Prologue
Sweat matted her blonde hair to her forehead. She leaned wearily against the shoulder of her attendant as the other tenderly wiped her brow. The woman was breathing with heavy effort. Another pain overwhelmed her, and she screamed as she tightened her grip on her maid's hand.
"There now, Majesty, it shan't be long now," said Eir as she pinned the queen's birthing gown at her waist. "I can see the head."
The queen was making a valiant effort to remain on her feet, exhausted though she was. She pushed with what energy she still had, sobbing as the worst of the pain finally subsided. There was a sharp slap, and the cries of a newborn babe flooded the birthing chamber. She cried in relief, nearly collapsing.
"Not yet, Majesty, hang in there." The queen wailed pitifully until another pain seized her, though nothing too severe, and the afterbirth was expelled. Her attendants bathed their queen with soap and water, changed her into a clean shift, and laid her abed. Eir gave her a balm for the pain, and then handed the baby to its mother.
"'Tis a girl, Majesty," said Fulla, one of the attendants, "with ten perfect little fingers and ten perfect little toes."
"She has the look of her father," said the queen, kissing the baby on the forehead. "I shall name her Sarah." And with that, she took the babe upon her breast.
"Majesty," said Hlín a few minutes later, "you must rest. Asgaard needs you to have your strength."
Reluctantly, the queen gave up her new daughter to her attendants, and shifted into a better position for sleep, her eyes growing heavy as she gave herself up to the exhaustion.
"Prepare the babe," said Eir. "I am away to inform His Majesty."
The halls of Fólkvangr were eerily silent despite the storm that raged outside. The torches in their sconces flickered, casting lazy shadows across the walls and flagstones. The air was oppressive with summer heat and even the rain hitting the window panes that stretched from floor to vaulted ceiling did not bring cooling winds.
The King of Asgaard sat at throne, tapping the leather of his boot in an absent-minded rhythm. He was broad-shouldered and tall, and he was handsome in his frock coat and breeches of green and gold. His hair was dark and plaited down his back. Two leather strips tied his beard into two tails that hung from his chin. His pale eye was trained on the floor, his mien serious and intimidating and not lost behind the patch over his left eye. His entourage of attendants hovered about him. Each waited on bated breath, prickling with wary anticipation.
In the distance, there was the sound of a door slamming. A few moments later, hurried footsteps echoed throughout the Great Hall. The king looked up as his wife's physician stopped abruptly in front of him. She lowered her eyes and dropped into a low curtsy.
"Your Majesty."
"What news?"
"You have a daughter, my king." The only change in his expression was the slight widening of his right eye. He turned to pace on the dais, taking only a few steps before turning back to the lady.
"Eir, you know what must be done." She curtsied again.
"Aye, your Majesty." She backed away from the throne, careful not to turn her back until she reached the door to the Great Hall.
"I shall retire to my chambers," he said at last. "We leave at dawn."
With that, he swept out of the room, leaving through the servants' door behind the thrown.