Tulia was pleased with how her archers had responded. She had worked with the tanner and the tailor to provide the women with some leather armour. Old bits and pieces left over or left behind had been quickly stitched together, and now each of the Ullaberg women had a leather vest and arm guards. It was not mail, and it would likely not protect them from a direct hit, but it was something. And it made them look more purposeful.

Reinar nodded, impressed. ‘You’ve done well, Tulia. They’ll be a useful addition to the inner wall.’ He nudged Torvig, who seemed in a chipper mood. ‘What do you say?’

‘About what?’

‘About telling Tulia that she couldn’t do it, yet there we have a row of new archers!’

Torvig snorted. ‘More like targets to aim at, if you ask me. Makes sense.

We can afford to lose them.’

The women were standing nearby, and none of them looked happy to hear it, their brittle confidence eroding further.

Tulia strode forward, temper snapping like a dry twig. ‘We are on the same side, aren’t we, Torvig?’ Her voice rose, and her accent thickened as she went on, poking her finger at him over the railings. ‘Because sometimes I wonder whether you want to help or hurt Reinar. You grumble and moan, put everyone down, and do nothing much more than slide about like a lazy worm while everyone else breaks themselves into pieces out here!’

Reinar stepped to one side, leaving Tulia to slip out of the training ring. He thought he might have to peel her off Torvig, but Tulia merely spat on

the ground and stormed away, braid snapping behind her, heading for the stables.

The air was thick with smoke and ash, mingling with snow flurries that never threatened to settle. It was bitterly cold, but Torvig suddenly felt hot all over.

All eyes were on him, especially Reinar’s. ‘She’s right.’

Torvig glared at him.

‘Those women will help. You’ve just seen what Tulia trained them to do. Her and Sigurd and Amir. A few days ago they couldn’t even bend a bow. Now look at them. If Tulia hadn’t bothered, we’d be weaker for sure.’

Torvig saw the anger in Reinar’s eyes, quickly realising that he needed to step with care. ‘Alright, alright!’ And holding his hands in the air, he leaned towards his friend. ‘It’s just that woman. Tulia. She’s always rubbed me the wrong way.’

Reinar burst out laughing. ‘You mean she hasn’t rubbed you at all!’ He nudged his red-faced friend. ‘We all know how you feel about Tulia.’

‘What?’

‘You can’t have her, and she doesn’t want you, and it drives you crazy.’ Reinar’s voice was low as he led Torvig across the square, towards the hall. He wanted to find Bjarni, who’d disappeared to see Agnette. She’d been feeling under the weather for days now, and he was worried about her. ‘You know that’s it.’

Torvig’s anger flowed like a river of fire, hot and furious, but clamping his teeth together, he smiled. ‘If only that were true. But no, Sigurd’s welcome to the miserable bitch. I just don’t like her company. She’s arrogant. Acts like she knows more than anyone. Like she knows us. But she’s not from here. What does she know?’

‘Well, she knows how to fight, and now, it seems, she knows how to teach women to become warriors.’ Reinar grabbed a door, pulling it open with a numb hand, his eyes on the golden glow beckoning them inside the hall.

‘Close the door!’ came his mother’s shrill cry. Gerda had become increasingly thin since his father had taken ill, and she felt the cold more than ever.

Reinar shoved Torvig inside. ‘Don’t worry, I doubt she knows the real reason you’re such a prick to her.’ And then he was laughing again,

gratefully accepting the cup of ale Martyn handed him. ‘You read my mind!’ he smiled, thinking of Alys.

It had been days since he’d spoken to her, and he was eager to discover if she’d had any dreams.

Sigurd slipped out of Alys’ cottage, immediately blasted by a gusting wind. He scowled, grabbing his cloak as it threatened to fly away. He’d lost his old cloak pin, but he’d need to find a new one quickly if this was how winter was announcing itself.

‘Not feeling like helping today?’ Tulia looked furious as she stood watching him, holding on to the bridle of her skittish horse, who was not enjoying the wailing wind. ‘Thought you’d just spend the morning sitting around a fire with the dreamer, did you? Having tea? Or was it wine?’

Sigurd knew Tulia had a jealous streak. A flaming temper too. Though he hadn’t seen her this angry in some time.

‘I was…’ Sigurd glanced around, before lowering his voice, stepping towards her. ‘I was talking about Reinar.’

Tulia didn’t care. She spun around, almost dragging her dappled stallion towards the gates. ‘Well, the women are waiting for someone to train them, Sigurd Vilander! Maybe you should do some work before the snow comes down!’ And throwing herself up onto the fleece-covered saddle, Tulia dropped her hood over her black hair, spurring her horse towards the gates, scattering a flock of ducks who quickly took fright, flapping into the air.

Sigurd watched her go, utterly confused.

Ludo walked past him, laughing, leading Stina, Jorunn, and three more Ullaberg women towards the hall. ‘It’s not you, don’t worry. She had a fight with Torvig. Tore a few strips off him. You would have enjoyed it!’

‘Torvig?’ Sigurd shook his head. ‘Well, things look a little clearer, then.’ He fell in beside Ludo, who was keen to get the women out of the wind. ‘I say we put them in the ring together. Let Tulia kill him.’

Ludo smiled, turning around to motion for some of the stragglers to hurry up. ‘I don’t think there’d be many tears, except from Torvig of course!’

Sigurd laughed, glancing over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tulia, his eyes meeting Alys’ as she stepped out of her cottage, hurrying away, the white cat running to keep up with her.

And, smile gone now, he frowned, wondering where she was going.

They rode quickly, until they left the rain behind, and encountered the first flurries of snow. Jonas made them stop when they were far enough away from Akaby. Magnus had been falling behind, looking ready to break a tooth, his teeth were chattering so hard.

They turned off the road, heading down an old hunting track, looking for shelter.

They didn’t find it.

But they did find a thick hedge which offered a break from the wind, and Vik disappeared to find twigs and moss, branches too. They needed to warm Magnus up before setting off again.

Jonas stared at his great-grandson’s face, worried by his ghostly pallor. ‘When did you last eat? Last sleep?’

But Magnus couldn’t speak, and so Jonas sat with him, wrapping his cloak around the boy, trying to share his body heat, though he was wet and cold, shivering himself, doubting he had much to spare. Magnus slipped a hand around Jonas’ belly, holding him close. And closing his eyes, Jonas was reminded of the little girl who had once done the same. ‘Tell me, Magnus. What happened to your mother?’

Magnus stilled, tears coming. And he remembered the vision of the men rushing up behind his mother, her hair blowing like waves, her dress swirling around her, the panic in her eyes.

Her voice loud in his ears.

And starting slowly, as his body warmed up, and his teeth stopped banging together, Magnus told Jonas everything.

Thoughts of Magnus kept floating into Alys’ mind, and for some reason, she felt comforted, as though he was safe. She wanted to see more, and

hopefully, dream of what had happened, for something certainly had. But there was too much to do. Too much of the day yet to endure.

She had come to visit Agnette, who had been put to bed, and she’d brought Eddeth along, which had not pleased Agnette at all.

‘It’s the stink of those herbs, Eddeth,’ Agnette grumbled, tucked up in bed, furs up to her chin, covering her belly. ‘I can’t stand the smell!’

Eddeth stopped, salve-covered finger in mid-air. ‘You want to keep your child, don’t you, Agnette?’

Both Alys and Agnette stared at her.

Agnette looked terrified. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re a strange colour. Your breathing is strained. You feel a tightness, don’t you? I see it! I see it all!’ Eddeth circled the bed, shiny finger occasionally poking Agnette’s way. ‘I see trouble ahead. I have to say it, it falls on me to say it! I see trouble ahead if you don’t slow down, stay in bed, and open yourself to my herbs!’

Agnette glanced at Alys, looking for some reassurance.

‘Let Eddeth help you,’ Alys smiled. ‘Her herbs helped my head.’ It was true. Her blurred vision and headaches had receded quickly after she’d started using Eddeth’s salves. And thinking of Eddeth’s salves led Alys’ busy mind back to Reinar, and she frowned, feeling annoyed.

‘What is it?’ Agnette panicked. ‘Have you seen something?’ She tried to sit up, but Eddeth was beside her, pushing her down.

‘No, no.’ Alys was quickly flustered. ‘I was just thinking about… what I have to do. Not you.’

‘Oh, good.’ Agnette slumped back against the pillow. ‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to submit to the stinking salve, then. Go on, Eddeth, do your worst!’ And pushing down the fur, Agnette revealed a gaping nightdress straining across her bump.

Eddeth ignored Agnette’s bump entirely, heading to the other end of the bed. She turned to Alys. ‘If you’ll lift up the furs and then her nightdress. You’ll need to bring your legs up, then drop your knees open, Agnette!’ She went to scratch her nose, then thought better of it, catching a glimpse of her salve-covered finger just in time.

‘What?’ Agnette cringed, not wanting to imagine what Eddeth was planning, but Alys was already whipping off the furs, and sighing, Agnette did as she was bid.

Jonas and Vik felt torn, eager to make some progress to find Lotta, but well aware that Magnus needed time to recover, for their journey would be challenging. The weather had worsened further, and now the gentle flurries had turned into thick snow, settling all around them. But Vik’s fire was hot and its flames strong enough to fight back against the wind. Magnus, exhausted from sleepless nights, and long days of hard labour and little sustenance, had fallen asleep quickly, his head on Jonas’ knee. So the two men had settled in as the afternoon sky darkened around them, enjoying some of the smoked char Vik had packed into his saddlebags.

‘I know how my great-grandson ended up here, but what about you?’ Jonas asked, surprised by how many yawns had escaped his mouth. It was barely dusk, yet the crack of the fire and the howl of the wind had him half asleep and ready for bed. Though the thought of sleeping in the snowy gale, with no more than a sodden fur for comfort quickly woke him up. He wondered if they should have tried to erect Vik’s tent, but they’d both decided that the wind would have torn it to pieces. It was better to keep it safe.

Vik shrugged in his usual nonchalant way. ‘Had a feeling you’d need some help, and I was right. I went to your cottage. Saw your message in the dirt.’

‘Message?’

‘About Magnus and Lotta. Slussfall?’ Vik tried to jog his memory.

‘Oh, that was me trying to remember my dream. Alys came to me.’ Jonas didn’t even hesitate. Years of wanting to pretend there were no dreamers in his family had fallen away, and now he was simply eager to have every bit of help he could get to put them all back together again. ‘I woke up and tried to write down everything she’d said. Some of it was confusing. I didn’t know what had happened to her.’

He felt sick.

Slavers had taken his precious granddaughter. Yet, she had promised she was safe. He remembered that. Though, that was nothing new. Alys had never wanted him to worry.

Vik laughed. ‘Thought it was for me, so I hurried to catch up with you. Imagined you’d head through Tolla. Wasn’t expecting to come across you in Akaby, though. Glad I did.’

‘I could have handled those men. I was just getting started.’

Vik laughed some more, gripping his belly, closing his mouth as Magnus started to stir, moaning in his sleep. ‘You do remember you were on the ground? Big man with an axe aiming for your stubborn old head?’

Jonas grinned. ‘That’s right. And you killed him for me. If you keep up like that, one day we’ll be even.’

‘So you say, but I don’t recall you saving my life that many times.’ ‘No, happens to the old, you know. Losing your memory.’

Vik had a skin full of his best ale, and he shared it with Jonas, and the fire spat and popped, and the wind howled, and they leaned back against the spiky hedge, trying to get some rest, watching the snow pile up all around them.

It was growing harder to keep his thoughts focused on what lay ahead, for Hakon kept thinking about what he had left behind. Namely, his beautiful wife’s warm body, his fur-wrapped bed, his lamps and his fire, and mostly, at that moment while the wind was trying to tear his tent apart, Hakon was missing his walls.

Strong, impenetrable, stone walls. Windproof. Rainproof. Solid and silent.

He was growing tired of listening to the endless flapping of his linen tent.

Shivering, he turned to Mother, who had been in a foul mood throughout the meal. Something was eating away at her like worms in the cabbages, and Hakon didn’t know if he had the energy to find out what. Though, he quickly realised, perhaps he needed to? ‘You and Falla have been quite fortunate in your little wagon,’ Hakon began. ‘I ensured it was weather-tight. Comfortable too, with all those pillows and furs.’ He did not want to pander to the old woman, though he felt a need to keep her happy.

And yet, she looked anything but.

Mother bit the spiced sausage in half with a grunt. It was half frozen. As she was. ‘It has been… comfortable,’ she agreed. ‘Though close quarters would wear on anyone after so many days.’

‘Though not many to go now,’ Hakon assured her, filling Mother’s goblet with wine. He had brought her into his tent to share his meal. He had not invited Ivan or encouraged Mother to bring Falla and Lief. Something had been troubling the old dreamer, and he knew that, somehow, he would have to find a way to the bottom of it.

‘No, not many,’ Mother agreed. ‘Though the snow will slow us down further, I fear. Soon we will be wading through it.’

Hakon frowned.

Other people’s discomfort always lifted Mother’s mood, and she chuckled. ‘Though time is a gift. And we shall use it to our advantage. Our enemy grows stronger in more ways than either of us had imagined, I see that now. Reinar Vilander struts about his fort as though he is a god. As though he has already defeated you!’ Her voice rose, a sharp shriek cutting across the wailing wind.

‘Why?’ Hakon leaned across the table, ignoring the ripping sounds as the wind tore at his tent. ‘What has changed? After the wolf? After all this time? His people deserting him? Why would he feel confidence?’

Mother inhaled, sitting back in the chair. It was an improvement on her tent, she thought, surveying the lord’s accommodation. The ground was covered in so many furs that there wasn’t even a hint of frozen earth peeking through. Candles flamed in copper bowls that hung from the tent frame, swinging in the breeze. Hakon’s bed, piled with two mattresses and more furs, sat invitingly in one corner. Mother blinked, trying to focus, though she felt reluctant to speak, and her voice was just a murmur. ‘His dreamer discovered the curse. It has been broken.’

The words, delivered so casually, did not impact Hakon fully at first, but within a heartbeat, he had spilled his wine, eyes bulging open. ‘What? What? Mother? Why didn’t you tell me?’ He was incredulous. Panicked. Leaving his goblet on the table, he dragged a cold hand down his cold face. ‘What are we going to do?’

Mother laughed, amused by his distress. ‘You have an entire army, Hakon! Have you forgotten? I am but one weapon, and yet, outside this tent’s walls, you have many. They have none! My curse depleted their garrison. It took their old lord and made him a prisoner of his own body. It took the lives of Reinar’s sons before they could take their first breaths. Oh, the evil that curse wrought! And that evil cannot be undone!’ Mother couldn’t help but revel in her success then, her mood continuing to improve.

‘Your enemy may feel triumphant, but it is only a temporary illusion. One I have the power to twist and turn into whatever shape I like.’ She inhaled the wine, relaxing for the first time in days. ‘For I have seen this dreamer, and she is a mere child. A girl who knows nothing. No match for me at all!’

Alys had returned to Agnette after supper to see how she was feeling, without Eddeth, which made Agnette smile. ‘I am feeling better,’ she admitted. ‘Make sure you tell Eddeth. I don’t want her returning!’ She shuddered, unable to shake the memory of Eddeth and her salve-covered finger.

Alys smiled. ‘I will, though I think she’s likely sound asleep. She kept nodding off when I was there.’

Agnette wriggled back onto the pillows, squishing them into a more supportive shape. The noise of the hall was a happy murmur in the distance, and that familiar droning sound was making her sleepy.

How amazing, she thought, with a yawn…

Only a few days ago they were preparing to be devoured by Ulura Blood Hunter, and now, once again, Reinar saw himself as the chosen one, confident that his victory over Hakon Vettel was already being written into songs and sagas.

Agnette grabbed Alys’ hand suddenly, no longer feeling sleepy. ‘Your children. I wanted to ask you when Eddeth was here, but I didn’t know if you’d told her. Or anyone, for that matter.’

Alys glanced at the door, bruised brow furrowing. ‘No. No one. I… it’s best if no one knows. Someone may be listening who could hurt them, or try to hurt me through them.’

Agnette nodded as Alys moved closer. ‘But have you seen any sign of them?’

‘I haven’t, but I’ve had feelings of danger and hope.’ It was hard to explain, but as Agnette grabbed her hand, Alys tried. ‘My children are the two halves of my heart, and all those years I tried to keep them safe. I needed to be a barrier between them and Arnon. He could be… vicious. He drank too much, and it made him more so. He stayed in the hall all night with his friends, then flew into rages when the children made even the

slightest of noises in the cottage.’ The memories were like sharp beaks, stabbing her; the pain palpable. She blinked, reading the question in Agnette’s eyes. ‘I tried to escape, many times. Arnon was popular, though, amongst the Ullaberg men. When he left raiding, he had some of the older men watching me. Any time I did manage to get away, I was always found, brought back and locked in the cottage to await my punishment.’

Agnette couldn’t imagine such a thing. Bjarni was as gentle as a feather. Unless he had an axe in his hand, and then he was a fierce beast. She smiled, glad about that. She needed him to be, for he had to come back to her alive. When this was all done, he had to be by her side when she gave birth to their child.

‘What about your grandfather? Couldn’t he save you? You said he was a warrior once.’

‘He was. A famous one. Part of a brotherhood. My grandfather and his friends.’ The thought of Jonas made Alys sad. He was an old man now, and though he had fought and killed, and likely could again, she worried that she was asking too much of him. The man who had taken Lotta had sounded hard. Not young, but not old either. And she didn’t know whether Jonas could defeat him.

‘I never told him,’ Alys admitted, tears in her eyes. ‘I felt ashamed. When we met, Arnon told me tales of being a warrior, of raiding and trading. It sounded adventurous. I’d been stuck by my grandfather’s side since I was small, trapped in a small village, so Arnon was exciting. Everything about him was. I was only seventeen, and my grandfather didn’t want me to go. He refused to let me marry. He didn’t like Arnon, didn’t like the look of him, and so I… ran away. I ran away from Torborg.’

It remained the biggest regret of her life.

And yet, she had her children, the two halves of her heart.

The past could not be undone, and the past had brought her to this very place in time. And Alys knew that whatever mess she had made, and whatever her grandfather thought of that mess, he was going to do everything in his power to save her children.

Agnette stared at her. ‘We make mistakes,’ she said softly. ‘Some are scars we carry for the rest of our lives. Others, we blink, and they’re lost to the wind. Your past is over, Alys. Now, you’ve a chance to start again. Here, with us. Your children too. I feel it. It’s as though everything is about

to change.’ She winced, a sharp pain in her side, but she kept smiling. ‘Everything is about to change for the better.’