Garmr picked himself off the floor, his expression one of shock and confusion. Skadi resisted the urge to feel sympathy; this was the way of warriors.

“We must talk, you and I,” said Kvedulf. “But first you must have time to clean yourself and dress as is fitting for a jarl’s daughter. Unless you wish to remain clad in filthy slave clothing to prove your toughness?”

Skadi inclined her head. “A hot bath would be welcome. Perhaps the same can be arranged for my crew? This is Damian of Nearós Ílios, who wintered at Kalbaek as a guest of my father’s, and Kofri, once known as the Bonebreaker, who served me well in our passage north.”

Both men stepped forward.

“They shall be taken care of,” said Kvedulf. “But a warning, priest: I want none of your preaching here. Seek to convert but a child and I’ll have you cast into the White Sea. Am I clear?”

Damian paled. “Yes, my lord.”

Skadi could sense her uncle’s patience wearing thin but pressed on. “I’ve companions down by my ship guarding our goods.”

“They will be tended to, your goods protected. Now go. Present yourself when you’re clean.”

Kofri fairly shivered with pride, and his expression was one of devotion when he met Skadi’s gaze. Damian was much more subdued, but both followed a housecarl down to the docks, leaving Skadi to be led to another building by a slip of a girl, hair so pale it was near white, her ivory skin freckled, her eyes as startling blue as the depths of a glacier.

“Are you truly my foster father’s niece?” asked the girl as soon as they stepped back out into the chill.

“I am,” smiled Skadi. “Your name?”

“Sif Einarrsdottir. I’ve been here a whole year now, ever since my father agreed to make peace by sending me to live here.”

A hostage, then, her life keeping this Einarr in check for as long as he cared for his daughter.

“Where is your father?”

“Hake, just south along the coast. He’s a mighty jarl.”

“Then that makes you and I sisters; my father is also a mighty jarl.”

Sif smiled and led her into a large building, luxuriously appointed. A central firepit warmed the air and muffled it with smoke, and several women were busy weaving, a few at looms, others working at a tablet pattern at a table.

All ceased their work to gaze with curiosity at Skadi, who suddenly felt a half-drowned rat in their presence.

“This here’s Jarl Kvedulf’s niece,” said Sif brightly. “Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir. She’s to be washed and given clothing fitting to her station.”

“Welcome, Skadi,” said a tall, fine boned woman whose black hair was streaked with gray. Her tone was warm, but Skadi felt wary at the piercing intelligence in her gaze. “I am Rannveyg, Kvedulf’s wife. Sif, heat water for Skadi. Skirlaug, she looks your size, fetch clean clothing for her.”

Rannveyg saw to it that she was washed, scrubbed, and clothed in fine, warm wool. Skadi didn’t mind that the clothing was tight about the shoulders and short at the shins; it had a fine pattern along the hems, and Skirlaug, a young woman of about her age with golden hair and twinkling green eyes, leant her a handsome belt with a silver buckle.

“That’s a fearsome seax,” said Rannveyg. “You are quite safe in Kráka. Must you wear it?”

“I must,” said Skadi, and decided not to elaborate further.

“Then so be it. There. You look a jarl’s daughter in truth. I hope you will rejoin us once Kvedulf is done with you. We hunger for news, and promise to interrogate you quite gently when you return.”

Skadi smiled. “If Uncle wills it.”

“Wise. Well then. Sif?”

The girl bowed her head and stepped forward. “This way, Skadi.”

Back they crossed through the frigid air, the wind blowing skeins of snow before it, across the frozen ruts of the dirt road to enter the great hall once more.

More men had sat at the tables, and the skald was playing an endless and merry tune upon his lyre. Servants hurried to and fro, refilling horns, and the laughter was boisterous and crude, with Galarr and Garmr the obvious targets of the jests.

The crowd hushed as Skadi walked down the center of the hall by the fire pit to where her uncle sat, Marbjörn standing by his side along with the massive old man with the white bear fur wrapped around his mountainous shoulders.

Skadi paused at the base of the dais and inclined her head. “Uncle.”

“Now that’s more fitting. Approach, Niece.”

Conversation resumed, more wary now, as Skadi stepped up before her uncle’s high chair.

“You’ve met Marbjörn,” said Kvedulf. “This is Hwideberg. Both are my trusted men. If ever you come to grief, speak to them as you would to me. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Then sit.”

The two large housecarls stepped away, and a servant brought Skadi a horn of white mead.

“You have proven yourself a shieldmaiden,” said her uncle. “You freed yourself from slavers and made your way to Kráka. I would hear more of this tale.”

“Then I will tell it.” Skadi took a sip of the white mead and found it dangerously smooth. Not fancying herself a skald, she recounted her adventures in plain language, choosing at the last second not to mention Freyja or the threads of wyrd that she could see.

There would be time to reveal such secrets later if she so desired.

But her uncle was not deceived.

“You are marked by fate,” he said, leaning back in his throne, gazing out over his hall. The music had risen in volume and now both tables were crowded with warriors, their laughter and ribald jests louder as they drank ever more ale. “This is clear. I know the signs, and it would take a fool to not understand the salmon’s leap or the raven’s flight today as such. The gods have marked you, Skadi, which makes you doubly interesting.”

Again she sharpened her gaze, and again had to fight the urge to narrow her eyes against the glorious blaze of threads that burst from his chest.

“As are you, Uncle. Your wyrd is a powerful one.”

He studied her. “You have seen this? Been vouchsafed a vision?”

“No, but it is obvious. You rule in Kráka, on the Draugr Coast, and resist the power of King Harald. It takes true strength to accomplish this for years on end.”

“Hmmph.” He shifted his weight. “You speak true. There is much I yet wish to accomplish in this middle realm before Odin calls me to his great hall. But we can speak of my ambitions another time. Tonight we speak of you. For one, you must confer with Ásfríðr, my völva. Her temple is high in the mountains above Kráka. It is no easy climb, but that is by design. Only those who are truly motivated dare disturb her.”

Skadi shivered. “A völva? Yes. I wish to speak with her. To learn more about what has happened to me.”

“What has happened to you is easy to discern. You have drawn the eye of a god, just as I labor under Odin’s blessing. But if this is to be a blessing and not a curse, you must seek guidance, how to wield your wyrd and not be wielded by it.”

“Yes,” said Skadi. “I would like that.”

“Depending on how that meeting goes, we shall need to find a place for you here in Kráka.” Kvedulf grinned sourly. “And for your crew. I have heard you sailed into my harbor with a half-giant and slop-troll. Explain this to me.”

“They are my friends,” she said defiantly. “They both saved my life many times over during our journey here. That and they are of Kalbaek.”

“Bold words.” Kvedulf’s sneer turned into a smile. “A shieldmaiden in truth. My brother raised you well, I see. But prepare yourself for a long line of challengers. Your friends will be besieged.”

“One or two examples will set the tone.” As long as they weren’t wielders of fates greater than her own.

“We shall see. Your ship. I shall take it from you as payment for housing your crew. Half your treasure shall remain under your possession, but I shall claim the other half as jarl. The food shall be brought to my hall and eaten here, for there is too much for your people to eat alone.”

Skadi inhaled deeply as she stared at her uncle. This was robbery, but his gaze allowed for no quarter. Would he have offered similar terms to her father? Of course not. But for all that she’d beaten Garmr in a duel, she was still only eighteen years old and with no ability to prevent her uncle from taking what he wished.

In that light, he was being generous by leaving her with half the treasure.

“Very well, Uncle.” She inclined her head. “I accept your hospitality.”

“Good. I shall have quarters cleared for your crew. You, however, shall sleep with my wife, Rannveyg, and keep her company.” He raised a hand to cut off her interjection. “Not that I expect you to spend your time weaving and managing my hall. What is it, after all, that you desire?”

“To find my father,” she said immediately. “To free my mother and avenge my brother.”

“Of course. And how do you envision doing so?”

“Lend me the ship I sailed in on, and a crew to sail it. I’ll scour the Archean and Isernian coasts for my father’s ships.”

Kvedulf snorted. “No. That is a fool’s errand. You could search the White Sea and Anvil for years and never find him. In time he will learn that you are here and send word.”

Skadi fought down her impatience. “Then a ship to raid Mávri Aktí and free my mother.”

“Another idiotic notion. It would take dozens ships to scale that city’s walls and defeat its standing army. No, more. Mávri Aktí is the Archean Empire’s staging city for attacks against King Harald. At any time its harbor will be filled with warships and its streets with warriors. It cannot be taken by anything less than an army.”

Skadi dug her nails into her palm. “Then a ship to hunt down my brother’s killer. Patroclus. He is a kentarch of the Archean Empire.”

“And where is he now, this kentarch?”

“He was at Kalbaek ten days ago. I will find his trail and follow it.”

“How? Asking politely at Búðir? Sailing around Skrímslaeyja and putting in at each enemy port?”

Skadi fought down her helpless rage. “I must do something.”

“Of course. Vengeance demands nothing less. But I’ll not throw men and a good ship away on foolish quests. That, and you are not ready.”

Skadi’s chin lifted. “I beat your man with only my fists. The gods have blessed me.”

“Do you think for a moment that you could stand against me in a fight?”

She didn’t need to glimpse his endless threads to know the answer.

“Or Marbjörn? Hwideberg? That you could stand against more than a handful of men before you were gutted like a pig? Your wyrd is strong, but I doubt you know how to wield an axe, how to stand in a shield wall, how to fight with a bright burning blade. If you lean on your wyrd too hard, Skadi, it will fail you.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Finally she shows wisdom.” Kvedulf’s eyes glittered. “Speak with Ásfríðr. Learn more about your destiny, and then come to me to learn how to earn it. Did Styrbjörn teach you weapon play?”

Skadi shook her head.

“I shall. Your wyrd will serve you better when you can defend yourself. For the gods will tire of sending ravens to distract your foes, and the hour will come when you must earn your fate with the edge of a blade. So I tell you this, Niece: grow strong. Learn to fight. Learn the nature of your wyrd. Perhaps your father shall send word while you do. But if not, when the time comes for you to sally forth, you shall be ready to hunt down this Patroclus, to find your mother, and to avenge your brother. As of now, you are a blessed she-pup. You must become a she-wolf in truth if you are to change this world.”

Skadi was held in place by the fierce glittering of his eyes until at last she was able to nod.

“Yes, Uncle,” she said. “I will grow strong.”

“I know you will. You are my blood. But remember this moment, for the hour will come when you bitterly regret the path you have chosen to walk. Strength and skill is earned by blood and sweat. Only those who do not give up grow to become heroes out of legend. Those who quit are forgotten, their dreams worth less than pig shit.”

Skadi felt her heart stir, her determination. “I’ll not quit.”

“So says everybody before their trials begin. Now, finish your horn, then fetch yourself a proper winter cloak. The climb to the völva’s cabin is hard and treacherous.”

Skadi turned back to the shadowed hall, lit by fire pit and torches, the men who lined the tables, the war hounds.

She had come to the right place.

Here she would find her true strength.

Here she would learn to wield her wyrd.

Here she would become a she-wolf in truth.