Night gathered around them, the temperature plummeting, and Magnus shook all over, one arm around Lotta. He was pleased the men had let him sit with his sister as they ate their meal.

Thankfully, it wasn’t pony.

The men had been busy, killing a pheasant, a grouse, two squirrels and a wild chicken.

It looked like a tasty meal, slightly burned, and if Magnus had had any appetite, he might have eaten something, but he didn’t. Lotta hadn’t had much more, but encouraged by Long Beard, she’d nibbled some charred chicken. He’d tried to feed her a few mushrooms too, but Lotta hated mushrooms so much that she would vomit if she ever tasted one.

Magnus thought he might vomit.

He didn’t know what the men intended to do to them. Sell them? Touch them? Beat them?

He didn’t know which he’d prefer.

They were arguing now: Long Beard and Eye Patch.

Silver Tooth seemed the more agreeable of the three. No, not agreeable, Magnus realised as the man kicked him. He was less uptight about what was happening, though. Less inclined to try and take the lead. Less frightening to look at too. He was often smiling, showing off his strange silver teeth.

‘What are you staring at, boy?’ Silver Tooth grinned, picking his toes. He’d taken off his right boot and had been busy popping blisters and ripping off toenails ever since.

Magnus jumped, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. ‘I thought I heard a noise,’ he lied. He would’ve loved to have heard a noise. A wolf or a bear. Something that would eat the men and let him escape with Lotta. His eyes drifted to Daisy and Clover, who seemed happy enough tied to the trees they sat nestled amongst; fire blooming in a circle of stones before them.

Long Beard came back with a skin, Eye Patch grousing behind him. ‘We’ll head for Akaby in the morning, see about unloading the boy and one of the ponies. Might get a few coins for that fat beast. More for the boy if he doesn’t bite any customers!’ And bending down, Long Beard yanked Lotta out of Magnus’ arms.

Magnus tried his best to hold on to his sister, who appeared both sleepy and scared. She turned, wanting to stay with him but Long Beard took her away to his bedroll, where he instructed her to lie on it. And lifting up another fur, he laid it over her.

‘Leave my sister alone!’ Magnus cried. He had seen men like that who liked little girls. He didn’t want him touching Lotta.

Silver Tooth kicked him with his bare foot again. ‘Shut your mouth!’ he grumbled, taking the skin Eye Patch handed him. ‘He won’t hurt your sister. And even if he did, it’s none of your business anyway. I’m sure your sister can leave you a curl of that fine hair to remember her by.’

Tears sprung in Magnus’ eyes as he watched Lotta, lying on the ground, tucked up in Long Beard’s fur, her head turned away from him as the man sat down, stroking her hair.

Magnus wouldn’t sleep. He couldn’t. He didn’t want her to be alone.

Reinar was in the kitchen with Gerda, though he wanted to be alone in his chamber, trying to think. He’d had no appetite for the food or the company in the hall. It had been a strange atmosphere. There was little noise. And those who were there, enjoying a cup of ale with their friends, appeared awkward, as though they too were planning their escape.

And Reinar needed to think of what to do.

‘You have to send more food to the barn, Mother. If the Ullaberg women sicken and die, what was the point of taking them in the first place? There has to have been a point to what we did.’ The kitchen was hot, two fires blazing, and Rilda, the cook, was looking at him pleadingly, wanting him to do something about Gerda, who had been hovering around, fussing and complaining about everything.

Reinar recognised that look. He saw it regularly, and not just from Rilda.

So, shuffling his mother towards the door to the hall, he turned back to the flustered cook. ‘Send another tray of crispbreads and cheese to the barn. Some of those turnips and beans too. They need something hot in their bellies. It’s not warm in there.’ And pushing his mother through the door, he guided her back to the high table where everyone was still drinking and talking, picking at their food.

Torvig and Tulia were arguing, as usual. Sigurd was sitting back chatting to Ludo, looking more comfortable now. Bjarni was getting told off by Agnette for something he’d done.

And if they weren’t all about to face the wrath of the Goddess of Death or Hakon Vettel’s army, Reinar would have smiled.

Though Elin wasn’t there, and that still felt wrong. He headed past them to his chamber.

Sigurd was surprised. He lifted his cup of ale, ready to dull the pain, knowing that everything was unravelling just as he’d feared. ‘Not staying, Brother? Not for one more drink? I plan to sleep like the dead, or the pleasantly drunk! No wolf will wake me from my sleep tonight!’

Reinar hesitated, tempted. ‘No. I’ve got some thinking to do, but you carry on. As long as Tulia has her wits about her, we’ll be fine!’ And winking at Tulia, he walked past the high table, shoulders aching with tension, dreading another night alone in his bed.

Gerda followed him. She felt much the same as Reinar, for although Stellan had not disappeared in body, the man she had been left with after his seizure did not resemble the husband she’d once had. She felt the loss of his voice and his reassuring arms deeply. ‘We must talk about what to do, Reinar. I know you have a lot on your mind after the departures today, but it’s just the beginning. I heard the old gossips shuffling from one end of the fort to the other, talking about who would go next, who would stay.’ She

sighed, feeling more uptight by the moment. Angry too. ‘Whatever that wolf was, whatever it means, no one wants to stay here now.’

Gerda was whispering, but Reinar didn’t answer until they had left the hall behind and entered the corridor. ‘Are you saying that you’re ready to go?’ He was surprised, though he didn’t know why. Last night had been terrifying, a turning point for many, if not all.

Gerda hesitated, meeting her son’s eyes. He looked so sad, she thought. Those bright eyes were dull with pain and exhaustion. ‘I will not go, Reinar. Not without you and Sigurd. Not without Agnette and Stellan. Bjarni and Ludo too. If we are to go, we will go together. We are a family. We either fight or run as one.’

Reinar thought of his reputation.

His father had been a giant. A big man with a booming voice and a cheeky grin. A man whose command of Ottby had seemed effortless. Who had always had time to sit and talk, eager to listen to the problems of old and young alike. Reinar wondered why he’d never seen beyond that. For now, as lord himself, he knew that there was so much more beyond that. ‘We can’t run. We’re sworn to hold Ottby. To protect the bridge. Father swore it to Ake, and now that oath is mine to keep.’

Gerda scowled, never having thought much of Stellan’s oath to Ake Bluefinn in the first place. ‘He did. When he had a fort full of warriors and chests filled with gold and silver. Men and women with full bellies. Fields high with barley and wheat. That was a promise right in the making, but now?’ Gerda squeezed Reinar’s arm. ‘I doubt Ake would ask this of you now. Perhaps it’s time to send word? Let him know what is coming?’

Reinar froze. ‘Send word? To Ake?’ It made sense, of course. But to retreat, admit defeat? Beg the king to come and save him?

That was not the action of a man looking to rehabilitate his reputation. ‘Think on it,’ Gerda urged. ‘Go and think about everything, Reinar. You

must do what is best for all of us now. There will be time to rise again, if that’s what is meant to be, but please, think on it.’ And she turned back to the hall, wanting to ensure that Rilda wasn’t being too generous with her portioning.

Alys found herself unable to think at all.

The cat purred on the bed beside her, and the texts in the book blurred before her eyes. She shivered, wanting to drag the bed closer to the fire. And then she stood up and did just that. It creaked ominously but held together. She yawned, hoping she would remember to move it back to the wall before she fell asleep.

The flames were welcome, and as she moved the book around, they helped her to see more clearly. Just not to think.

Something had happened to the children. She had felt Magnus’ terror. She couldn’t get a sense of Lotta now, which was even more worrying.

A giant wolf was stalking the fort, which meant that either the Goddess of Death was coming to scoop them up into her evil arms, or they were being terrorised by a powerful dreamer.

Alys sighed, dropping her head to her hands, feeling tears coming at last.

The walls of terror finally broke open, and pain seeped through, exposing her broken heart. Bending forward, she sobbed, seeing her children’s faces as they turned, running from her on the beach. She saw what they were wearing, saw that Lotta’s long hair was in knots as usual; that Magnus had a bruise on his chin from where he’d been training to fight. He was only ten, but he wanted to learn how to use a weapon so he could defend her, Alys knew.

And she cried for her husband, who was dead. Not because she was sad and grieving, but for the sheer relief of being freed from him at last; spared his cruelty and torture; spared the frantic need of trying to protect her children from him.

Her shoulders heaved, tears dripping onto the book, and realising it, Alys stopped crying, lifting it to the flames, flapping her tears off the pages. Winter padded towards her, rubbing his head against her arm, his purring like a gentle rumble of thunder, rolling over and over. Alys looked down at the cat, enjoying his company. She patted his head, stroking his fur, and eventually, her fear lessened, and she glanced down at the book again. Her eyes were a blur, though, so she rubbed them, trying to see. The pages had fallen open on something that made her sit up straighter, leaning

towards the bright flames. A spell of protection.

And holding her breath, Alys scrambled off the bed, undoing the purse attached to her belt, looking for the two curls of hair she always kept with her.

Falla needed to be convinced, though Mother had no patience for it. Still, she wanted the girl’s help, and it would be better if she felt invested in what they were doing. Mother didn’t want her ruining it again. She gnashed her teeth together before trying to smile, though her eyes remained dark and angry. ‘If Reinar Vilander doesn’t have enough men to mount the walls to hold our army out, there will be no need for a siege. And Hakon must avoid a siege. Winter is almost here. He needs to get into the fort before then. We don’t want to be sleeping in tents, do we? And we certainly don’t want to be camped outside that fortress when Ake Bluefinn returns from the West.’

Falla sighed, almost convinced. ‘And what about Ivan? When will you do something about that idiot? Lief should be leading the army. He needs to be by Hakon’s side. We both know that. It’s the next step.’

Mother ran a hand over the thick fur of her wolf hood, eager to begin. She knew how things would unfold when the time came. It was not where her attention needed to be at all. ‘My dear,’ she hissed, ‘we must clear our minds of all but that which is before us. Lief will have his way, as will you, as will I. But none of those things will even be possible if we don’t rid that fortress of its warriors.’ She stood, waddling towards Falla, wolf hood in one hand, lifting Falla’s chin with the other. ‘Understood?’

Falla nodded, sensing the rage building behind that patient wall, ready to burst forth. Mother wasn’t even blinking as her eyes tried to consume her. ‘Understood.’ And picking up the drum, she tried not to sigh, watching as Mother stepped back, satisfied, her eyes snapping to the fire and the basket of herbs which waited beside it.

Ready to begin.

Reinar felt caught.

His wife had left him, and he wanted to hate her for it, for causing him all this pain and confusion. But he loved her, and he couldn’t.

Ottby was under attack from dark forces, and he wanted to gather his people and run. But he was responsible for defending the bridge, and he couldn’t.

All of it was true. And real.

And all of it was in his hands. He was the lord who was fated to become a great king. The greatest king of all, according to Ragnahild One Eye. And if he couldn’t find a way out of this mess, how would he ever rise to claim such a prize?

He had to act.

But first, he had to decide what to do.

Standing, he left the fire behind, heading to his bed. It was an enormous bed, once slept in by his parents; too big now, he thought sadly, glancing down at the two chests by his feet.

Decisions had to be made, and he was the only one who could make them.

So, bending down, Reinar opened a lid.

She was a dreamer.

Alys kept telling herself that she was a dreamer. After a lifetime of having to hide, ignore, and pretend that she wasn’t, she was faced with a deep lack of confidence in what she was capable of.

The spell called for a dreamer’s blood.

Alys saw Magnus’ terrified face as she picked up the old dreamer’s knife, slicing across her palm, sucking in her cheeks as the pain bit. The cat watched her from a stool, green eyes blinking, urging her to hurry. Brushing hair out of her eyes with one hand, Alys squeezed her other hand, dripping blood into the bowl.

There wasn’t much in the cottage, apart from the bed, the chest of books, and a small table, but Alys had found a few bowls and knives; a hazel switch; some dried herbs, bones and stones. Salt too.

The spell appeared simple, though Alys worried that she was doing it wrong, certain that there was not nearly enough blood. But she dropped the

curls of hair into the bowl, trying not to cry again. And picking up the switch, she started stirring, eyes on the book, which sat on the stool beside her, conscious of the wind playing with the flames.

Dipping her finger into the bowl, Alys read the words on the page, then bent forward, drawing a circle with the bloody mixture, trying to match the intricate symbols from the book. And sitting back on her heels, she blinked, watching the flames burst into life, growing higher and higher, sparks flying up to the rafters like a scattering of golden midges.

And finally, closing her eyes, Alys tried to bring her children’s faces into her mind.

Magnus had fallen asleep, but Lotta’s cry woke him and he was at first confused, then angry, and finally, worried. She was still far away from him on the other side of the fire, next to Long Beard, who was stroking her hair again, though he appeared mostly asleep, occasionally reaching out a hand to soothe the little girl.

Lotta often cried out in her sleep, though she never woke, and within a few heartbeats, she was quiet again.

Magnus watched her, not moving. He lay on his side, wishing for a fur. It was so cold that he was shivering, so uncomfortable on the ground, lying on all shapes of stones and twigs, that he wanted to move. Silver Tooth sat by him, leaning against the tree, and Magnus could hear him.

‘He won’t hurt her.’ Magnus froze.

Perhaps tiredness had softened his voice, as Silver Tooth almost sounded sympathetic.

‘He lost his daughter when she was a girl. Poor thing drowned. He won’t hurt her.’

Magnus wished he could ask his sister if that were true, but he couldn’t. Instead, he lay perfectly still, watching, waiting.

Hoping he could think of a way to escape.

What was real and what was a dream was becoming more confusing by the day, Alys realised as she crept forward, wondering where she was.

It was dark, but she could feel sand beneath her feet. Cold, familiar sand.

‘Mama! Come and find me!’

Alys spun around, hearing gulls overhead, a hint of sun now, glowing in the distance, just above the horizon. Frothy waves surged up the beach, but no one was there.

‘Lotta?’ Panicking, she started to run, away from the beach, towards the village. But the village kept getting further and further away, and she couldn’t reach it. She couldn’t find her children.

‘Mama!’

Alys couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. ‘Lotta?’ There was still no one on the beach. No one at all.

‘What will you do to us?’ It was Magnus’ voice. He sounded frightened. ‘You mean if we don’t eat you?’

A man’s voice.

Shivers raced up Alys’ spine, her body rigid.

‘We’ll get a coin or two for a weed like you, I’m sure, useful boy that you are. Your sister… she’ll come with us. I’ll take good care of her, don’t you worry. You’ll be safe with me, won’t you, little princess?’

Men laughing. Someone coughing.

‘But where? Where will you take her?’ Magnus cried. ‘What do you want her for?’

Alys didn’t move. She needed to hear more.

‘Nowhere you need concern yourself with, boy,’ came the rasping reply. ‘Nowhere at all.’

Alys shook, sensing everything change.

Darkness again. The sand was mud now, and her feet were stuck in it. ‘And where do you think you’d be if you left here?’ Arnon spat at her,

slapping her across the face. ‘Nowhere! You’d be fucking nowhere, you useless bitch! Nowhere without me!’

Alys tumbled backwards, falling into the mud, heart breaking. Who were those men? Who had taken her children?

Storm clouds blocked out the sun, sinking low, Arnon’s voice like an echo, abusing her, taunting her. But Alys didn’t care about him. He was a distraction.

A wound that would one day heal.

He leaned over her, eyes bulging, lips twisting, and her eyes drifted to his chest and the enormous tattoo of the wolf, a bloody hole where the arrow had pierced its eye.

And then she heard the drumming.

‌, 7‌

Tulia studied Sigurd’s face, hoping to see a sign that something had changed, for if it had, she wouldn’t be forced to make the decision herself. That decision had been coming towards her like a sandstorm for months.

‘Don’t say it.’ Sigurd knew that look. Even in the darkness, he knew that look.

‘I won’t, if that’s what you want.’

Lifting a hand to Tulia’s face, Sigurd stroked her cheek. ‘I don’t want you to leave.’

‘I have to think of my brother.’ ‘And I have to think of mine.’

The wind was loud, mournful, and they both listened to it, neither knowing what else to say.

‘Hakon will come soon. Whatever that wolf was, it doesn’t matter. What’s real is that Hakon Vettel and his army will be knocking down the gates in weeks. They have every reason not to hold back now,’ Tulia insisted. ‘We’re weak. Depleted. Their scouts will be riding back to Slussfall with that news before long.’

‘We have our neighbours. Hovring and Vika, Kutbo and Orsa. Reinar has their support. They’ll stick with us. They’re all Ake’s men. They won’t bend to Hakon Vettel. Not to that little shit. Bitter and twisted Hakon Vettel, thinking he deserves a crown that was never his to begin with.’

Tulia bit down on everything she wanted to say. Nothing had changed.

After going through Elin’s chests, Reinar had been unable to sleep.

He needed some air, hoping it would help him to think clearly. He needed to escape the torturous memories of his bed too, so grabbing his cloak, he headed for the ramparts, surprised to find Torvig slumped over the inner wall, eyes on the dark forest in the distance. ‘Didn’t know you were on watch.’

‘Well, I’m not. Couldn’t sleep, though. Waiting, I suppose, for Vasa to come.’ He laughed.

Reinar didn’t know what to think about that. Though, it was likely what he was doing there too. ‘You really think she’ll come? And if she does?’

‘Well, you know how vengeful Vasa can be. She’s a collector. She retrieves the forsaken. Takes them to her lair. Gives them to her ravens, who feast on them for all eternity. Isn’t that right?’

Now Reinar grinned. ‘Not the sort of death we’d hoped for. Hardly the destiny Ragnahild told Gerda about.’

Torvig frowned, eyes on the wall of tall fir trees in the distance, watching the blustery wind shunting them from side to side as though they were dark blades of grass. ‘Well, that’s something to hold on to, isn’t it? Ragnahild said you would wear the Sun Torc. She saw that. And you haven’t yet.’ He turned back to Reinar. ‘So we keep going?’

Reinar nodded. ‘We keep going.’ ‘And the women?’

Reinar was surprised that Torvig’s mind wandered so quickly away from the danger lurking outside the fort, though Torvig had always been obsessed with women, slaves or not. ‘We hold them until I decide what to do, which means that you keep your hands to yourself. You and the rest of the men.’

Defiance sparked in Torvig’s eyes, though it was dark, clouds masking the moon, and he doubted Reinar could see his anger. ‘Makes sense. However this comes out, we’re going to need more silver, that I do know.’

It had been Torvig’s idea.

When their raids started turning up nothing but empty stores and starved people, it had been Torvig’s idea to start slaving. Being a slave wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, he’d insisted. Slaves were fed by rich masters. Slaves could even be freed in time. And though the thought of it

had left a bad taste in Reinar’s mouth, and the act of doing it had turned his stomach, it had helped him feed his people and keep some of their warriors from leaving. He’d even been able to tempt more to join them.

But now it all seemed pointless.

Torvig’s eyes widened as he leaned out over the rampart wall. ‘Did you see that?’ He shuddered, blinking, staring again.

‘You’re going to say it’s a wolf, aren’t you?’ Reinar laughed, though he felt his heartbeat quicken as he tried to see where Torvig was pointing.

And then he saw it.

Like waves rippling through the trees. Grey fur.

Mother laughed, head back, on her hands and knees, crawling around the circle, inside its thick line of blood symbols and stones. She felt the wind chill her face, the hungry thirst on her tongue.

The terrified stench of the humans in the fort.

They were still there, cowering in their cottages, waiting for her to rip them to pieces, their minds twisting with uncertainty, wondering who to believe.

Their lord?

His dreamer?

Or what they could hear and see with their own eyes?

The drumming was pulsing in her limbs now, everything blurring as she swung her body around, turning in the direction of the fort.

Alys threw away the fur, blinking herself awake.

She could hear the drumming again, louder than the frantic beating of her heart. Her dream stayed with her as she hurried around the fire, towards the door. Stopping for a moment, she wrapped her cold fingers around the cold handle.

And turning back, she looked to the book.

Winter was sitting on top of it, where she had left it, on a stool.

He miaowed, hopping down, watching her.

And Alys rushed back to it, wishing for brighter flames, as she quickly flicked through the pages, wondering if there was anything she could do to help.

She could barely see a word, but one page caught her eye, and she saw the corner was bent where she had turned it over the day before, meaning to go back.

The spell of the waking nightmare.

Bjarni rumbled down the ramparts, nightshirt flapping over his trousers, wrapping his swordbelt around his waist. ‘What?’ He stopped, fumbling with the belt, glimpsing a flash of fur himself. ‘It’s huge! It’s huge! We have to get off the wall!’ Reinar was further away with Torvig and Sigurd. ‘Reinar! We have to get down!’ Bjarni was quickly moving towards them, arms flailing, belly jiggling as he ran. ‘Reinar!’

Reinar felt stuck, oddly indecisive.

An illusion, Alys had suggested. It was just an illusion. The wolf howled, shaking the ramparts.

It didn’t feel like an illusion.

Screams lifted from the square up the inner wall, panic charging around the fort, and Reinar spun towards Bjarni. ‘Get back down there! Get everyone into the hall. Barricade yourselves in!’ He grabbed Sigurd. ‘Go with Bjarni! You’re injured. You can’t use a bow.’

Sigurd wanted to argue, but his brother was right.

The wolf howled again, and Sigurd was limping towards the stairs, almost knocking Ludo over as he stumbled into him. He peered at his friend, seeing the fear in Ludo’s eyes as he hurried past, bow in hand.

Tulia came towards him. ‘Don’t fall down those stairs!’ And then she was gone, into the shadows, calling the archers into formation.

Gerda trembled, unable to decide what to do. She stood in the doorway of the hall, Agnette beside her. ‘If that wolf gets in here, we’re all doomed!’

Agnette grabbed her aunt’s arm. ‘Come, let’s get you into the bedchamber. You must be with Stellan.’

Gerda didn’t look so sure.

Agnette was insistent, though. ‘If this is the end, Aunty, you must be with Stellan.’ Agnette was usually clear-eyed in a crisis, though this was like no crisis she’d experienced before. But Gerda was not, and she needed to get her out of the way quickly. ‘Rienne!’ she called, seeing the servants gathered in a huddle by the kitchen door. ‘Come and take your mistress to her bedchamber. Hurry now!’

And not waiting for any arguments, she turned back to the doors, stepping outside. Reinar had the hall guarded every night, and those two men looked confused about what exactly they should be doing. ‘Stay there!’ Agnette ordered, eyeing them fiercely, feeling a stab of pain in her belly.

Just a stitch, she told herself, breathing out slowly. Just a stitch.

‘Come inside!’ she called to those villagers who were running around, causing more panic and hysteria. ‘Come and shelter in the hall!’

A few women, eyeing the ramparts where their husbands had gone, turned her way, terrified children clinging to their legs.

‘Hurry!’ Agnette implored. ‘We’ll lock ourselves in! Hurry!’ She saw Sigurd, hobbling across the square, no broom under his arm now.

And then Alys, running towards him, nearly knocking him down.

‘What are you doing? Get back to your cottage!’ Sigurd’s eyes were insistent; bright blue, even in the darkness.

‘It’s not real!’ Alys cried. ‘I must tell Reinar. It’s not real!’

Sigurd grabbed her arm. ‘Why do you say that? How do you know?’ He didn’t believe in anything much, but that wolf?

Its howl lifted the hairs on his arms, twisting his guts. ‘I need to see Reinar!’

Sigurd stared into her eyes, though it was dark and he had no more answers once he was done, just an overwhelming feeling to believe her. It surprised him, but he let Alys go, pointing her to the guard tower. ‘Run to the tower. Up the stairs. He’s on the ramparts. There!’ And pointing to his brother in the dark fur cloak, he pushed her away.

Reinar was frozen to the spot, thoughts rushing through his head like wind. He needed to make a decision quickly, but he didn’t even know what was happening, so how could he decide what to do?

‘You believe your dreamer now?’ Torvig cried, pulling his bowstring past his ear, feathers brushing his cold cheek.

‘Aim!’ came Tulia’s call.

Torvig could sense movement. Sometimes he thought he saw flashes of grey.

Or was it mist?

Then the trees would move and shake, and he saw nothing but shadows. ‘Where is it?’ Ludo yelled. ‘Where?’

‘Fire at will!’ Tulia cried. ‘If you can’t see it, just fire!’

Reinar’s breath was like smoke, his chest aching beneath his cloak. He stood behind the archers, watching, thinking.

The wolf kept moving through the forest. Was it really there?

He turned back to the square. Braziers burned along the edges, his eyes snapping to the hall where Agnette was screeching, ushering everyone inside.

‘Over here!’ came a cry from the western side of the fort. ‘It’s over here!’

That made sense of why they could no longer see it before them.

Alys emerged from the stairs, panting, peering along the rampart walk. ‘Reinar!’ And then she tripped over, falling onto her hands and knees, yelping in surprise. It was so dark. Clouds rushed overhead, and though there were braziers along the ramparts, their flames were blowing away from them.

Reinar turned.

‘Reinar!’ Torvig shouted, running. ‘We have to go!’ And he headed to where the cry had come from, urging Ludo and Bjarni and the archers after him.

Reinar blinked at him, then turned for Alys. Dragging her up onto her bare feet, he gripped her arm, pulling her close enough to see her eyes. ‘What is it?’

Alys gritted her teeth from the pain in her knees. She didn’t know what she’d landed on, but it had felt sharp. ‘It’s…’ She tried to catch her breath. ‘It’s not real. It’s a… nightmare. A waking nightmare. It’s not real! It’s a spell!’

Reinar wanted to believe her. Then another howl.

He looked around, trying to ignore it. But the ramparts felt as though they were shaking, the trees rustling in the distance. He could hear cries behind him.

‘There! There!’

‘If it’s not real, what do we do? How do we stop it?’

‘Go out of the fort.’ The thought came unbidden, and Alys felt as surprised as Reinar looked.

‘Out of the fort?’

She nodded. ‘Prove the nightmare isn’t real. Prove it to your people.

Show them courage. Show them the truth!’

The smoke swirled around Falla’s head, and she was no longer aware of Mother. She saw Borg, Frits, Lief; all her husbands before her. Two dead. One very much alive. But all of them appeared to be floating, as though they were ghosts, moving through the flames, hands out, faces pained.

Pained?

Why were they pained?

Because they couldn’t be with her, Falla decided dreamily. Poor dead Borg. Pathetic old Frits. Their bodies were just ash now.

But Lief? Why was he in such pain?

And then a cry, like a wounded animal, and Falla blinked, clearing the vision of her ghostly husbands, seeing the old woman before her, howling in fury.

Mother spun, eyes hidden beneath the wolf hood, spitting at her daughter-in-law.

Sigurd might not have believed in anything, but he didn’t feel confident enough to let his brother leave the fort. ‘You can’t listen to her! Reinar!’

Agnette agreed. ‘Sigurd’s right. It’s too dangerous!’

Bjarni leaned over the inner wall. ‘Get inside the hall, Agnette! What are you doing out there?’ He shook his head crossly. She was such an impossible woman.

‘Go!’ Reinar told her. ‘Look after everyone, Agnette. You too,’ he said to his brother, who was struggling with his footing, the mud having turned to ice as the temperature plummeted. Reinar laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘If anything happens to me… this fort is yours to care for. All of it. All of them. Keep them safe.’

Alys was there now, behind him.

‘Don’t go!’ Sigurd urged again, glaring at Alys. ‘You don’t have to!’

Reinar shook his head, and with one last look at his brother, he strode to the inner gates, nodding at the guards to lift the beam.

Sigurd spun around, calling up to Tulia. ‘Keep your eyes open, Tulia! Look for a trap! Arrows! Keep your eyes open!’ He limped after Reinar, through the first set of gates, struggling to calm his breathing.

‘Secure the gates as soon as I’m through!’ Reinar called to the guards when he reached the outer gates. ‘Sigurd! Find men to help them!’ He spun back around. ‘Don’t open them again until you know it’s safe. Until you hear from me!’ And watching as the beam was lifted, Reinar Vilander drew his father’s sword, inhaling a long breath.

‘Oh, the game! The game!’ Mother cackled, angrier than her voice belied. She clamped her rotting teeth together, trapped between two worlds, confused for a moment as to what was real.

As to which was the nightmare.

But now, here he came, the fated one, sword glinting as though he could touch her with it. As though he could strike a beast as magnificent and powerful as Ulura Blood Hunter with a tiny blade like that.

Mother padded forward, edging towards the centre of the circle, heading for the flames.

Falla watched her, shaking her head repeatedly, not sure what to do. Mother would burn if she got any closer.

Couldn’t she see? Couldn’t she feel the heat of the fire?

Reinar heard the gates creak closed behind him, the heavy beam scraping back down into its brace, securing the fort. He heard Tulia bellowing from the ramparts, Sigurd ordering the men on the walls to keep their eyes open. And seeing Alys’ face in his mind, urging him on, Reinar stepped forward, boots on gravel, finally taking a breath to steady himself. Eyes on the wall of dark forest in the distance, Reinar kept walking, muttering.

It was a nightmare. A waking nightmare. Not real.

He heard the howl, felt the frozen ground undulate beneath his boots. Not real, Reinar tried to tell himself.

The trees swept from side to side before him, almost parting, as though something was coming, but Reinar couldn’t see it, so he kept going, remembering Gerda telling him the story of Ragnahild’s dream. ‘You will wear the torc, Reinar,’ she whispered. ‘You will be the greatest king in Alekka’s history. You, my son. You! You will unite the North and the South. You will become the high king.’

And no man destined to become the High King of Alekka could allow himself to be defeated by a dreamer’s nightmare.

‘Come out!’ he roared, stopping now, eyes scanning the trees, spreading his legs, balancing himself. ‘Come and show yourself! Or are you not there at all? Just a nightmare! Trying to scare us! As though we’re children! You think you can scare us? Is that what you think?’ Reinar gripped his sword, tension in his arm, anticipating everything that might happen next. If Vasa’s wolf was out there, it could devour him in a heartbeat. ‘Come and get me, little dog!’ he croaked, trying to lift his voice. ‘Come on!’

Arrows shot overhead, into the trees, and Reinar’s eyes darted from left to right, searching.

He saw a glimpse of Alys’ face again, and straightening up, he walked forward now, a violent gust of wind flapping his cloak as it rushed past him.

And then nothing.

The trees stopped moving. The clouds stopped swirling. Reinar held his breath, waiting, sensing a change.

Then a beam of moonlight streaked through the trees before him. Revealing nothing at all.

‌, 8‌

Alys sensed that the wolf had gone.

The drumming had stopped. The storm appeared to have retreated.

The sky had lightened just enough for her to see the concern on Bjarni’s face as he waited by the inner gates. He was holding his breath. She could feel that.

‘Open the gates!’ came the roar, and Bjarni spun around to Alys and Agnette, relief loosening his body, a look of amazement in his eyes.

‘Open the gates!’ he seconded, waiting while the men hurried the beam off again, pulling open one of the heavy gates as fast as their numb hands would allow.

Alys watched as Reinar stepped into the courtyard, that easy grin on his face again, though she was certain his body was trembling beneath his thick cloak, just as hers was.

‘Nothing!’ he bellowed, slapping Bjarni on the back. ‘Nothing but games meant to trick us! Hoping to make us leave! To abandon the fort so Hakon Vettel can come and claim it!’ He eyed Alys, who was almost nodding in agreement. ‘There was no wolf! No Goddess of Death waiting to steal us away! Just games!’ He kept walking, past his brother, through the inner gates, into the square where those men not on the ramparts had gathered.

Sigurd called to Gerda, who stood by the hall doors. ‘Mother! Bring everyone outside! Let them see the truth! Let them see that it was all a trick of the mind!’ Sigurd wasn’t sure what it had been, but they couldn’t afford any more deserters.

Everyone in the fort needed to see that there was no wolf.

Their men came down from the ramparts, Tulia with them. She left Amir with some of her archers, watching, though, just in case.

‘There was nothing there?’ Bjarni asked, wrapping an arm around Agnette as she hurried to his side, eyes on Reinar.

‘Nothing. Alys said it was a waking nightmare. A dreamer’s spell.’ Reinar had never been happier to think that he’d stolen a woman. The right woman.

And just in time.

She looked terrified, though. Upset. Not relieved at all.

‘Go! Go look outside!’ Reinar encouraged his wary men, pointing to the open gates. ‘Go see what is waiting beyond the walls, for it is nothing!’ He hoped he was right and some giant beast wasn’t about to pounce. But they needed to see. They needed to believe.

They needed to stay.

Alys turned away, wanting to be alone. Her bare feet were frozen, numb, and she slipped on a patch of ice. Ludo, who had just arrived, caught her.

‘Take Alys back to the cottage,’ Reinar said. ‘Help her get a fire going. See what else she needs.’ He wanted to go with her, to talk to her some more; find out what they could do to stop this dreamer terrorising them. But he had to stay. He needed to organise his men and his defenses. He needed to show his people how strong he still was. That his luck was changing.

It was changing. They had to see that.

Alys watched Reinar turn away, pointing Torvig in the direction of the inner wall, and she felt Ludo’s hand on her arm, tugging her gently along.

He didn’t speak until they were at the cottage and he had ushered her inside, jumping as the cat miaowed loudly, curling around his leg. ‘Where did you come from, then?’ he panted, still in shock.

It had been another strange night.

Alys wanted him to go. She needed to get back to sleep quickly, wanting to discover more about the children. But Ludo didn’t appear in a hurry as he bent down to pat the cat, picking him up, walking to the fire. He was a tall man with a kind face, and he stooped as he walked, the cottage built for someone much smaller. ‘How did you know about the wolf? That it was just a trick? A spell?’

Alys followed him, shivering. She dragged a stool closer to the flames, watching as Ludo dropped the cat back to the ground and picked up the poker, bringing the fire back to life. ‘I read one of the books.’

Ludo was surprised; glad that he’d pointed her to the chest. ‘Perhaps Salma knew?’ He frowned, sitting back on his haunches, Winter rubbing himself against his leg. ‘Perhaps she saw what would happen, and she wrote about it in her books? A way to help you?’

Alys looked surprised. ‘Help me?’

‘Of course. Dreamers see the future, don’t they? If Salma saw you coming, needing help… it makes sense, doesn’t it?’ And standing up, Ludo grabbed another log from the woodpile, frowning. ‘You don’t have much left. I can chop you some more tomorrow.’

Alys wasn’t listening; her mind had returned to the children. She yawned, hoping to encourage Ludo to leave.

‘You need some sleep,’ Ludo said, yawning himself. ‘I think we all do after the last two nights, but hopefully, we’ll wake up to better news tomorrow. After what Reinar did? I can’t imagine anyone would want to leave now.’

Alys’ eyes remained on the flames as Ludo headed for the door.

‘I’ll check on the women in the barn,’ he said softly, turning to her. ‘I check on them occasionally. They seem fine.’

Alys looked up. ‘You do?’

Ludo nodded, bashful. ‘I don’t like that they’re there. That they’re here.’ He dropped his head, dark hair falling over his face. Then, looking up, he smiled, tucking it behind his ears. ‘Come and see them in the morning. We can take them outside, see the sun, if it decides to come out. Get some fresh air. They need that.’

‘I will. Thank you.’

Ludo could hear the lift in her voice, and it made him feel slightly better, though he was still shaking, still unsettled. ‘Get some sleep, Alys. You need to. Likely Reinar will be at your door early, wanting to know what you dreamed about, though after tonight, I don’t blame him!’ And ducking his head, he disappeared outside.

Alys quickly shut the door, locking it. Turning around, she sought out Salma’s book, which had proved helpful already. There was so much she needed to know, but nothing more urgent than whether her children were safe.

So, ignoring the book and the purring cat, she headed for bed, desperate to fall into a dream.

‘Tell me of your night, Mother,’ Hakon wondered, playing with his son on a pile of furs beside the fire. Anders was growing quickly, and he could sit on his own now, holding his head up so proudly. He was a handsome boy, Hakon thought, with his dark hair and his big dark-blue eyes. A boy to be proud of.

Mother looked as though she’d slept outside in the storm. Or lost her comb. Or both.

He grinned, untroubled by her muttering. ‘How is our little plan coming along?’

Mother took a seat at the table, reaching for the jug of buttermilk. Her throat was dry, her body aching. She had singed the hem of her only dress, stepping too close to the fire, and the stink of it was strong. ‘Our plan has worked well.’ Hakon didn’t need to know anything. She’d decided that as soon as she’d woken. ‘Very well, indeed. Reinar Vilander’s warriors will leave in droves now. The fort will be yours for the taking.’

‘Excellent! And with my army intact too. What a valuable asset you are, Mother Arnesson. A most valuable asset indeed.’ Hakon felt a jolt of excitement as he smiled at his son.

Once he claimed Ottby…

‘But you have problems,’ Mother warned, supping the milk, her shoulders drooping, relieved to quench her thirst at last. Falla had not stayed with her, and she had been too weak to even crawl out of bed in the night for a cup of water. ‘If you do not kill the Vilanders, they will go to Ake Bluefinn. If you merely run them out of Ottby, they will head for the king. Find him. Warn him. And he will run back to Stornas before you can do much more than knock on the gates.’

‘But won’t Reinar have sent word already?’

Mother spluttered, wiping her chin, eagerly looking around for something to eat, irritated by the noise of the baby, who was starting to whimper. ‘You think he wants Ake’s help? Reinar Vilander? No, he wants Ake’s throne as much as you, despite what he may tell everyone. He’s been

raised to believe that it’s his to claim.’ She grabbed a boiled egg, popping it in her mouth, surprised that it was still warm.

Hakon handed his son to a servant and came to join Mother at the table, waiting while she finished eating. ‘So he will hold on, then, until we arrive?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Mother’s mood lifted. That stupid dreamer may have ruined her nightmare spell, but the damage was done. Alekkans were a suspicious people. They would not shake the sounds and visions as quickly as Reinar Vilander hoped. ‘He will die in that pit. A grave he has dug for himself every day since his father took ill. Reinar Vilander will never leave Ottby, I can promise you that. His death has been foretold. Ottby will be the end of him!’

There was no sun. Only grey skies and soggy drizzle.

And a square full of warriors readying their families to leave.

Reinar couldn’t believe it. After last night? After revealing that the wolf was no omen? Just a dreamer’s trick?

‘But why, Ingmar?’ His hand was on Ingmar’s arm, his eyes searching his old warrior’s face. ‘We’ve fought beside each other in the shield wall. Manned the ramparts together. Enemy after enemy has lain at our feet, dead and defeated. Why now?’

Ingmar looked uncomfortable. ‘There’s nothing left, Reinar. It’s only a matter of time now. You must see that? Your father would, if he could. He’d know what was important, and what was not.’ Ingmar turned back to his horse, checking its bridle.

‘You’re wrong,’ Reinar insisted. ‘My father took an oath to Ake. He’d never break it. And when I became lord, I took it too. You’re wrong to think we should run away, beaten by an enemy we can’t even see. An enemy too afraid to come at us with swords and spears! An enemy who hides behind a dreamer’s weapons!’

Ingmar spun around, anger darkening his usually placid eyes. ‘You don’t think those weapons can hurt us? Hurt our families? That it’s some toothless old woman you’re up against? Is that what you really think, Reinar?’

Reinar stepped away, dropping his hand, letting Ingmar go. He was a respected man, and his experience would be sorely missed, but Reinar knew he couldn’t hold him hostage.

Sigurd put a hand on his brother’s back, trying to get his attention. ‘There’s nothing you can do. You can’t ask people to fight for you who don’t believe. You never could. Let them go. We don’t need them.’ It was the biggest lie Sigurd had ever told, he was sure.

Reinar spun around. ‘You think we don’t need them? Truly?’ He shook his head, attention on the Ullaberg women being led out of the barn into the miserable morning, blinking as though they were standing in bright sunshine.

Bjarni wandered towards them, gnawing a toothpick. ‘And what are we going to do with them?’

‘Train them,’ Tulia said, looking Sigurd over. He almost appeared to be standing comfortably, though squinting a little closer revealed the discomfort in his eyes.

Bjarni laughed as Torvig arrived looking surprised. ‘What’s so funny? With all those warriors leaving? I can’t believe there’s anything funny to find about today.’

‘Tulia wants to train the Ullaberg women.’ Torvig looked bemused. ‘Train them to do what?’ ‘Fight,’ Tulia said, perfectly serious. ‘Why not?’ ‘The women?’ Torvig was incredulous.

Amir joined his sister, laughing at the look on Torvig’s face. ‘In Kalmera, the women fight. As many as the men. We grow up with weapons in our hands. All of us.’

‘That may be so,’ Reinar mused, eyes on Alys, who was walking with one of the women. ‘But Kalmeran women are raised as warriors, like Tulia. Those women…’ And he pointed in the direction of the slow-moving gaggle. ‘I don’t expect they’ve ever done more with a knife than gut a fish.’ Amir couldn’t deny that that was likely true. They were all shapes and sizes, from teenagers to middle-aged, but the Ullaberg women all had one

thing in common: they looked defeated. And he couldn’t blame them for that.

‘Well, it’s a start.’ Tulia was tired of waiting for everything to fall apart. She still had a decision to make about leaving, but while she made up her mind, it wouldn’t hurt to get the women training. It would give her

something to do that didn’t feel like a complete waste of time. ‘And what do you have to lose, Reinar? If you’re going to stay here and face Hakon Vettel, you can’t do it on your own.’

Torvig snorted, turning to Reinar as Tulia strode away, Amir following her. ‘You aren’t going to listen to her, are you? Reinar!’ He shook his head at the sheer madness of it all. ‘We captured them as slaves. They’re not warriors. You may as well put Agnette and Gerda out there!’

Bjarni laughed. ‘I’d like to see what Agnette could do with a knife, though I don’t imagine she could see over her belly to do much damage at the moment!’

‘No, she’d be better with a spear,’ Sigurd grinned, not imagining Reinar would take Tulia’s suggestion seriously; surprised when he caught a glimpse of his brother’s face as he turned around.

And started walking towards Alys. Who was walking with Stina.

‘And you saw that?’ Stina had not slept a wink and her eyes hurt. She had her hand through Alys’ arm, feeling her shiver. ‘You saw the wolf was just a nightmare? A nightmare we were all trapped in?’

Alys felt awkward; her eyes were up, watching Tulia and her brother approach with Reinar. Stina, she knew, was desperate for her company. Reinar wanted to know what would happen to the fort. And all Alys wanted to do was run back to the cottage and dream about her children. ‘I read it in a book,’ she mumbled, sensing that she wasn’t going to like whatever Tulia was about to say.

‘They look handy enough,’ Tulia said, turning to Reinar, who stood beside her, legs slightly spread in that dominant stance of his, eyeing the women, head cocked to one side.

‘Handy? Well, I’d be interested to see what you can do with them. I imagine you’d like to prove Torvig wrong?’ He enjoyed the puzzled look on Alys’ face. ‘You get to work with them. Alys, you come with me. There’s something I want to show you.’

Stina was reluctant to be left alone with the warrior woman, who was staring at her intensely, but she let go of Alys and swallowed.

‘We’re going to train you!’ Tulia announced, already up for the challenge. The Ullaberg women appeared to have barely a muscle between them, though those arms had been lugging children and animals and sacks of grain for years.

Perhaps a bow wouldn’t be too much hard work?

‘Train us for what?’ Ilene wondered, hands on hips, eyes on Amir. Tulia smiled.

Jonas rode with certainty, knowing this road better than any other. He had visited Vik frequently over the years, especially after the death of his wife. He could have ridden it with his eyes closed. And after a wild night of freezing wind and rain, his eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, ready to close at any moment. But he thought of Alys and those children, and he kept going, resisting the urge to stop.

His horse, Klippr, was even-tempered and loyal, chestnut brown and big-bellied, with a white star between his gentle eyes. They had both had a soft life since they’d stopped fighting. Jonas imagined that Klippr missed it as much as he did. He’d seemed happy for an adventure that took them further afield than the forest around Vik’s cottage. His ears were alert, and his energy appeared renewed.

Jonas smiled, wishing he could say the same.

He blinked, trying to wake himself up, his stomach suggesting that he should have rationed more for breakfast.

It was going to be a long day.

There was a village half a day’s ride away. Magnus couldn’t hear the name of it; the men mumbled as they spoke, and Eye Patch had almost lost his voice. He appeared to be getting sicker, though that was the last thing Magnus was worried about, as the men had argued and compromised and agreed to sell him and keep Lotta.

It wasn’t really a compromise, Eye Patch realised with a surly look, eyeing the little girl, who no one wanted to be lugging about. No one but Long Beard, who wouldn’t be moved. He had a wife, a strange bitch, who hadn’t been able to give him any more children after their daughter had died. In Long Beard’s warped mind, the girl would make up for it, so he was not about to let her go.

Silver Tooth didn’t care either way. Once they were rid of the whining boy, they’d be able to move quickly. They could sell the ponies too. Likely they’d earn more coins from that transaction than whatever Hakon Vettel planned to pay them. For all his ambition and wealth, he was a miserly young lord, just as his cruel father had been.

Sometimes, Silver Tooth thought about killing him.

It was always the same: the high born rising to their positions on the backs of those who scraped through the dirt just trying to survive.

He spat on the ground, hands on the reins, feeling the boy wriggling before him. ‘Won’t be long now. We’ll find someone new to take you. Better than being abandoned by your parents.’ He didn’t know if that was true. ‘Why were you riding alone, then? You don’t look starved or too raggedy. Did you run away?’

‘Our father was killed. Our mother was taken by raiders.’

Silver Tooth knew how that went. He couldn’t even remember his mother’s name. It had been too many years since he’d lost her now.

‘Well, now you’ll have a new home. Think yourself lucky, you could be going to Ulrick’s house! His wife’s a witch for sure. With a nose like this.’ And he lifted his left hand in the air, making a curved shape, his voice rasping in Magnus’ ear. ‘Warts all over it. One eye going this way, one eye going that!’ Silver Tooth laughed, and it rattled in his chest. They were riding behind Long Beard and Lotta. Eye Patch rode further back, struggling to stay upright now.

Magnus was feeling worse by the moment.

He wanted to see Lotta, but she was riding in front of Long Beard whose mountainous body shielded her from view.

‘Maybe you can escape one day?’ Silver Tooth considered, a flicker of empathy in his voice. ‘Go to Slussfall and find her? Though by then we’ll probably be in Stornas. Or Ottby.’ He laughed again, just thinking of it. They had been in Orbo with Jesper Vettel, ending up in Slussfall with his only son. Turning around, checking on Eye Patch, who was bent over, coughing, he wondered how much more was left in them. And clicking his tongue, turning his horse after Long Beard, he sighed. ‘Won’t be long now.’

Alys felt impatient as she stepped into Reinar’s bedchamber, wanting to get back to the book and her dreams. Nothing more had come to her about the children, and she’d woken up feeling a sense of panic that would not abate, exacerbated by hunger and lack of sleep. Worry for herself too.

‘I thought you should have a new dress,’ Reinar said awkwardly, pointing to the bed. He had laid a selection of Elin’s dresses across the furs. ‘Since you tore your own to pieces for my brother. Since you helped me last night.’ He nudged a speechless Alys towards the bed. ‘There are shoes too. Boots. I know Agnette gave you a pair, but I imagine she’ll need them back soon. Winter can be hard here. And my wife…’ It hurt to speak about Elin. ‘She doesn’t appear to need them.’

Alys ran a hand over a green dress.

She liked green. It was brighter than her own faded dress which she’d worn for more years than she could remember. Her husband had rarely allowed her to have new clothes. And though it didn’t bother her, the thought of wearing something different was oddly appealing. She wanted to burn her old dress; rid herself of the memory of Arnon tearing it off her.

‘You can take them to your cottage. Whatever you like. Take them. There are more in the chests. Take whatever you need.’ Reinar was quickly changing his mind. He turned away, not wanting to look at the dresses anymore. ‘I have to get back to the square before Tulia kills one of your friends.’

‘What?’ Alys spun around after him. ‘Kills?’

Reinar grinned, hand on the door. ‘Oh yes, she plans to turn you all into an army. An army of women. Just what I need to defend us against the Vettels’ skilled warriors. We should be unstoppable!’ And grinning, he slipped through the door.

Alys was too surprised to move. She stared after Reinar for some time, trying to imagine Stina or Jorunn wielding a sword. Ilene always looked ready to kill someone, so she might be useful, but the others?

‘I thought I saw Reinar,’ Agnette muttered, coming into the chamber with a frown. ‘Not that he’s talking to me yet, but I wanted to talk to him. We need to make some decisions, so he can’t be a child –’ She stopped suddenly, staring at the bed. ‘What are Elin’s clothes doing out?’

Alys blushed. ‘Reinar said I could take them. But I…’

Agnette waddled to the bed, remembering when she had almost stood a chance of fitting into one of Elin’s beautiful gowns, though Elin was taller

than her, broader too, and they would have swamped her tiny frame. ‘You should. You should, Alys. Elin will not return.’

‘You’re that sure?’

Agnette nodded. ‘She loved Reinar since we were children. They were inseparable. But when she lost her babies, it broke her heart, and she blamed Reinar. She will never forgive him, I promise, so take all the clothes you like.’ She grimaced, gripping her belly.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Baby pains,’ Agnette grinned. ‘Eddeth says it’s perfectly normal. What I should expect now as I get closer.’

She looked anxious, though, Alys thought. ‘You’re worried?’

‘About giving birth while we’re under attack from wolves and dreamers and armies from the North?’ Agnette shook her head, trying to smile. Her face fell, though, and she sat down on the bed with a thump, moving the green dress away. ‘This baby has been years in the making. Eight. Eight long years we’ve waited. I thought Bjarni might give up on me. Or I on him. And now we’re so close. But everything’s gone wrong. Salma, the dreamer, she couldn’t see anything for me. She couldn’t tell me whether it would go well…’

Alys sensed what was coming next, and she wanted to help, but there was just so much she needed to be dreaming of now. ‘I will try… to see something,’ she said nonetheless. ‘Though, I’m new to being a dreamer. Out in the open, at least.’

Agnette’s curiosity quickly overwhelmed her anxiety. ‘Why? Why were you a secret dreamer?’ She patted the bed for Alys to join her, and reluctantly, Alys did.

It was difficult to dredge up the long-buried past, but secrets were becoming hard to keep in Ottby. ‘My grandmother was a dreamer from Tuura. She studied in the great temple before leaving for Alekka with her family. She met my grandfather, and they settled in Torborg. That’s where my mother was born. Where I was born too.’ Alys felt herself drifting back to when she was a girl. To before everything had gone wrong. ‘My mother was the village dreamer, though the lady of the village did not like her. She didn’t like dreamers at all. Bit by bit, she turned everyone against my mother until they accused her of being a witch. Until they killed her.’

Agnette’s eyes were round with horror. ‘Oh. And what about you? What did they think about you?’

‘I was very young. Not a dreamer yet.’ Alys swallowed, wondering what was real and what were stories. She had told herself so many stories over the years. About what had happened to her mother. About why she couldn’t believe in her dreams. ‘I was left with my grandparents, and when my dreams came to me, my grandfather told me that I could never reveal what I was. People were changing, he said. Some did not believe in the wisdom of dreamers anymore. They saw them as both valuable and dangerous. He made me hide my gifts, wanting to protect me.’

Agnette could see how upset Alys was becoming. ‘I’m sorry about that. There are some who don’t believe, I know. Sigurd never has. Tulia certainly doesn’t.’ She scowled just thinking about Tulia. ‘But many still do, Alys. You’ve helped Reinar, and you saved Bjarni, I know that. If you hadn’t seen those ships coming, they’d likely all be dead now, and I’d be facing this alone.’ She rubbed her hands over her belly, trying to quell her rising panic. ‘I have to get back to Stellan. And you need to get changed.’ Agnette struggled back to her feet, motioning to Alys’ torn dress. ‘It’s time for you to look like a dreamer.’