The waves curled effortlessly against the straked hull of the ship as it sliced through the dark sea.

Everyone on board appeared energised. The morning had rushed by, and even the injured men – those who had been moaning and groaning only hours earlier – started to perk up as they edged closer to Ottby.

Reinar felt different too. He was back on board Fury, confident that Sigurd was on the mend, watched over by his new dreamer. His chest tightened, his cold hands curling into fists, eyes on the familiar bridge that spanned the cliffs bordering the estuary. The need to keep that old bridge defended was paramount, for if Ottby was captured, enemy armies would be able to march directly to Stornas and threaten the king.

That weight had rested heavily on Stellan Vilander, and now Reinar felt it himself; though Ottby was not only a valuable defensive structure, it was his home, and the people he loved most lived within its walls.

Reinar blinked, wanting to speak to Alys urgently, but knowing there was still much to take care of.

Torvig stood beside him. ‘We need to be ready to move as soon as we’re back. Find more men quickly. Hakon will attack again. He won’t like that you sunk his ships. I doubt he had many more.’

Reinar smiled, imagining that little boy’s face, for Hakon Vettel was only a boy. Only twenty-three and he thought he could take on every lord along the Eastern Shore; become more powerful than Ake Bluefinn himself. ‘Well, he can go fuck himself.’

Torvig laughed. ‘He’s likely saying the same about you!’ He couldn’t feel his face, his hands or his feet, and he felt impatient to get into the fort.

He could almost taste snow in the air, and his thoughts turned to the heat of a generous fire, the warmth of a fur-lined bench, a cup of wine in his hand. Then Torvig remembered Gerda, who was notoriously tight-fisted when it came to dishing out any item she considered a luxury. And a woman as miserable as Gerda Vilander would certainly consider wine a luxury best saved for a special occasion.

‘I’ve more important things to worry about than Hakon Vettel,’ Reinar muttered, his attention drifting to Dagger, sailing along in their wake. He caught a glimpse of the green-dress-wearing Alys de Sant. She was timid, lacking confidence, and young. Unlike any dreamer he’d known, yet he had such great need of her now.

Torvig watched his friend’s eyes narrow, seeking out the dreamer, as he had done since the first time he’d caught sight of her. That woman was going to cause problems for them all, he realised. Problems he would have to find solutions for.

And quickly.

Mother had been cryptic.

She was always cryptic, Hakon thought with a scowl, unlike Ivan, who sat opposite him, mouth ajar, eyes following Falla, who was sashaying around the hall after her young son.

Hakon kicked him.

Ivan bit his tongue, glaring at his cousin, though he was mostly just mad at himself for being unable to stop staring at Falla. She was the most mesmerising creature he’d ever seen. He couldn’t control himself at all.

Hakon laughed, watching Lief Gundersen enter the hall, shaking rain from his straight dark hair. His eyes were immediately on his wife, not his lord. Hakon could tell how much Lief loved his wife. Or, at least, how demanding his need to keep her safe was. He took great interest in her whereabouts, rarely allowing himself to become so distracted that he didn’t know where she was.

Hakon didn’t blame him. And though Karolina was no temptress, the idea of another man coveting his wife was enough to make him reach for his sword.

Satisfied that Falla was alone, Lief’s eyes quickly snapped to the high table, and he attempted a smile. ‘My lord,’ he said, ignoring Ivan entirely. ‘Anyone would think winter had arrived out there!’ Holding his hands over the flames, he rubbed them together, shaking his head, not wanting anything from the trays of pickled eel and oysters the slaves offered him.

‘Winter arriving early will disrupt our plans,’ Ivan suggested, ensuring his eyes remained on Lief, whether he acknowledged him or not. He could sense Falla approach, helping her husband take off his wet cloak, but he forced himself to ignore her.

‘Not all of them,’ Hakon grinned, just as cryptically as Mother Arnesson. He reached for his goblet as Lief left Falla behind, approaching the high table. ‘But we have time before the first snow falls, I’m sure.’ His mind drifted back to his conversation with the old dreamer. She had spoken of things he didn’t believe possible. But if they were…

If what she said could truly happen…

Hakon smiled, turning to Ivan. ‘Why don’t we go for a walk, Cousin? Lief, you should join us. We have plans to make. Urgent plans. It’s best we keep them to ourselves, away from gossiping women.’ He enjoyed the tart look on Falla’s face as he stood, winking at her.

Ivan wasn’t wrong to admire Falla Gundersen and her endless curves, Hakon knew, quickly shifting his eyes to the hall doors.

He was just far too obvious.

Agnette waddled with speed. She felt like a mother duck, with Bjarni’s two old hounds chasing after her, barking, as she hurried through the bridge gates into the square. Tulia was striding towards her, spear in hand. ‘They’re coming!’ she called, already out of breath, hands on hips, stopping to cup her protruding belly. ‘They’re… coming!’

Tulia looked relieved as she stepped past Agnette, her long legs quickly taking her away from Gerda, who had left the hall at the first shouts from the ramparts. The gates to the bridge were open, and Tulia hurried towards them, eager to get down the stairs to meet the ships.

‘Agnette!’ Gerda scolded, rushing past her after Tulia. ‘Your hair’s a mess! You shouldn’t greet your husband in such a dishevelled state. Go and

tidy yourself up!’

Agnette glared at her aunt, who did indeed look as well-groomed as ever, unsurprisingly, since she barely lifted a finger to help anyone but herself. And certainly not her husband, who she had tasked Agnette to care for as soon as he took ill.

Ottby’s harbour saw little traffic as the fort was no trading station. Its market was small, servicing just the local area, and those few merchants who had built up relationships with the Vilanders over the years. The three piers jutting out from the bottom of the cliffs were full of warships, which, though sea-worthy, saw little action these days.

Those in the fort hurried down the steep stone stairway which led from the bridge, eager to see what their returning lord had brought back with him; hoping most of all that he’d brought back a change of luck.

They all needed some of that.

Reinar jumped down onto the boards of the old pier with a bang, happy to see Tulia, though she barely looked at him, quickly seeking out any sign of Sigurd. She ran her eyes over Dagger, not seeing him by the prow as she would have expected to.

Reinar put a hand on her shoulder. ‘He was injured, but he’ll live. Hakon Vettel sent men to ambush us near the estuary to Goslund. They were lying in wait. Three shiploads of them.’

Tulia shook off his hand, hurrying to Dagger, wanting to see Sigurd for herself. She rarely worried and wasn’t prone to panic, but in the four years they’d been together, he’d barely had a scratch on him.

Gerda, who had quickly made her way down the stairs, overheard their conversation, forcing herself not to interrupt. But as Tulia left, she grabbed Reinar, hand on his arm, slightly out of breath. ‘You weren’t injured, were you?’

Reinar shook his head, pleased to see his mother. ‘No, but Sigurd –’ ‘You must come up to the hall! Let Bjarni sort everyone out,’ Gerda

insisted, slipping an arm through Reinar’s, frowning at the dampness of his cloak. ‘I think snow’s on the way. Best we get to a fire, take off this wet cloak.’ She tried to move him towards the stairs.

Reinar held his ground. ‘I need to see to Sigurd.’ He glared at his mother, wishing that, just for once, she would show a maternal instinct towards his brother. ‘You need to see to him.’

Gerda inhaled sharply, quickly insulted. She lowered her voice, hissing. ‘I… will, of course, but Tulia’s there. I doubt she’d even let me look at him. You know how that woman is, always taking charge, as though she’s a man. I’ll look at him once you get him up the stairs, into the hall.’

Reinar decided that he was too cold to stand around trying to change his mother, who had likely been much the same for all her fifty-seven years. There was little he could do to bend and shape her into the mother Sigurd had always wished for. It was far too late for that now.

Alys shivered, eyes on the dark cliffs facing the estuary, almost perfectly sheer, running with moisture. She tipped back her head, turning it to the right, towards the imposing bridge, then back to the left where the stone fort perched on the edge of the cliff, reaching up into the clouds.

Over the years, Ottby’s fortress had proved near impenetrable, with two stone walls protecting the nearly three hundred homes and buildings housed within. The low wall led to a narrow courtyard and the much higher inner wall; both walls fortified with defensive ramparts and towers that gave a clear view of the fields and forests to the north, east, and west, and the bridge to the south.

Looking away from the bridge, Alys turned her attention to the men clambering out of the ships, onto the pier. Many of them looked happy to be home. Some appeared sullen at the thought of having returned with nothing to show but two shiploads of women no one wanted, and a handful of squealing, bleating animals.

The Ullaberg women just looked terrified. Though Ottby was surely better than Goslund. But only just.

Alys yelped as Torvig grabbed her by the elbow, roughly pushing her towards the gunwale. Her eyes snapped to Sigurd, who grimaced as he limped forward, leaning on Ludo.

‘Let Ludo take her,’ Sigurd gasped. ‘You should help Reinar.’

Torvig froze, eyes on Sigurd’s pained face. He bit his teeth together, hand still squeezing Alys’ elbow. And then Tulia jumped down in front of him, moving past him towards Sigurd, and Sigurd lost sight of Torvig and the dreamer.

‘Well, no surprise to see you’re injured.’ There was worry in her heart but not, she hoped, on her face, for Tulia Saari preferred to keep everyone at

arm’s length; even, sometimes, Sigurd Vilander. ‘For without me, what use are you really?’

Alys’ eyes widened. The woman was striking, strong-looking, and fierce. She wore a tight-fitting leather vest over a red tunic; her trousers tucked into black boots. A long mane of dark hair hung to the middle of her back, gathered into a single braid, tied with ribbons. And when she swung back around, Alys caught a glimpse of her rich-brown eyes; sharp and almond-shaped, and not at all welcoming.

Tulia glared at her, then turned back to Sigurd, who she could sense was staring at the woman. And her scowl deepened. ‘Why don’t you get your prisoners off the ship, Torvig? What are you waiting for?’

‘I’ll take her.’ Reinar leaned over the gunwale, arms out, reaching for Alys, who looked relieved to see him.

Getting more incensed by the moment, Torvig shoved her towards Reinar, turning back for another of the women. There were many still to get off the ship, though most weren’t as quiet as the dreamer. The wailing, bleating noises quickly picked up again, the goat slipping its rope, tangling itself around an irritated Bolli’s legs.

Reinar laughed, placing Alys on the pier, before turning back for Sigurd, who wasn’t surprised to see his mother already disappearing towards the stairs, without even a glance his way. He yelped as Ludo and Reinar tried to lift him over the gunwale, struggling with the tilting ship and Sigurd’s many injuries.

‘Just leave me here,’ Sigurd groaned, eyes closed against the pain. ‘I can’t face the stairs.’

‘Alright, I’ll send down some ale. Something to eat.’ And Tulia strode off after Gerda.

‘What?’ Sigurd opened one eye just in time to see her turn around, frowning at him.

‘Well, hurry up, then! The quicker we get you up the stairs, the quicker we get to a fire!’ Tulia was shivering, irritated by the cold, worried about Sigurd, though she didn’t show it as she turned back around, disappearing up the stairs.

Reinar laughed at the look on his brother’s face. ‘Surely you’re not surprised? Not after all this time?’ He kept laughing, inclining his head for Bjarni to get the women moving in the same direction, right after Tulia.

‘Ludo, go ahead of us, I’ll push Sigurd from behind. If he’s going to fall down those stairs, I think I have a better chance of stopping him!’

Sigurd wanted to protest that he wasn’t a sack of grain, but it started raining, quickly turning heavy. He clamped his lips together, hunching up his aching shoulders, thinking about a fire, feeling Reinar’s hand on his back, shunting him up the stairs.

Alys emerged from the dark stairway, nudged into the fort by Bjarni. She blinked, tired eyes taking in the tall guard towers flanking the ramparts, where armoured warriors stood watching the men and women who clustered around the open gates, wanting to see and hear what had happened. Most appeared relieved to have their warriors home, but there was a sense of gloom and despair that was palpable.

Fear and misery too.

Alys could tell that Ottby was not a happy place.

Spotting Agnette, Bjarni hurried away from the women, grabbing hold of his wife, whose hair remained a wild mess. He didn’t notice as he held her close, his lips to her ear. ‘You’re well? You and the child?’

She nodded, heart beating fast, relieved that he was home. Everything had been going downhill for the last year, worsening rapidly over the past six months, and as her child grew in her belly, Agnette’s fears heightened. But she tried to smile, not wanting to worry her husband. ‘We’re getting bigger by the day. Both of us!’

Bjarni puffed out a cold breath, stepping back, looking his wife over, placing his hands on her belly.

‘He likes to move in the afternoons,’ Agnette smiled, moving his hand lower. ‘Yes, there. But I imagine he’s asleep now.’ She pressed Bjarni’s hand down, but there was no movement.

They smiled at each other, trying not to look worried.

Agnette’s eyes drifted to where Bolli was carrying a goat through the gates. It was only a kid, she thought, as Bolli was not a large man. The little goat bleated mournfully, and Bolli grumbled at it, his red cheeks reddening further.

‘I think you’ve got a new pet there, Bolli!’ Reinar called from behind him as he headed for Bjarni and Agnette. ‘You’d best make room for her in your cottage! Sounds like the needy type!’

Bolli didn’t look impressed with Reinar or the noise of his miserable companion, but he was quickly sold on the idea of having a ready supply of

goat’s milk on hand.

‘Agnette!’ Reinar gave his cousin’s belly a quick glance, before smiling at her round face. She seemed content and healthy, and he felt relieved. She’d waited a long time for that child; her and Bjarni both. ‘Send that husband of yours to Torvig when you’re done with him. He can help gather the women into the square until we decide what to do with them.’

Agnette’s eyes widened, first resting on Alys, then moving to where a bedraggled group of women was growing in front of the gates. ‘Why have you brought them here?’ She was horrified. No one liked the idea of slaving, but hunger and hardship had made many of them swallow that bitter tonic. The slaves had always been sold at Goslund, so it had remained more of an abstract concept, as though they were not involved in the reality of it. But now, here were the women, broken-hearted, distressed women, who looked no different than her friends and neighbours; bound, prisoners, ready to be sold; stolen away from children, husbands, and homes.

Bjarni could sense his wife’s discomfort growing, and he sought to distract her. ‘We were attacked. Ambushed. Our passage to Goslund was blocked by Hakon Vettel’s ships. We couldn’t get through.’

Agnette’s wary eyes moved to an ashen-faced Sigurd, who hung limply between Tulia and Ludo, feeling an urgent need to sit down. ‘Sigurd! What happened?’

‘That would be Hakon’s archers and Rutger’s knife,’ Reinar grinned. ‘But we sunk Hakon’s ships and tipped Rutger’s worthless corpse into the sea, so you’ve nothing to worry about, except helping Gerda take care of all the women.’ He eyed his mother, who was attempting a look of concern at Sigurd.

‘Come into the hall!’ Gerda called, wanting to move everyone away from the gates. ‘You need to get by a fire. I’ll have Rienne find you something warm to drink. Agnette, see to those women!’ And sweeping her cloak around, she hurried away from the gates, into the fort.

Reinar watched her go, not surprised by his mother’s coldness, but always disappointed. ‘I need to sort the women out with Bjarni and Torvig,’ he said to Agnette, who looked ready to sit down. ‘You take Alys, here. She’s a dreamer. She’ll be staying in Salma’s cottage. It may need a… clean?’ He eyed Agnette over Alys’ head, remembering how ill Salma had been when she died. Nobody had wanted to enter the old dreamer’s cottage after she passed away, and it likely still reeked of her death.

Agnette nodded, eyes bulging at the thought of entering that cottage again. Salma had been a mysterious woman. Arriving in a storm, she had offered her services to Reinar, wanting to help him, though Agnette had never understood why.

And now, here was another dreamer. Perhaps a healer too?

She gasped as her baby moved, her eyes suddenly sharper. ‘Alys?’ Agnette reached out a hand as Reinar urged Alys forward. ‘Why don’t you come along with me.’

Magnus was gripped by a sense of confusion as he turned in the saddle, quickly turning back again.

‘Do you know where we are?’ Lotta wondered beside him, yawning. She couldn’t decide whether she was hungry, tired, or scared. Most likely all three, she realised, blinking suddenly, hearing a noise. ‘What was that?’ She glanced at the trees to her left, seeking an explanation for the crunching sounds.

‘Probably a fox,’ Magnus grumbled, not worrying about noises right now. He had his mother’s instructions on his lap, the vellum fluttering in the wind. And though he could read her directions easily enough, what she’d written didn’t make sense to his ten-year-old brain.

Lotta didn’t hear another noise, and she convinced herself that Magnus was right about it being a fox. Surely if it was a bear, it would have crashed about, banging against the trees and bushes, making a big fuss. ‘We should go,’ she said, turning to her flustered brother. And leaning down, she gave Clover a pat, nudging her knees against her pony’s bulging white belly. ‘Come on.’

Magnus stared at his sister as she moved past him, before hurrying to stuff the vellum into his pouch, gathering Daisy’s reins. ‘Lotta!’ he grumbled. ‘What are you doing?’ And urging Daisy on, he quickly caught up to her. ‘How do you know it’s this way?’

Lotta spun around with a sweet smile. ‘I’m a dreamer, Magnus, just like Mama. I know which way to go.’ And off she went again.

Magnus didn’t know what she was talking about, but once again, he spurred Daisy on to catch up with her. ‘Mother’s not a dreamer!’ he insisted. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘You can hear her, can’t you? When she tells us things? In your head?’

Magnus thought about that for a moment, pieces of the puzzle slotting quickly into place. ‘But… that’s because she’s our mother. We’re connected like that.’

‘No, that’s because she can talk to us that way. She can hear our thoughts. I know that because I can hear yours.’

‘You can?’

Lotta’s eyes remained on the path she had chosen. ‘Yes. And you needn’t be so worried. Mama will find us when she’s free. I dreamed it. She will come for us when she’s free.’ And swallowing, Lotta blinked away her tears, deciding that she would hold on to her dream for as long as it took.

For as long as it took to feel her mother’s arms around her again.

‘It is…’ Agnette couldn’t go on. She held a hand over her mouth and nose, gagging.

Alys stood beside her, wanting to leave. The old cottage had been shut up for weeks, and it stunk of death and disease. Foul, stomach-churning odours made them both want to retch. She turned around, eyeing the door that had closed after them.

Agnette quickly grabbed the handle, opening the door and pushing Alys outside. It had started raining, which was an improvement, and they both inhaled deeply.

‘Salma died in there, a month ago or more. I can’t remember. Everything of late has been a terrifying blur.’ Agnette coughed, wishing she had a cup of ale. She saw Alys’ confusion. ‘Salma was a dreamer. Reinar’s dreamer. But she took ill and died. Many did over the summer, into autumn. We haven’t had an easy time of late.’ She glanced at Alys’ terrified face, feeling horrible. This poor woman was having more than just a bad time. She had been torn away from her life. From her home. And now Reinar wanted to stick her in a stinking cottage and make her dream for him. ‘I will

clean it for you. Make it smell better. And in the meantime, you can go to the hall, warm yourself by a fire. I imagine that rain will only get worse.’

Alys didn’t move. She felt disconnected from her senses. As though everything happening was not happening to her.

As though she was merely watching it. Not feeling anything at all.

Agnette touched her arm. ‘My name is Agnette. I’m Reinar and Sigurd’s cousin. You met my husband, Bjarni. And this,’ she smiled, touching her belly. ‘This is to be our first child.’

Alys blinked at Agnette, staring at her belly, suddenly back in the moment.

‘Come along, come to the hall, Alys. I will find somewhere for you while I sort this cottage out. I’m sure I have some dried lavender left!’

Alys turned after her, lifting her bare feet out of the mud, remembering the cold sand on Ullaberg’s beach. Remembering Magnus and Lotta and her dead husband too.

Wanting to go home.

‌, o‌

Ottby, Ottby, Ottby.

A thorn or a jewel?

Hakon could never decide, but as he ran a finger over the little indentation in his map, his scowl turned into a smile. It was both, he realised. A thorn of a problem, that once solved would reveal a jewel powerful enough to help him onto the throne.

Mother muttered beside him, farting occasionally. Hakon moved away from her, nearer Lief, who didn’t seem bothered by Mother’s foul odours. Ivan was less discreet, laughing out loud, stopping as soon as Mother glowered at him.

‘You will need to act quickly. You will need to act quickly!’

Mother had a habit of repeating things, Hakon knew, and he glared at Ivan, who had a habit of laughing at the dreamer. ‘Of course, and we will. The weather will not improve, so we must hurry before we are all snowed in.’

‘The weather will not improve,’ Mother agreed, running her own finger over the indentation that was Ottby. ‘Though I can talk to the gods, see what they can do.’ Her eyes rolled about wildly as she considered things, her body sometimes jerking as though she was in pain.

‘You?’ Ivan couldn’t stop himself. ‘Talk to the gods? Thenor and Vasa?

Sigunn and Vesti?’

Mother stomped towards him, filthy finger wagging as Ivan clamped his lips together, attempting to hold his ground. ‘And what do you think dreamers are, boy?’ ‘Dreamers are vessels of the gods! Gifted with the ability to see things mere mortals are not! Chosen by the gods to convey

their messages!’ She spat as she spoke, wet lips twisting into a furious scowl. ‘And you would laugh at the gods themselves, Ivan Vettel? You would mock them?’

Ivan swallowed, finally stepping back. ‘No, I wouldn’t. I wasn’t aware the gods spoke to dreamers. It was a… simple mistake.’

‘I’m sure what you’re not aware of could fill the Valgeir Sea,’ Mother huffed, returning to her position at the map table. The boy was a constant irritant, though highly effective in battle and Hakon was going to need him fighting against the Vilanders.

Although…

Now it was Hakon’s turn to laugh out loud, watching Mother peering at Ivan as though she was turning him on a spit. He rubbed his hands together, feeling cold. ‘And when will our visitors arrive?’

Ivan yawned, scratching his belly. ‘Within the next few days. If they took the old road. ’

‘I hope you warned them to be discreet!’ Mother hissed urgently. ‘They need to slip through the forests like mist. Not barge around like clot-footed giants making a fuss!’ And though Ivan was no giant, she glared at him, moist lips pursing again.

He ignored her. ‘They know the importance of what they’re doing.

They’ll be discreet.’

‘Good. Very good.’ He glanced around the hall, eyes on Karolina, who sat on a fur-covered bench in front of one of the long fire-pits, bouncing Anders on her knee.

There was no one else in the hall, not even a slave. And though Karolina could hear everything they were saying, if she had a mind to, Hakon trusted her. And, even if he hadn’t, he doubted she was clever enough to understand what was going on. She smiled at him, and he stared at her for a moment, appreciating the sweet beauty of her heart-shaped face as it glowed warmly in the flames. He turned back to Lief. ‘See that everything is ready for their arrival. I want our guests to feel welcome.’

Lief nodded, spinning around, heading for the door. He felt a charge in his body. There had been too much delaying. Too much moving from side to side. The thought of finally moving forward excited him, though claiming Ottby was of no consequence to Lief Gundersen. It was merely a stepping stone on the path to Stornas, where Hakon Vettel would be

crowned the King of Alekka, and he would stand beside him, the new head of his army, his most trusted advisor.

Reaching the door, Lief grabbed the old wooden handle, carved like a dragon prow, and turning back to the map table, his ruined eyes drifted to Ivan for a moment, before he disappeared out into the rain.

Alys sat by the fire as everyone rushed in and out of Ottby’s large stone hall.

She was grateful for the flames, but not one part of her felt comfortable. She couldn’t stop thinking about Stina, who was possibly still standing out in the rain, which now sounded torrential overhead. She thought of Jorunn and Vanya and Ilene, who she did not like at all, and the other women from Ullaberg. Alys tried to remember who was not there, who had been left behind.

She tried not to think about poor Magda.

Rain splashed down the smoke holes, sizzling the flames before her, and for a moment, her attention wandered, and she wondered if they would be extinguished. Memories gripped her and Alys froze, reminded of how angry Arnon would become if she ever let the fire go out. It had rained so much this past year – devastating, crop-ruining rain – and she had failed to keep the fire going many a day.

For the first time since she’d left Ullaberg, Alys touched her face, feeling around her nose, around her eyes. The pain was dull now, and nothing felt swollen. She kept seeing the image of her husband lying in the sand, arrow in his chest. And if only she hadn’t been ripped away from her children; if only she didn’t know if they were safe; if only her friends weren’t trapped here with her in this strange place, she would have been happier than she had felt in years.

‘Who did that to her face?’ Tulia wondered, watching Alys from her place at the high table between Sigurd and Reinar. Gerda had insisted on serving them a meal, wanting the men to have something hot in their bellies after their cold, wet journey home.

‘Her husband.’

Sigurd stared at his brother, surprised. ‘Well, glad to hear it wasn’t Rutger, the fucking shit. Though, I wouldn’t have put it past him.’

‘Sigurd!’ Gerda disliked that sort of talk at the table.

‘Rutger did try to kill him,’ Reinar said, eyeing his mother sharply. ‘He’s lucky he’s still here. If that dreamer hadn’t sewn him up so quickly, he might not have been.’

Gerda barely blinked. ‘And you intend to keep her?’ She sat next to Reinar, her mute husband sleeping beside her. There was no sign of Agnette, who was still making the old dreamer’s cottage more habitable, though Gerda was growing irritated by her absence. She leaned towards her eldest son, lowering her voice. ‘What do you know of her? How can you trust her?’

‘I know she saved our lives,’ Reinar said, eager to get Alys into his chamber. ‘And I know I’m in the market for a dreamer. I don’t believe I need to know more than that.’ He stood, pushing himself away from the table. ‘That was a tender piece of pork, Mother,’ he smiled. ‘Though perhaps we should be keeping it for when winter truly arrives? We have enough fish for now, don’t we?’

Gerda twitched, hearing the disapproval in his voice, draped in politeness as it was. She nodded coldly, lifting a finger to Agnette, who staggered into the hall, drenched and tired. ‘Of course. I shall have a word with Rilda. Agnette! Stellan needs to be tidied up!’ And leaving the table, Gerda hurried away to the kitchen without looking back.

Sigurd tried not to laugh, because it would have hurt and because when he looked at Alys, he immediately felt odd. It wasn’t good to have the Ullaberg women here, a reminder of what they had done.

Rain drummed down on the roof, the wind a wail outside. Or was it those women?

Bjarni followed Agnette inside, surprised that despite the extra weight his wife was carrying, it had not slowed her down. ‘I’ve put them all in the barn by the gates!’ he called to Reinar, who was heading for Alys. ‘It’s dry, but not especially warm.’

The women were a problem, Reinar knew, and they certainly didn’t need more mouths to feed over winter. Though until he knew whether it was safe to get to Goslund, he wouldn’t be able to exchange them for coins. And with winter fast approaching, his window was rapidly closing. The slave trade tended to die over the frozen months. People sheltered in place.

There was little raiding, mostly because it was impossible to get anywhere without freezing to death.

They couldn’t afford to keep the women over winter.

‘Well, that’s the best we can do for now. See that they eat, and have Steffan and Ebbert keep a guard through the night. I don’t want any missing come morning.

He thought of Rutger, irritated that the fool had not only gotten himself killed, but one of the women as well. And sending Bjarni back outside, Reinar reached for Alys. ‘You can see your friends later,’ he said abruptly, grabbing her arm, lifting her to her feet. ‘But for now, you’ll come with me.’

Alys swallowed, hearing a change in Reinar’s voice. Disturbed by it.

And stumbling slightly, she hurried to keep up with him as he led her towards the back of the hall.

Sigurd watched them go, a worried look on his face.

Vik had gone fishing in his boat. It was big enough for two, but compact enough to be manned by his two brawny arms alone. He enjoyed the solitude, and since Jonas appeared to be staying, he was determined to increase their stores before winter hit.

According to Vik, this winter promised to be worse than any in recent memory. Jonas had asked where he’d gotten that information from, not surprised to discover that Vik had heard it from a dreamer he’d seen in Vaara. He smiled, though he did not feel happy. Thinking about dreamers reminded him of his wife and daughter. Of Alys too, who he knew was unhappy. Whenever he’d visited Ullaberg, she’d always insisted she wasn’t, trying to convince them both that Arnon was a good man. Jonas was no dreamer, but he could tell she was lying. And part of him had been relieved to hear her say it, convincing himself that he could not act without her consent, without her expressing a need for his help.

Guilt was a heavy weight to bear.

He saw Alys in his dream, urging him to help her children. Saying she had sent them to him.

Jonas creaked down onto the step, sighing, rain misting over him. His eyes drifted towards the forest in front of him, caught between what was real, and what was just imagined. Though it was always impossible to know what was real where dreamers were concerned.

And then his wife’s voice, like a gentle kiss, whispering in his ear. ‘You know.’

He shivered, lifting a hand to his face, wondering if somehow Eida was there, watching him. And then he heard her again.

‘You know, Jonas Bergstrom. You know what to do.’

The draft caught the door, shutting it with a bang and Alys jumped, swallowing, as Reinar turned to her.

The long bedchamber was softly-lit. Two lamps hung from the rafters on either side of a low, comfortable-looking bed; two more at the other end of the stone chamber, where fur-lined chairs were positioned around a circular fire pit that crackled invitingly.

Elin had liked light. ‘Just enough,’ she’d smiled, teasing Reinar with her fingers. ‘Just enough so I can see what I’m doing.’

Reinar closed his eyes for a moment, almost feeling her silken hair beneath his fingers as she bent her head to him. And then the fire popped again, and he was back in his chamber, the dreamer in the torn green dress shaking before him.

In two strides, he was in front of her, hands on her arms. ‘You must tell me the truth,’ he growled throatily, eyes devouring hers. ‘Are you really a dreamer, Alys de Sant? Do you truly see the future, or were you just lucky at the estuary? Perhaps you even caught a glimpse of Hakon Vettel’s ships? Perhaps no one saw what you did?’

Alys shivered, frozen with fear. There was no smile in Reinar’s eyes now, nor on his face. The amiable lord had vanished. ‘I… I am… a dreamer. I promise I am, though I have no training. What I see comes to me. I… don’t know how to control my dreams, not as real dreamers do.’

Reinar let her go, stepping away towards the bed, tension building at his temples. ‘My wife is missing.’ He spun back to Alys. ‘Three weeks ago, she went missing.’ His eyes were full of pain, his heart aching. ‘Something has

happened to her, but I don’t know what. Salma died before she disappeared. I’ve sent men searching for my wife, I’ve searched for her myself, but no one saw a trace. Her clothes are all still here. I…’ Reinar stepped closer, needing to look into Alys’ eyes. ‘I need you to find her. To dream of her. To see who took her.’

Alys’ mouth hung open. ‘Oh.’ She found herself nodding.

Reinar wanted to believe in her, but he found no reassurance in those frantic eyes. They reminded him of a doe: watchful, full of terror, sensing death approach. Ready to bolt for safety.

But she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her. Not now. He needed her to find Elin.

‘Agnette will take you back to the cottage,’ Reinar said, ignoring the look in her eyes. ‘And you will dream.’ He put a hand into his pouch, pulling out a gold bracelet; hungry dragons curling around either end. ‘This was Elin’s. She wanted to give me luck. I forgot to return it to her.’ He held it out to Alys, gripping it tightly. ‘It will help you. Salma said a dreamer can hold on to something as they go to sleep. That it helps to bring them dreams. To find what they’re seeking.’

Alys kept nodding as she reached for the bracelet, her hand touching Reinar’s, seeing a flash of something surprising. Familiar. She jerked away, stepping back.

‘What? What is it?’

‘Nothing.’ Alys moved towards him again, trying to avoid his eyes as she took the bracelet this time, holding it in her hand. ‘I’m sure it will help, though I can’t promise anything. I… I’ve never tried to dream like this before.’

That worried Reinar, but he needed her to feel confident. It had to work.

He walked around the fire, its flames blustered by the rain and wind rushing down the smoke hole as the weather worsened. ‘You are here for a reason, Alys.’ His voice was softer now. It needed to be, Reinar realised. He would not woo that terrified doe with booming threats. He needed to coax her into trusting him. ‘And I believe that reason is to help me find my wife. To help me find a way to save Ottby and my people too.’

Alys’ eyes continued to blink rapidly as they followed him.

‘Salma died slowly. A sickness took many of my people over the summer. I thought we’d turned a corner, but then Salma took ill. She was a

good woman. Wise and kind. Gifted too.’ Reinar sat down in his chair, conscious of the empty chair sitting next to him where Elin would sit, smiling as she stitched colourful patterns of flowers and birds onto her dresses.

She liked everything to look beautiful and bright.

‘The day she died, Salma sent for me. Told me about the final dream she would ever have. It was a dream about you.’

Alys froze.

‘She held my hand, promised that I’d have help, that a dreamer was coming. A woman in a green dress. Hair like a field of wheat ripening beneath a summer’s sun.’ Reinar was back in the cottage, holding Salma’s limp hand. ‘A young woman, she promised.’ And then he was in his chamber again, rain hammering down overhead, his eyes on Alys. ‘She saw you.’

Alys didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to scream at him. She didn’t want to be his dreamer. She didn’t want to be here in this unfamiliar place, away from her children, from all that she knew. Though part of her felt relieved to have been torn away from Ullaberg, most of her was trembling, terrified, not knowing what was going to happen next.

She squeezed the golden bracelet, lifting her eyes. ‘I will try.’

It was barely a murmur, but Reinar heard her over the deluge, and he nodded. ‘Come, then. I’ll take you to the cottage.’ He tried to smile, to put Alys at ease. He wanted her to relax, to be able to dream freely. ‘Hopefully, Agnette has managed to get rid of the worst of the smell.’

Alys followed after him, not listening, her thoughts drifting to the woman who had worn the golden bracelet, wondering where she might be.

‘You’ve seen this woman?’ Hakon asked, watching Mother as she hunched over her cauldron, stirring with a grumble. ‘Reinar Vilander’s dreamer?’

Mother nodded. ‘She is a head-turner.’

Hakon frowned, doubting that. He had met only a handful of dreamers in his twenty-three years, and not one of them had been younger than Mother, who was a creaking old crone, uglier than most. ‘Well, I hear he’s misplaced his wife, so I’m sure he’ll be grateful.’

‘He’ll be grateful for more than the way she looks,’ Mother warned, bulging eyes on the young lord. ‘Mark my words. She’s a prize catch, that one.’

Sometimes it occurred to Hakon that he didn’t know whose side Mother was truly on. ‘But we can kill her?’

Mother laughed, tongue showing, a throaty cackle. ‘Oh, yes, we can kill her. She knows nothing. Not how to defend herself. Not how to attack her enemies. She doesn’t even know how to dream!’ Mother straightened her back with a groan, breathing heavily. ‘I must find Falla, for it is nearly time to begin.’

‘And she will help you?’ Hakon wondered, curious about what Mother was planning. Her cottage was already dark, though night was some way off. She had draped skins over the window to block out any light. Her fire sparked, a single lamp flooding its oil over the floorboards where Mother had drawn a circle.

He wanted to watch her work her magic. He wanted to stay.

‘Falla knows how to help me,’ Mother said, urging Hakon to leave.

And feeling the sudden, unexpected need to head for the hall, Hakon did. ‘I expect to see you in the morning!’ he called, opening the door, greeted by a bone-rattling boom of thunder. ‘To hear how it all went!’

Mother followed him through the door, not noticing the storm at all, her mind flittering like a nesting bird.

Winter was coming. The dreamer would see things.

And everything she wanted would be torn asunder, leaving both her and Falla unsated, far adrift from the vengeance they so hungrily sought.

She would have to act fast.

Agnette took Alys back to the cottage. Reinar came with them, wanting to ensure it would be comfortable for his new dreamer. She was not his prisoner, he tried convincing himself. He wanted her to feel free enough to dream.

He needed her to.

‘It’s a little better,’ Agnette promised, though there was no confidence in her voice.

Reinar gagged, stepping inside, eyes on Agnette. She lifted her shoulders, hands open, not sure what more she could have done in such a short space of time.

‘There is a new mattress,’ Agnette said cheerfully, masking how cross she was with her cousin, who seemed to think she possessed magic in the tips of her swollen fingers. ‘A fresh fur too. Once the rain stops, I’ll burn everything else.’

The smell was still strong, but the mattress looked inviting after the stones Alys had slept on for two nights. She turned around, smiling at Agnette. ‘Thank you.’

‘You may go and see the women,’ Reinar offered. ‘Eat with them, if you like. Bjarni is organising some food. Then I shall bring you back here.’

Agnette backed away, towards the door. The fire was burning brightly now, though the cottage was old, with a damp dirt floor covered in a scattering of tired reeds, and one wall with more wattle than daub. Likely the thatch needed replacing too. She grimaced, gripping her belly, wanting to get back to Stellan before Gerda came looking for her. ‘If you need anything else, Reinar, you know where I’ll be.’

Her cousin nodded distractedly. ‘Can you check on Sigurd? Between Gerda and Tulia, I doubt he’s in for much sympathy or care.’ Agnette disappeared with a nod, hood up, shivering into the rain, and looking back at Alys, Reinar frowned. ‘Perhaps after you see the women, you could check on my brother too? Look at his wounds?’

‘I will, yes, though I won’t know my way around.’

‘No.’ Reinar needed to get back to the hall. He wanted to see Sigurd too. And Torvig would be impatient to speak to him about the women. About Hakon Vettel and his ships, and what they were going to do. ‘I’ll take you to the barn, then I’ll send Ludo to show you around, though it will be dark before long.’ He glanced down at Alys’ feet. ‘You have no boots.’

Alys was back on the beach again, feet sinking into the blissfully cold sand, children’s laughter ringing in her ears. ‘No. I was on the beach when you…’ Her voice faded away.

Reinar pretended he couldn’t hear the pain in it. ‘Agnette will find you something for your feet.’ He stared at her green dress, and though the cottage was still dark, despite the fire, he could see how worn it was. One sleeve was coming off the shoulder, hem torn to bits now. ‘And something to wear.’ He opened the door, avoiding Alys’ eyes as she stepped past him,

watching her walk out into the rain, dark-blonde hair hanging down her back, shoulders drooping, mud up to her ankles.

Reinar swallowed, determined to ignore that voice in his head.

He thought instead of Elin, knowing that the dreamer was going to help him get her back.

‌, ,‌

Falla had once been called Falla Torfi, then Hallstein, then Arnesson for a very short time, and now Gundersen.

Yet she had loved none of her husbands.

She wasn’t sure she even knew what love was, though she knew it didn’t matter. Not in the end. Love was irrelevant to survival.

Gold was relevant. Power and position. Strength.

Those things were relevant, but love?

Lief’s arms were around her waist, pulling her to him, his lips on hers, devouring her. He had enormous lips which suited his big, long face, though sometimes it felt as though he was trying to swallow her whole. She didn’t grimace, though, for her husband was strong, and he excited her; excited her enough for Falla to ignore those flapping lips.

Eventually, she pulled back, gasping for air. ‘I told you I had to go. Not tomorrow, but now!’ And laughing, she skipped away from Lief, smoothing down her black hair, hooded eyes on her husband, teasing him, knowing she was out of his reach now. ‘But I will return, my love. I shall slip under the furs and wake you with my cold body, and you shall warm me through!’

Lief rarely smiled. His eyes were cold, dark, disfigured with scars. He looked terrifying, and that excited Falla too; though Hakon Vettel was not as enamoured with her husband as she was. And he still had his idiot cousin by his side day and night, leading his army.

A stupid boy like that?

Falla could never understand it.

‘I shall go with you, to Mother’s cottage.’ Lief was almost certain he trusted his wife, but he didn’t like letting her out of his sight, particularly at night.

‘In this storm?’ Falla laughed, her dimples showing. And though she looked happy, she was eager to be gone. He wanted to possess her, she knew. It had been the same with all of her husbands. But that sort of desperation only made her want to escape.

Lief wondered again if she was carrying his child. She appeared plumper, her curves more accentuated. Her dress was not new. It wasn’t that.

‘You stay here, and I will return when Mother is done.’ And stepping towards the door, Falla eyed him. ‘Eggi will listen out for Borg, you needn’t worry. He’s a good boy, so quiet and calm. Just like you.’ And winking at Lief, she slipped through the door, pulling up her hood, her good mood quickly souring at the thought of spending the night trapped in Mother’s stinking cottage.

Alys barely noticed the noise of the storm as the women gathered around her. After Magda had thrown herself into the sea, and Heera and Suvi had died from their arrow wounds, there were twenty-five of them.

And nearly all of them had questions for her.

Alys felt overwhelmed, unable to answer everyone at once.

Stina tried to help. ‘You can’t expect her to know everything!’ she insisted loudly, not caring about the guards stationed by the barn doors. The two men sat on stools, one old, one young, talking to each other, not paying any attention to the loud gaggle of women behind them. There was only one way out, and they were blocking it. And despite the loud clucking noises of all those chattering women, it was better than being stuck out in the rain.

‘But what will they do with us?’ Ingrid wanted to know. She was neither loud, nor confident, but her voice rose just as everyone else’s had gone quiet. ‘Will they sell us?’

‘I expect so,’ Alys said. ‘If they can get you to Goslund without being attacked.’

‘You?’ Ilene snarled. ‘Why do you not say, us, Alys de Sant? Do you think you are different than us? Better? That they will spare you now you’ve revealed your secret?’

Alys lifted her chin. ‘The lord here wants a dreamer, so he will keep me.’

Ilene spat on the straw. ‘How clever you are, Alys, becoming a dreamer at just the right moment. How very convenient!’

Stina stepped forward. ‘Alys doesn’t owe you an explanation, Ilene. She doesn’t owe an explanation to any of us. And whether you like it or not, she is a dreamer. And it’s a good thing for us that she is or we may all be dead now, or at another village being raped by men whose lord doesn’t care what condition his prisoners are left in!’

Ilene glared at Stina but kept her mouth closed.

A table had been brought in, and on that table, servants had left trays of rye bread, soft cheese, and thin slices of salted fish. There was not much, though many of them felt too anxious to eat, and some were still nauseous from their sea journey, so much of it went untouched.

Stina helped herself to a slice of bread, adding a smear of cheese to it. She felt just as ill as the rest of them, but she worried that this would be their only meal for some time. ‘We should eat. Stop attacking Alys with your questions and eat. Drink too. They may only feed us once a day, if that.’ And glancing at the guards, she lowered her voice. ‘This doesn’t appear the most prosperous place. Everyone looks a little starved.’

‘Well, if they came away from Ullaberg with goats and piglets, I’m guessing they are,’ Jorunn grouched, but she grabbed a slice of bread herself, listening to her stomach rumble.

The women had had their eating knives removed from their belts; the bread had been sliced for them.

Alys helped herself to a sliver of salt fish, though she didn’t want it. Stina smiled at her, and they walked to the other side of the barn together, Ilene scowling after them.

‘What will they do to you?’ Stina wondered quickly, sensing that they wouldn’t be alone for long. ‘The lord, what’s his name?’

‘Reinar. He…’ Alys turned her eyes away from Stina’s, down to the fish. ‘He wants me to help him. The ships that attacked us… he wants me to find ways to help.’

Stina looked troubled. ‘But if you help him, he will take us to Goslund.

Sell us.’

Alys nodded. ‘He will, I suppose, but I don’t know how to stop that.’ She saw the fear in her friend’s gentle eyes. ‘Though I will do what I can.’ And leaning in even closer, she lowered her voice. ‘Whatever happens, Stina, I will try to save you.’ Guilt throbbed in her chest as she saw the other women, some of whom were looking at her with hope in their swollen eyes. But Stina was her dearest friend. If she could save just one person, it would be her.

Stina squeezed her hand. ‘I want you to save yourself. For the children.’ ‘I will. But listen, you must think about keeping safe. Not everyone is like Reinar. Some of the men are more like the one who tried to rape

Magda. Keep your eyes open.’

Stina smiled sadly. ‘I will, but I doubt there’s anything we can do to stop them, is there? Not really.’ Fear trembled her limbs, but she kept her smile going, knowing that fear was an enemy that would defeat her quickly if she let it take hold. ‘Let’s go back to the table. You need to keep up your strength.’

Alys nodded, listening to the wind howling outside, wishing she was out in it, wanting to feel it chill and numb every part of her until she couldn’t feel a thing. Her heart was aching with loss, her body was shaking with fear.

And she could feel a storm coming.

Mother’s cottage was dark, lit by a small fire in the centre of its sole room. It stunk of herbs and smoke; other things Falla couldn’t put her finger on. She thought of her own cottage, which smelled pleasant, apart from her husband’s boots which she made him keep outside. And thinking of Lief made Falla sigh. ‘I need more of those seeds,’ she said, risking Mother’s wrath. The old woman was hunched over, studying her book near the fire, trying to concentrate.

‘You don’t want his child? Ever?’ Mother didn’t turn around.

‘I don’t want a mess of a life. How do I even know if he’ll survive what is coming? You want me to be left alone and pregnant again?’ She strode to the fire, stirring it with an iron poker, watching the sparks fly, her eyes

narrowed. ‘After Borg died, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Two husbands dead within weeks of each other?’

Falla’s self-obsession was a distraction Mother didn’t need. She turned the book over on the table, shooing her daughter-in-law towards a stool by the fire. ‘Put that down there.’ And she waited while Falla leaned the poker against the table, placing her hands on her lap as she sat down. ‘Now, we have spoken of this many times, my girl. I came for you as I saw that we were fated to be together. That we would help each other take what this world owes us. And I will. But I cannot do it, Falla, if you do not shut your mouth and do as you are told!’ Mother was spitting again, but she didn’t care. The girl was simply going to ruin everything if she carried on this way. ‘I cannot help us, and therefore, I can most certainly not help you, if you place your own needs ahead of mine!’

Falla looked surprised, though she knew she shouldn’t be. She clamped her full lips together, her knees too, turning her head to the flames, a petulant look on her face.

Mother was satisfied. ‘Good girl! Just as it should be. This spell will not work itself. And it will not work at all while you are blabbering behind me.’ She returned to her book, ignoring the rattling of the door and the foul look Falla was directing her way. ‘And if this spell does not work, we will both be in grave trouble with Hakon Vettel. So stop your pouting and pick up that drum. You may find me of great use to you, but I am often left wondering how much use you are to me!’ And spinning around, book in hand, Mother stared at Falla, waiting as she picked up the drum, placing it on her knees. ‘There you go!’ she smiled. ‘Keep that mouth closed now, and let me get ready, for we have a long night ahead of us!’

The storm scared them both.

It was loud, and Magnus pulled Lotta close, neither of them able to sleep in the tiny shelter he had made with branches and an old sheet that was being blown apart by a determined wind. Their ponies were tied to trees nearby, and occasionally, Magnus heard them whinnying. He hoped he had fastened them securely, not wanting to discover them gone come morning.

Lotta shook, jumping as the thunder roared again.

‘Tell me about being a dreamer,’ Magnus whispered in her ear. ‘Tell me how it works.’ He wanted to distract her, and therefore, himself. She had been so quiet since night had fallen. Tired, he’d initially thought as his own fears heightened, but now he realised that she was just as terrified as he was.

Lotta didn’t want to talk. Her ears were busy, picking up the sounds around them, wondering if any of them were threatening. It was hard to hear much with the storm crashing above them, but listening carefully, she could hear branches snapping, leaves rustling. She imagined a bear or an elk running towards them.

Or a boar.

She didn’t want to imagine a boar.

And blinking, Lotta opened her eyes, seeing the darkness almost swishing around her like water. ‘I dream of things, and then they happen. Some of them.’

‘What sort of things? Did you dream of Father dying? Of Mother being taken?’

‘No.’ Lotta turned her head away from her brother, shadows darkening on her left. She wished she could dream now, to see how it would all turn out. She felt scared, wanting her mother, not her brother. Her brother’s heart was beating fast, his fear as loud as her own. She wanted her mother, who was calm, who spoke with certainty, even when everything was blowing around her in terror.

Even on the beach.

Closing her eyes, Lotta saw her mother’s face, urging them to run. ‘I didn’t see those men coming, but I had a bad feeling when I woke up. I felt worried, but I didn’t know why.’

Magnus remembered. ‘You said you didn’t want to go for a walk.’

Lotta nodded, wishing her mother had listened to her. She turned back around, head on Magnus’ chest again. ‘I can see Mama.’

Magnus stilled. ‘Where is she?’

‘I don’t know, but I see her in a new dress, and her hair is brushed and shining. There are no bruises on her face, and she looks happy.’ The words tumbled from Lotta’s lips as she realised that it was a vision she’d had of her mother for some time. ‘She’s with a man who makes her happy. Not Father.’

‘And are we there?’

Lotta paused, thinking. ‘I don’t know. I don’t see us. I don’t know where she is. I don’t know where we are.’

They were lying on the ground, tucked into a copse, off the road, trying to keep out of the wind, the rain, the thunder and lightning. But the storm was only growing more violent, branches snapping around them now.

Magnus jumped as thunder boomed again, his heart almost stopping. ‘I will think of her like that, Lotta,’ he said, closing his eyes, trying to picture their mother. ‘You should too. See if you can find her. When we get to Jonas, we can tell him. He can take us to her. Close your eyes now, Lotta. Find Mother.’

Ludo lingered by the cottage door in his awkward slumpy fashion.

Alys wondered what he was waiting for.

‘I can bring you more lamps,’ Ludo muttered, eyes on the mud floor which was starting to look a little moist from all the rain. ‘It’s dark in here.’ Alys held the bracelet in her hand, staring at it. ‘I’m going to sleep, so I don’t need lamps. Not now.’ She didn’t want his company; she wanted

everyone to leave her alone.

‘I’ll find more for you tomorrow, then. I expect you’d like to be able to read?’ He grabbed the door, feeling the wind rattling it with vigour.

‘Read?’

Ludo nodded, turning around. ‘Salma had a chest of books. She brought it with her.’ He pointed to the chest at the end of the tiny bed. ‘She was always reading or writing, when she wasn’t talking to Reinar.’

‘She wrote the books?’ Alys was curious, heading for the chest, grabbing the solitary lamp from the table, its fishy odour more pleasant than the lingering reek of death.

‘Here,’ Ludo smiled, opening the heavy wooden lid, listening to the creak, remembering how he had oiled the hinges for Salma when she’d first arrived in Ottby. ‘Perhaps there’s something to help you in there? I imagine she wrote about being a dreamer.’

Alys’ eyes were grainy and heavy, but she wanted to take a look. She glanced back at the bed. ‘I’m supposed to dream. To look for your lord’s

wife.’

‘Oh.’ Ludo squirmed, eyes back on the door. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, then? It’s best if you help Reinar, so he finds you useful. He’ll want to keep you here if you’re useful to him.’

Alys followed him to the door. ‘Did you know his wife well? I forget her name.’

‘Elin.’ Ludo’s face glowed above the lamp’s flame, and Alys could see the pain in his eyes. ‘She was lovely, but she suffered so much this past year. So much heartbreak. It… it was hard on her.’

Alys waited, sensing there was more.

‘Reinar thinks she was taken. He insists on it. And now he has you dreaming about it. I hope you find her, Alys, I do, but I think most of us believe that… that she killed herself.’

‘Oh.’ That was both a surprise and not a surprise at all, Alys realised. She’d felt an overwhelming sadness when she held the bracelet. A deep grief. ‘Why?’

‘She lost her sons, twin boys. They were both stillborn. It devastated her. Her and Reinar both. I don’t think he realised how lost she became, though. He had the Vettels to contend with, and a sweating sickness during the summer. Men leaving in droves too.’ Ludo glanced at the door, realising that he needed to go. ‘I don’t want to put ideas in your head. I hope you do find her, I just… thought you should know.’

‘I appreciate it,’ Alys said. ‘I need all the help I can get.’ She felt nervous, knowing how desperate Reinar was to find his wife; worried that she wouldn’t be able to find the answers he needed.

‘Ottby is not what it once was,’ Ludo mumbled, opening the door, a gust of wind sweeping his cloak away from him. ‘And nor are any of us, I’m afraid. I’m sorry for that. Sorry we took you. Sorry you’re here.’ And with that, Ludo turned into the darkness, cloak flapping behind him.

Alys watched him go, grabbing the door just before it slammed against the cottage, hair whipping around her face. She felt odd as she stepped back inside, eyes on the bed that looked so welcoming, trying to ignore the stench of death that was not welcoming at all.

And dropping her head, she saw the glint of the bracelet in her hands, and she sighed.

Sigurd was restless, and Tulia was trying to be sympathetic. He couldn’t lie still. And just as she thought he’d fallen asleep, thunder would boom above the hall like a hammer striking an anvil, and he’d start moving about in the bed, groaning again.

Eventually, Tulia sat up with a sigh. ‘Maybe a cup of wine would help?’ ‘Don’t feel like wine,’ Sigurd murmured, eyes closed.

‘I meant for me!’ And slipping out of bed, ignoring the cold, Tulia grabbed the wine jug, pouring herself a cup. She took it to the fire, sitting on a fur-covered chair, frowning at him. ‘How did you manage to end up with so many stitches, then?’

She sounded cross, Sigurd thought with a smile, trying to get comfortable. Though despite the softness of the wool-stuffed mattress, he realised that it was impossible. He hated lying on his stomach, yet there was no other way to sleep that didn’t hurt. ‘You love me really,’ he grinned, eyeing her in the flames as she sat there, naked, drinking wine, looking like a Kalmeran warrior goddess. So Sigurd was completely surprised when his mind skipped to Alys. He blinked, focusing on Tulia again as she quickly finished the wine and hurried back to bed, wriggling down under the furs, rolling onto her side, her face almost touching his. Her breath smelled like cherries, Sigurd thought, kissing her.

‘Go to sleep, Sigurd Vilander,’ Tulia breathed, kissing him back. ‘Before you tempt me to roll you over.’

He grimaced, his body trapped somewhere between pleasure and pain. ‘I think I’d cry.’

‘I think you would, but perhaps I wouldn’t care?’ ‘I imagine you wouldn’t.’

Tulia smiled. ‘We should leave.’

“Ha! I used to think you were so unpredictable, so exciting because I never knew what you’d say next. And yet, here we are. Every night, it’s the same routine!”

Tulia placed a finger on his lips. “You talk too much and don’t listen at all. If you had, we wouldn’t be stuck here in this trap with your stubborn brother and your insufferable mother, all about to die together.” She lay back on the pillow with a frustrated sigh. The storm raged above them, though even at its fiercest, it sounded calmer than she felt inside. “Amir says we should leave before winter sets in.”

“Amir? Amir should focus on being useful here. If your brother wants to be the great warrior he always talks about, he needs to stop thinking about running away when things get tough.”

“You think a hero must suffer? Go down with the ship? That’s your idea of heroism?” Tulia rolled over, her voice sharpening. “Because that’s exactly what Reinar thinks. He believes he has to stay here until we’re all dead, until he’s shed every last drop of blood for this place.”

“He does. Of course. Stellan held Ottby for nearly twenty years. You think Reinar wants to let him down? To let Ake down and endanger the kingdom? A man with his ambition? A man with Reinar’s destiny ahead of him?”

Tulia snorted, surprised to hear that coming from Sigurd’s mouth.

Though, where his brother was concerned, Sigurd had only the one eye.

Tulia closed both of hers. ‘Sleep will help. Your wounds will heal quicker if you sleep. My mother always said that to me as she forced me into bed.’

‘Had a lot of wounds, did you?’

‘When I was a child, maybe,’ Tulia yawned. ‘But I’m a better warrior now. I can hear an arrow coming for me, so I know when to duck!’

Mother crept around the circle like a thief.

Hunched over, crouching, swaying gently, her bare feet padding across the floorboards, around and around the fire. It blazed like the sun now, golden red and orange, angry and hot, fighting the rain and the wind blowing down the smoke hole.

She heard music in her head, drumming like waves, and she rode them, rising and falling, her heart keeping time.

Falla sat away from the flames, away from the circle. She patted the drum with purpose, the beat throbbing inside her body, the herbs Mother was burning muddling her mind until she felt as though she existed in more than one place. As though her feet were on fire, her head in the clouds.

She stared at the flames, watching the glowing figure dance before her, spinning and spinning her circle until she became a dark blur.

And then Mother stopped, her body completely still.

Breath pumping.

Eyes on the flames. Watching. Waiting.

Bending to squat before the bowl at her feet, Mother picked it up, holding it to her lips, murmuring over it before tipping its bloody contents into her mouth, inhaling the intoxicating, iron-rich liquid.

She didn’t drink it all, and placing the bowl back on the floorboards, she dipped a finger into the potion, painting a symbol before her.

And then another.

And as she finished the third symbol, she picked up the bowl in her left hand, dipping a small hazel switch into it with her right, flicking the potion around the circle, onto the flames. And they danced, higher and higher as Falla looked on, blinking, watching the flames twist and twirl into a symbol.

Watching as Mother closed her eyes and started chanting.