As they approached Byernen, Mira’s mouth fell open in awe. An uncountable swarm of wooden creatures with wide eyes and open, hungry mouths were packed together like a great flock of migrating birds. It was not just Mira who was impressed by the size of the fleet; all of the men were. They scrambled to the ship rails to have a better look, hollering across the water to the other ships, cheering and laughing at their own strength. An electric energy flowed through the air, and wind-muffled shouts came back from across the sea. It would seem no one was prepared for the sight—those on the other ships were just as giddy.

Even Fell, who never seemed impressed with anything or anyone, cursed under his breath.

Flojer bellowed instructions over the joyful shrieking of his crew, pulling everyone’s minds back to their work. He was very particular about where they would pull in and rest his ship and had them row well-past the fleet to the southernmost side of the gaggle and requested a stop much further from the shore than the other ships.

He was the captain, so of course, no one questioned him, but Mira could sense that many on the crew were disappointed by his command. They wanted to get closer, to see in detail the force of the Norsern, to feel the spirit of so much strength in one place. Even Mira wanted to move closer to the herd, to have a chance to look at each of the wooden animals in detail. She saw a ship that looked like a dragon, with painted flames coming from its mouth and wings on its sides. There was a ship that looked like a unicorn-whale, painted white with a fishtail carved into its rear. One ship was painted to look like blood was dripping off of its deck into the sea. And there was a ship that, instead of two eyes like a normal creature, had many, of all different sizes—the shields of its rowing men were bound to the ship’s rails, each also bearing a giant ogling eye.

The crew’s discontent was not lost on Flojer. “I do not want to be stuck waiting for the rest of these clams to get out of our way when it’s time to go. I’d like to be the first to get to where we’re heading.”

A ripple of eager laughter spread among the men.

Mira understood the wisdom of his choice only after he’d explained it. The ships closest to the shore would not be able to leave until the ones furthest away had moved—they were too tightly packed.

Flojer also told the crew not to take wine. He ordered those rowing to stay seated at their benches, awaiting instructions—Arik’s direction could come at any moment, and he wanted his ship ready. He picked a few to go to shore, Rowan and Fyrrah among them. He gave coin to Fyrrah so she could purchase fruits and herbs for the voyage to come, as well as barrels of fresh water and pickled foods that would keep for moons. He wanted to replace everything that had been used since they left Aalt.

“I don’t want to be stopping later if we don’t need to be.”

He chose Fyrrah because she knew about healing herbs and spices, and he’d begun teaching her about medicine aboard a ship. He asked that they be quick about it, as again, he did not want to wait for the other ships and the inevitable rush to the shops that would come when everyone was told where they were going.

“And you,” he turned to Mira. “Arik would like to speak with you on land.”

Fell looked to the captain, and the man smirked, “You may go as well.”

Then, Flojer leaned in close and whispered to them. “Between you and me, I do not know how the boy will fare on other ships. If you leave Halvar with us while you land, Arik will have to let you come back to The Fearsome Beast.”

Fell stared into the captain’s eyes for many moments before nodding. And so, they left Halvar on board.

It was the captain’s son, Yarlav, who was assigned to row everyone to shore. And though everyone was chatting among themselves, Mira couldn’t listen. She was nervous about speaking to Arik as their last conversation had not gone well. She hoped that—like a fortnight at sea had soothed her—Arik’s time on the water had calmed him. She brought her harp, thinking that the king might like to hear her play something. Her fingers ran along the smooth, shiny wood of the frame absentmindedly as the little boat slogged towards the beach.

The dull throbbing sound of countless crews in the distance mingled with the squeaking of the oar rings and the strained groaning of the wood beneath them to create a ghostly rhythm. It was interrupted by the glug-whoosh of waves and the crooning of gulls circling overhead—an eerie pulse.

Ahead, the smooth white stretches of sand were reflecting the brilliant glare of the sun—Mira had to squint to bear the sight. Faded, sun-bleached trees lined the beach, their foliage picked away by seabirds long ago. Arik’s leathery tent stood out against the pale grey, teal, and cream of sea-smoothed pebbles. Something else about the sight felt wrong, but it took Mira a few moments to place it. Despite the number of ships in the sea, the beach was almost empty. Perhaps the other captains had the same idea as Flojer? Maybe they were just as hungry for the raids to come?

The land felt strange beneath Mira’s feet. Her legs acted as if the ground beneath her was moving like the sea, but since it wasn’t, she stumbled and struggled to set her direction. She laughed at herself. Surely one doesn’t forget how to walk in only a fortnight? It seemed like Mira had.

The few crew members who had come to shore snickered at her struggles, but Yarlav cut the joke short. “Kaker said be quick.”

Mira gave the boy a small smile to show her gratitude. She was too nervous to laugh along as they made fun of her.

It seemed like the captain’s son could sense this because he said, “I will be waiting right here to take you back when you are done.”

Mira found enough of her balance to move towards Arik’s tent. The bronze-haired man was outside, and he said that Arik had stepped away briefly. “You can take a seat inside and wait for him. I do not think he will be long.”

Fell sat on a nearby rock, and Mira stepped into the tent alone. She was relieved by the idea of having a few moments before Arik arrived so her legs and nerves could settle. She didn’t get them. Immediately, Arik entered with two Norser, and she felt she was required to curtsy. Mira tried her best to make the motion graceful but failed, as her legs were still not right.

“My lady, you may sit.” Arik smiled, his boisterous voice filling the tent. “How was the voyage?”

Mira’s stress lifted. The king seemed in fine spirits. “Pleasant, your Grace.”

“How fares little Halvar?”

“Very well, your Grace. He loved the ship so much that I left him aboard for our visit.”

The king smiled once again, but his eyes betrayed his disappointment—he wished the boy had come to shore. “That does not surprise me. He came from the storm.”

It was quiet for a moment, and Mira could see the king’s mind working. He was reading her and choosing his words with care, a gentle smirk on his face. He is impressed with me, she realized. He did not think I was very clever. Though truly, it had been Flojer who was the clever one.

He looked to the Norser who accompanied him. “I will speak with her alone.”

One of the men left instantly, but the other lingered a moment, his eyes locked with the king’s. He gave the faintest nod, and then he was gone. This behaviour left a snake slithering in Mira’s stomach. It was a small gesture, but it felt… unnatural. She was certain the man was about to do something for the king, something secret that he could not speak of aloud.

Mira opened her mouth to give the speech she’d prepared, but Arik was quicker to his words.

“I have been thinking about the things you said when you cast my stones,” Arik began. “And I am left with many questions. I will decide which course to take this day, and it is important that I know who is to betray me before I do.”

Mira shifted in her seat. “Your Grace, I did not say betray… I said disappoint—”

“To a king, these are the same thing.”

The snake in Mira’s stomach doubled in size and thrashed about wildly.

“You said I would not expect it. This is the part that confuses me, as always, with everyone, I am expecting it.”

“I—I was likely mistaken, you Grace. I do not believe the stones can spell truth—”

“But then, it occurred to me,” Arik interrupted. “Women and children cannot become king, and so often, I do not watch them in the way I watch other men.”

Mira’s heart stopped as the king’s eyes fixed on her. She knew he was waiting for her reaction, studying each of her motions with care.

“This alone is nothing I have not faced before, and I believe I am capable of handling the disloyalty of a woman or a child in the same way I handle the disloyalty of a man. If it came to that, I believe I could do it. But it presents a bigger problem, as in all my plans, there is one woman who would prove most useful.”

Mira waited, but he didn’t confirm or deny her worries.

“I am hoping it is not the useful woman that betrays me.”

Mira felt hot tears behind her eyes., certain the king spoke of her and Halvar. She became determined not to cry or blink away the water because she worried Arik would consider tears an admission of guilt.

“I was hoping you could cast my stones once more before I make my final decisions, as you and Jorn have given me very different readings.”

Mira nodded meekly, wishing with all her heart that she’d listened to her mother better. That she’d never spoken out of turn.

The king tossed a small pouch to her, and she caught it against her chest. The sack felt wrong—and wet. Not with water, but something thick and sticky. Her fingers trembled as they struggled to open the drawstrings. When she peeked inside, she saw Jorn’s blue and white stones—slick with blood.

She worried she would be sick, and her second mind whispered, Steady yourself. Put the feeling away. She let her fingers weave into the sack, grasping a handful of cold, wet stones.

“What is it you wish to know?” She looked up at the king, trying to seem as helpful and innocent as she could.

“I have several questions, but let us start with an easy one. Will House Arcliff stand down if I arrive on the Isle with you at my side?”

Mira did not need to cast stones to answer his question. “I believe they will.”

“Ask the stones.”

Mira tossed the bloody pebbles onto the table. Not one stone lay with its engraving facing up. There was nothing that could be read. “They give no answer.”

“Another then. Will House Terrowin lay down their arms should I come to the Isle with you at my side?”

Mira genuinely didn’t know. Loric had promised to defend her, to give his life for her. But she’d accepted his offer, which meant she promised to be with no other. Her promise was long broken.

She gathered up the stones with shaky hands, leaving tiny red splotches on the table cloth. She cast again and looked down. We wanted to warn you—that’s what the stones said to Mira, but this is not what she told Arik.

She weaved her words like a basket, carefully choosing each and every sound that came out of her mouth. “It is possible,” she said. “If you present me in the correct way. The words you choose when you speak to Loric will determine—”

Again he interrupted her. “Fine. Another. If I use you in my plans, will Halvar one day rise against me?”

Mira’s heart quickened as her fears were confirmed. Arik suspected Halvar of being the one to disappoint him. Whatever was written on the stones, she knew what she was to say.

Before she could gather them into her hand once more, a great clamour was heard outside. Mira jumped up, startled, and turned to face the entrance of the tent.

There were shouts and steel and a deep, animalistic noise. She knew the voice that made the noise, and her heart stopped.

The world grew slow, like in a dream. Blood rushed into her ears, drowning out all the noise in the world except for the thudding of her heart.

Thump.

Silence.

Thump.

Silence.

She turned her head in time to see Arik draw his sword. She saw each detail, each increment of the whole movement. She turned back as a man burst into the tent. Fell.

His face was splattered with blood, his eyes burning with rage. He did not look at her for even a moment—his gaze was fixed on Arik. Fell shouted, but Mira could not decipher the slowed movements of his mouth into words.

A hand grasped her arm.

She turned.

Yarlav.

The captain’s son?

Yarlav pulled her away and out into the sun. The light was bright, and Mira fell to the ground, slowly, her heart beating four times before she hit the earth. She felt each rock scrape her skin as she slid, but there was no pain. Yarlav’s hand pulled her up by the shoulder, and it took time for her to know that they were running, that they were making their way to the sea.

Mira shouted, No! but her voice did not come—or maybe it did, only her ears could not hear it?

Yarlav’s mouth moved, and she knew he was yelling at her. She pulled with all her might against the boy’s grip, managing to break free of him for a moment. She could not leave without Fell. She would tell Arik that she would do whatever he wanted her to; everything could still be fixed….

She managed only two steps back towards the king’s tent before the captain’s son took hold of her again. She kicked him and bit him, hard enough to break the skin and taste blood, but Yarlav did not let go. She could slow his movements but not stop them entirely—with each moment that passed, he dragged her closer to the shore and the little boat that was waiting for them.

“I cannot leave him!” she screamed.

When the captain’s son did not listen to her shouts, she begged. “Please, I must go back for him.”

He threw her into the boat. It would have been the perfect moment for her to scramble out of his reach, as he was working on the knots that kept the boat tethered to the dock, but as Mira fell, she saw things that stopped all thought.

Rowan was lying on the ground.

His face was almost gone, but she knew him by the stains on his hands.

Fyrrah. Parts of her stomach were outside her body. She still looked beautiful, even while dead.

Yarlav’s sailor hands had finished untying the boat. He pushed against it, and it moved sluggishly in the sand. Mira clamoured to get out before it was too late. But then she saw him.

Fell.

He was behind them and coming their way, running with more men behind him. When he caught up, Fell slammed into Yarlav, pushing the boy into the boat. The captain’s son knocked into Mira, and her head slammed into the boat’s edge, rattling the world but somehow also turning the sound of it all back on.

Mira sat, her heart pumping. The world was so loud it hurt. Fell was pushing them out, knee-deep in the sea.

“ROW!” he screamed, and Yarlav obeyed.

Fell’s eyes met hers for a moment before he turned to the man on his heels and cut him down. A second man. A third. And then there were many. Yarlav rowed her back to sea with all his might as she watched. A man charged into the center of Fell’s chest, knocking him backwards into the water. There were too many men and too much sea to make out what was happening, but Mira’s heart knew that what she wasn’t seeing was terrible.

The tumble of men settled, and Fell did not resurface. She could see Arik approaching from his tent in the distance, shouting. Fell had not fought him then.

Mira’s mind was blank. Nothingness. Her mouth moved as if she made noise, but no sound came out. Her thoughts only caught up from the slow and fast dream when Yarlav threw her to the deck of The Fearsome Beast. He must have carried her up the ladder himself.

The men on board were shouting, pulling ropes, and rowing—the drum beating fervently in the background. She turned to Yarlav and slapped him as hard as she could. It did not satisfy her, and she slapped him again, the hollow scream of an animal coming from deep within her chest. The boy was breathless, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly, a feverish rage in his stony blue eyes. Mira thought for a moment he would strike her back. Instead, Yarlav was distracted by something on the deck, and he dropped to his knees in tears.

There were five, no six bodies.

Freyt, the man who nodded at Arik, and two others she did not recognize who must have come aboard while she was on the shore. Two crew members. And Flojer. This is why Yarlav cried.

The captain moved. He is alive, Mira realized, taking a step back in shock.

The first sensical noise she could make finally came. “Halvar?”

“Fine. The boy is fine.” Flojer’s voice was hollow and scratchy. Blood gurgled in his mouth as he spoke and dripped out of the corners of his lips.

Mira knelt beside him as Yarlav lifted his head and then his chest so the man could sit. “I will not be for long. Quick.” Flojer pointed to the knife on her hip, the one Rowan had given her. Mira cursed herself. She’d forgotten she had it. She should have used it—

Flojer pointed to a place on his chest. “Here. Hyrold has told me.”

“No.” Mira shook her head, her delayed tears coming out in force.

“Before anyone else gets the idea,” Flojer said. Despite the pain he must have been feeling, the captain smiled.

Mira’s hands shook as he moved them for her, grasping the blade and sliding it from her belt. Flojer pulled Yarlav’s head close to his, whispering to the boy. Yarlav nodded, setting his forehead against his father’s as the captain took Mira’s hand in his and set her blade against his chest.

“I will no,” she cried. “I cannot.”

“You must. Your work now is to get Halvar—and my crew—to safety. Hyrold needs them.” Flojer’s eyes met hers, and he gave his little, reassuring nod that always reminded her of her father. You are doing well. He didn’t seem bothered by what he was asking of her.

She closed her eyes. Hyrold help me. Let me go back. I do not want any of this. When Mira opened her eyes, the blade was buried inside the skin, and Flojer was dead, though she couldn’t be sure if it was her who pushed the steel in or the captain.

Yarlav set his face firm and forced his voice deep. “Kaken?”

The boy stared at her, awaiting a response, but Mira hadn’t heard this word before and was confused.

Aslak pulled her up onto her feet—a little too roughly—and pointed to the countless ships moving towards them. “Do we fight or flee?”

Another on the crew laughed. “She is lost in the blood. Her mind is gone.”

Yarlav set his hands on her shoulders and turned her face to his. The boy’s eyes offered the same warm reassurance his father’s had. “Flee?” he offered.

Mira nodded. She did not want the king to reach Halvar.

Yarlav’s voice carried up and over all the other sounds. “Kaken says flee.”

Kaken?

She was captain of The Fearsome Beast.