double doors, where Glámr awaited, a cup of ale in hand.

“It seems we are bound for Djúprvik after all,” said the half-troll.

Footsteps approached, and looking over her shoulder she saw Hafr Word Master pause briefly beside her as his three companions fetched their weapons from against the wall.

“It is a beautiful night, Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir,” he said. “Have you seen the moon? It is especially enchanting when seen reflected on water.”

And with that, he nodded politely and stepped outside.

“That was a lovely little invitation,” murmured Glámr. “If you’ve a mind to follow, I’d give him a little time so as to not make it obvious to your father.”

Skadi resisted the urge to look back at her uncle. “I see what you mean. Your thoughts?”

“To be honest, I find your presence only mildly grating. If you were to insist on traveling to Stóllborg, I don’t think I’d refuse accompanying you, despite my earlier reservations.”

“Glámr, you have the makings of a skald! Such words would make even the coldest maiden blush.”

Glámr immediately turned away, turned back, turned away again, and then scowled at her. “Get you gone, lest I run to your uncle and betray you immediately.”

“Of course. Most kind of you not to, really.” And grinning she stepped outside, into the brilliant summer night, and began to follow the road down to the docks.

The sky was aglow with stars, which arced overhead in a purple band, so vivid against the cloth of night that she wondered if she wasn’t gazing a Bifrost, the bridge to Asgard.

She walked right down to the docks, past her own home, to where four shadowed shapes stood at the base of a pier.

“Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir,” said Hafr, stepping forward to greet her. “I was hoping you would follow.”

“It’s a moonless night,” said Skadi. “I was helplessly intrigued.”

The emissary snorted in amusement. “Odd, I find myself anything but beguiling these days. Be that as it were, I couldn’t help but notice your distress at the table.”

“You wish to offer me passage to Stóllborg?”

“You are the daughter of one of the king’s greatest servants. I would be remiss if I didn’t.”

“My uncle wouldn’t be pleased.”

“Your uncle has already made his preferences clear, and they do not align with ours. Thus his pleasure, or lack of it, is of little difference to us.”

“When do you leave?”

“At dawn, if the winds are favorable. This was the last settlement on the Draugr Coast that we intended to visit. Djúprvik and Kaldrborg if anything will be even less hospitable.”

“Wise. At dawn. But I would not travel alone.”

“Your half-troll friend?”

Skadi winced. “And a half-giant. And a Nearós Ílian priest. And three villagers who escaped with us from Kalbaek.”

Hafr was clearly taken aback. “A half-giant? You jest.”

“Alas.”

The emissary turned to glance at his companions, a silent conference that ended quickly. “I’m afraid we have neither the provisions nor space for a half-giant. You and possibly two more could accompany us, but we travel fast and light and that would not be possible with your large friend.”

“I see.” Skadi wanted to curse herself for a fool. There she’d been, traipsing down to the water’s edge with her eyes on the stars when the reality before her feet was so plain. “I can’t leave my friends behind. We’ve survived so much already. They’re my responsibility. They’re Kalbaek.”

“Are you sure? You could be back with your father in a matter of weeks.”

Skadi pressed the base of her palm to her temple. “I’ll—I’ll let you know before you leave. If I am not here, it is because either I won’t go without them or my uncle has clapped me in irons.”

“You jest, but be careful.” Hafr glanced past her to examine the docks. “Your uncle is as renowned for his formidable talents as he is his cold heart.”

“We share blood.”

“But his destiny is his alone. I pray that we see you here come first light. Now, if you’ll excuse us, this foray to take in the evening air is come to an end. We’ll return to the great hall. Will you join us?”

“No, thank you. I’ve much to think on.”

“As you wish.”

Hafr led his companions past her and back up to the longhouse.

Skadi backed away from the water to find a stool set beside fishing nets that were hung up to be mended. Sat, and gazed out over the fjord.

The waters were calm, and almost perfectly reflected the evening stars. It was beautiful, still, majestic.

But it wasn’t her home.

She had till dawn to make a decision.

She knew that her friends would understand, would urge her to go.

And yet.

And yet.