Have I spent the last 72 hours binge-watching Naruto Shippuden in my pajamas and eating nothing but microwaveable enchiladas? That's none of your business.

My grandma is going to kill me. My grandma is going to come back from beyond the grave and kill me for being a part of this pagan nightmare.

I look up at the woman sitting atop the throne and contemplate how realistic it would be for me to turn around, leave this building, walk into the ocean, and drown.

Is that the key to getting back to life as normal? Does this place work on video game logic? If I die here, will I wake up back in my old life?

Jane gives me a small shove toward the platform, but I'm so lost in thought I can't hear what she's saying. I decide it's completely unrealistic to try and escape this room and even more unrealistic to try and drown because I'm never going to be left alone ever again. It was a blessing to only have to deal with Liv and Erik following me around, but now I'm crammed in a room of who knows how many women who don't look like they're going anywhere anytime soon.

Maybe I'm already dead and this is my version of Hell?

"What are you doing?" Jane hisses. "It's so hot in here. Hurry this up. I want to leave."

I start climbing the steps towards the woman. She's clothed in an enormous flowing cape made of brown feathers. A strip of light leather is wrapped around her forehead like a headband, the lower half cut into thin strips hanging over her eyes so she can see me but I cannot see her. As I get closer, something feels off. Her proportions make no sense. Although her height matches that of an average adult, her arms are too short and her head is too small. It isn't until she speaks that I realize she looks so odd because she's a small child.

The little girl opens her mouth and the tiniest, sweetest voice I've ever heard comes out. "How are you feeling, Lady Cora?"

Existential. "Good," I answer. "How are you feeling?"

"My shoulders are a little sore from holding up the community in your stead." She leans forward conspiratorially and whispers, "My dad said to say that."

"That ruins the joke, Aiko." Miles walks up behind me and stands next to her chair. "You going to tell her you're sitting on a stack of books, too?"

"I'm sitting on a stack of books, too," she says, smiling.

Todd appears, scampering up the steps and leaping into Aiko's lap, sending the girl into a fit of giggles as he licks her face. So far, the only thing that makes any sense to me is the fact that Todd would be friends with the island seer.

"Can I take this off now, dad? It's itchy." Aiko is suddenly lost in heaps upon heaps of brown feathers as she slips down over the edge of the throne and pops up at my feet, freed from the massive cloak. "You can have it back now, Lady Cora."

I'm honestly too confused to think of something to say, so I pull the cloak off the throne, move the books Aiko was sitting on, and take a seat.

Without warning, Aiko is climbing up onto my lap, and it takes all my willpower not to ask her to please get off. She finally settles her tiny form and then turns her head to look at me. Only, she's not looking at me. At this distance I can see her eyes peaking through the leather fringe. She's looking in my general direction, but her eyes are unfocused.

"How old are you?"

"Aiko," Miles scolds, but he doesn't sound even slightly angry. "You don't ask people that."

"I'm six." She raises the appropriate amount of fingers. "I want to see you, please."

"Okay," I say because what else am I supposed to say.

I've heard stories of the blind touching people's faces as a way of constructing a mental image of what they look like. She begins with my chin first and works her way upward, her little fingers tracing the length of my nose and curve of my cheeks. "You're really pretty for an old lady."

I try to offer a friendly smile, realize I'm a dumbass because she can't see me, and say, "Thank you."

When she's finished, she smiles and takes my hand, her eyes shifting around randomly.

"Anything?" Miles asks.

"No," Aiko replies and lets go of my hand. "Not right now." She brightens at a sudden thought and starts bouncing slightly in my lap. "Is Ben here? I hope he brought me more chocolate."

I wonder what my life would have been like if my dad had ever smiled at me with a fraction of the affection Miles smiles at Aiko. "Let's go check, little bug," he tells her. "We'll let you get settled in, Cora."

Let me get settled into what? Am I supposed to be doing something?

Miles scoops Aiko up and balances her on his hip as he carries her down the stairs and hands her to Liv. I can still hear her chanting "chocolate, chocolate, chocolate!" as they maneuver their way through the crowd and out the hall.

As if a hive-mind, every woman and child in the room dips down at the exact same time into a crouch, and leans forward onto their knees. Those without babies lean forward into a bow. Those holding small children lower their heads instead.

"May I be frank?" Todd asks with a flick of his red tail. I didn't realize he was still here. "Your return to this island is the most interesting thing to happen since the day I was born. And do you want to know what else I think?"

I look down at him, happy to avert my eyes from the large crowd of women. "I'm sure you're about to tell me anyway."

Todd looks up, and I don't like what I see in his mischievous eyes. "I think you're in for a world of trouble." And with that he hurries away after Aiko.

I haven't decided yet, but I think I might be able to survive in this role. All I have to do is what I always do when things reach a point of absolute overload—shut off my brain and substitute thoughts and anxiety with whatever random song comes to mind.

Currently, I'm listening to Believe by Cher.

If I'm supposed to be doing something, nobody informed me. I just sit atop the throne and space out. Time passes quickly in this state, which is both a blessing and a curse because now I'm hungry and my growling stomach snaps me out of my musical trance and brings back the anxiety. In order to eat, I have to talk to someone. But I don't want to talk to these women because Jane, Liv, Miles, and Aiko have left the Temple long ago and I'm not sure any of the remaining women speak English.

Thankfully, Jane returns at some point and starts yelling at me from the base of the stairs. "You're allowed to leave, you know? Hurry up and come down here. Your whack-ass followers are trying to convince me to wear a bunch of ceremonial crap for the engagement party."

Engagement party? "Who's getting married?"

Jane cups a hand to her ear. "What?"

I stand up and walk down the stairs, trying my best to ignore the eyes of the crowd who have done nothing for the past few hours except stare silently at me. Jane is so much taller than Ben, I have to tilt my head back to look up at her face. "Do you know who is getting married?"

Jane shrugs, already headed towards the hallway exit.

I whisper, "Do you know if any of these women speak English?"

"You didn't ask them yourself?"

I didn't ask because I thought it would be rude. "I've been sitting up there this whole time."

Jane turns to a random woman and asks her something. The women nods and answers "yes" in English. Jane sighs and glares down at me with contempt. "You really need to pull your head out of your ass," she sneers, "or we're all royally screwed."

An elderly woman named Gail leads me to an even larger longhouse than the Hall of Freyja. I assume this is where everyone eats because it's filled with banquet tables and benches. Near the back of the hall are two doors hidden in the wall, leading into a secret fully furnished bedroom. For a moment I stare in confusion at all the fur on the bed and the floor and the walls. Then I remember what Ben said before Margo's funeral. These all belonged to animals that died of natural causes.

I still haven't decided how all of this makes me feel.

"I hope you've settled in nicely so far?" Gail asks. "I had all of your clothes sent here as soon as word reached me you'd arrived. They've been recently washed. Should smell like lavender," she tells me excitedly.

The part of me that my mother raised—the part that struggles to tell an elder what to do—takes over, and I end up standing awkwardly near the bed while the woman chatters nonstop. I want her to leave, but she pulls different colored gowns from a wardrobe and starts laying them beside me on the bed for a vote.

"I'm so sorry, but do I know you?" I ask wearily.

The old woman looks stunned for a moment. "Oh, you wouldn't remember me." She laughs. "Unlike you, I grew old."

"I already know your name is Gail, but. . ." I hold out an unsteady hand for her to shake. "It's nice to officially meet you."

She doesn't immediately take it. "So it's true?" she asks sadly. "You have no memory of your past life?"

"Yeah." I retract my hand. "Sorry."

"Well, that's . . ." She sighs heavily and turns to sift through more gowns. "That is most unfortunate. I suppose I should have realized something was amiss when you didn't recognize my name. Oh, you can start undressing, dear. I'm almost done."

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, and I end up gaping at her in a mixture of horror and confusion.

"I used to be your lady in waiting," Gail explains. "I was responsible for bathing you, dressing you, fixing your hair and makeup for parties, and suiting you up for battle. There is literally nothing you have that I haven't seen a dozen times before." She smiles and turns back to the wardrobe. "If there is, I'll be sure to throw a rock at it."

I itch at my arm for no reason other than to do something. "Sorry, it's just . . ." I don't know you.

But Gail isn't even listening to me. She continues to pull out dresses, judge them accordingly, and either put them back or place them on the bed, humming as she does it. She is every adorable grandmother stereotype imaginable all molded into one. I feel almost as stupid as I do awkward. After all, she's an old woman. Even if she hadn't been my lady in waiting once upon a time, there still isn't anything I have that she doesn't.

But I detest the sensation of being naked. You're ultimately vulnerable to everything, and I have absolutely no interest in looking at my body and even less interest in letting someone else see it, even if that someone else is an old woman who has apparently already seen me naked countless times.

"You don't have to do that," I tell her, my face already warming with embarrassment. "I'll just wear what I came here in. It's fine."

"Normally I wouldn't begrudge you," she says. I watch her eyes trail from my feet to my head, and I feel even worse about myself. "But not tonight. It would be an insult to the happy couple to show up in anything less than your best."

Wedding party. Right. "Who's the happy couple?"

"Bjorn and Poppy." Gail answers with a cheerful smile. "It was a long time coming. Those two have been head over heels since they were children." She lays one last dress down and nods at the pile. "Well, these are the ones I recommend. You have quite the selection. Just let me know which ones you'd like to try on first."

"Thank you." I pick up a long dress and immediately put it aside in the "no" pile. It's deep red with black detailing and has the lowest, most dramatic cut I've ever seen in my life down the front center. This slit would probably reach my bellybutton. How are my boobs even supposed to stay covered in this? Unless, that doesn't matter? I mean, there's literally a topless statue of me in the longhouse next-door.

I huff a sigh and keep looking.

Eventually, I settle on a gown that offers the most coverage, which still isn't saying all that much. The dress itself is white, but it's speckled with colorful fabric flowers of various sizes across the bodice. Instead of sleeves, a chain of fabric flowers hang down across each bicep. It's beautiful, but my worry is of being grossly overdressed. I want to wear a dress that matches the more plain ones I've seen on the other women here.

Gail will have none of it. "Alright," she tells me, shaking out the gown and holding it open, "step in."

I'm peer pressured by an old woman to take off my shirt and pants and bra and stand shaking and upset in my underwear while she straps me into the gown. I stand perfectly still while her fingers work to lace the corseted back, stopping to ask if it's too tight along the way.

I take one look at myself in the mirror and feel sick. "I don't want to wear this."

"Oh?" Gail finishes tying the back and stands beside me. "Which one do you want to try on next?"

None of them. This was the only one that had any chance of covering my chest in a meaningful way, but even this is ridiculous. The corset has pushed my boobs up and together in such a vulgar way I feel like a reject tavern wench from a renaissance faire. I feel like this dress is trying to pathetically accommodate for the fact that I don't have a thin waist or a thin anything, and my body is not supposed to be wearing a dress that belongs on someone like Claire or Kate or Juliet or—

"Cora?"

I jerk my head to look at her, surprised to hear someone call me by my name and nothing more. Not Lady Cora. Just Cora. My eyes find hers and all at once I realize I'm about to cry.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Get ahold of yourself. Are you serious? I breathe in through my nose and try to swallow down the lump in my throat. "I don't want to wear this, Gail."

Instead of showing me more from the wardrobe, Gail takes a seat at the edge of the bed and clasps my hands in hers. "Why are you upset?"

I blink and she's my grandmother, comforting me after an especially terrible day at school. I had spent weeks building up the courage to break out of my standard look of sweatshirts and wore a tighter fitting t-shirt with a vintage graphic on the front. It barely took any time at all to regret it. Young people are cruel, but even more so if you're fat.

I want to talk to Gail as if she were my grandma, but she's not. She wouldn't understand why I'm the way that I am, and why it's useless to ask me questions like "why are you upset?" because it's never one thing. It's a million things.

"I must admit," she says kindly, "I haven't the slightest clue as to how your rebirthing process works, but you must be terribly confused having come back without any memories. This is a lot to take in for the uninitiated."

"I don't know what's going on." I decide to be honest. "I don't know what's going on at all, Gail."

She sits and talks to me. Talks about what to expect at the banquet being thrown in a few hours. Talks about what will be and what won't be expected of me during the specific engagement ceremonies throughout the night. She instructs me in how to say "approach me later" in Old Norse in case I get overwhelmed by someone who has gotten too drunk to speak English.

I calm down, except for the fact that I still don't know what to wear. "Can I please just wear what I came here in?" I whisper, crossing my arms self-consciously over my chest. "Please?"

Gail searches my face, thinking. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

"Whatever it is you're about to say, don't." Jane holds up a fork. "Or I'll stab you with this, and it's not even slightly sharp."

"You think you look ridiculous?" I motion to my hair, which has been braided with dozens of flowers to match the flower chains Gail offered me to cover my chest. I don't know where she got them, but I feel a lot better behind a protective layering of necklaces made of big blooming plants. "I'm a walking advertisement for the Home Depot gardening department."

Jane sighs, looking legitimately more miserable than me. She's been forced into a light blue dress with daisies embroidered all over it, and someone made her take her long dark hair out of its usual tight braid. Not surprisingly, no one was able to convince her to put actual flowers anywhere near her head.

I take a seat next to her at one of the long banquet tables because Liv is sitting next to Miles across the room with the men, and I don't know anyone else. For some reason, the stuffed hall has been segregated by sex, with a large opening in the middle separating each side of the room. The party is in full bloom, complete with music and happy chatter. Food has been piled high on each table, and I waste no time serving myself.

"This is so stupid." Jane rubs her eyes. "I'm not nearly drunk enough to deal with any of this."

"I made that bread, my lady," a woman across the table tells me, beaming.

I nod and take a bite, my eyes immediately widening. "This is really good."

"I made this soup," another woman announces. A bowl and spoon is placed in front of me.

Food comes out of nowhere: fish pies, clam soups, fried eel, breads, butters, jams, tarts, fruit, salads.

I lean towards Jane and whisper, "Is this actual seafood?"

"Feeling a little morally grey?" She takes a long gulp of whatever alcohol they're serving and laughs. "Apparently fish are too stupid for these people to feel sorry for killing. Which is incredibly convenient for me because I love clams." Jane reaches over and steals my soup.

Something tells me the people living at the barracks don't know about this.

A particularly loud group of men bark a laugh on the other side of the room, so I lean a little to the side so I can see past the woman sitting opposite me. That's when I notice him, seated near the end of a table. He's changed out of the blue button-down he came here in and is wearing a loose cotton shirt that matches the earth tones of the other men seated around him.

Ben finishes saying something and the man next to him bursts into loud laughter, while the others seated nearby pound their drinks on the table and all talk over each other. They go back and forth in some sort of heated but friendly debate until Ben cracks a smile at something they've said and they all start laughing again.

It's so weird being able to see him—to be able to get a good look while his attention is elsewhere. It's also weird to see him getting along so well with the same people threatening violence just a day ago. Maybe it's the lighting, but he looks especially attractive when he's smiling because he's enjoying himself and not because he has to. I'm particularly good at being able to tell the difference.

I continue to watch him talk to the people nearby and notice his ears stick out from under his neatly combed black hair. For some reason, this makes me smile just as his tired eyes lift up from his plate and find me. I immediately look down at my food, then over at the band, watch as one of the women goes absolutely nuts on a lute, then up at Jane, then grab whatever drink is in front of me and take an anxious gulp, immediately turning to spit it out on the floor behind me.

I try to cough the taste away. "What is this?"

"Mead." Jane gives me an amused look. "You apparently couldn't get enough of this stuff back in the day. They even started a cute little bee farm here to make fresh honey to sweeten it."

"I liked this?" Great, apparently I drink in the future. This mead is so strong it burns my tongue and stings my nostrils. "This tastes terrible."

"More for me then." Jane grabs my cup and takes a long gulp. "Look alive. The happy couple is coming this way."

"Goddess," Bjorn announces, "words cannot describe our joy to have you attend our wedding. You honor us with your presence, and we humbly ask that you receive our gifts in exchange for your blessing." He turns to who I assume is Poppy and lifts a puppy out of her arms by its scruff. "I offer you the strongest of the litter."

I look from the tall bearded man to the small yapping wolf pup. "For me?" I ask in a state of shocked disbelief.

Poppy wrings her hands nervously, still smiling. "Do you like him?"

Despite the fact that the women nearby have fallen completely silent to hear what I have to say at the offering, I'm too giddy to care. I honestly couldn't care less if the entire room was watching me. Someone is offering me a dog. Someone is offering me an adorable fluffy little wolf puppy, and I surge with what feels like the rush you get when you miss a step walking down a flight of stairs.

I can't stop the big stupid smile that pulls tight across my face as I reach out and grab hold of the dark grey wriggling furball. "Hello," I coo.

"Hello," he barks happily as I plop him in my lap. "Who are you? Are you my friend? You want to be my friend?"

"Yes, I'd like that very much," I answer. "What's your name?"

"His name is Fenrir," Bjorn tells me as the happy puppy jumps up and licks at my chin. "He will make a fine companion, my lady."

"Yes," I agree, laughing as I struggle to get a grip on Fenrir so I can pull him off my face. "Thank you so much."

Just like Gail warned, the night unfolds with the bride-to-be offering me a talent in return for blessing her with strong children. Poppy sits on a chair in the empty space between the women's and men's tables with an instrument I believe is called a tagelharpa. It looks like a bigger, boxier violin played seated on your lap instead of against your neck. The hall falls silent as she plays, singing in a language I don't understand. It feels too sad to be a wedding song.

Jane looks much more relaxed now that she's had a few cups of alcohol. In fact, when I lean towards her to ask a question, she smiles and pats the top of my head. "What's the song about?"

"Slaughter," she answers and chuckles quietly. "All their songs are about slaughter. Or sex. One or the other. Hey, pass me the barbecue sauce, will you?"

"Barbecue sauce?" Just down the table is a bottle of Dharma barbecue sauce. "How'd they get that?"

"Traded it," says Jane. "They love trading, and they lose their shit over sauces. I got a really nice pair of boots once for a bottle of honey mustard."

Poppy finishes another song, and I bounce Fenrir in my lap and applaud, everyone quickly following suit. Maybe these parties aren't so bad. Good food, good music. Fenrir makes it easier to talk to people when I need to. I can do this.

"Congratulations to the happy couple," a man bellows from across the room. I look over to find Erik walking into the center of the hall. "But I have my own announcement to make."

Jane mumbles, "You're sailing off into the sunset, never to be seen again?"

"I have chosen my own bride." Erik puffs out his chest, nodding at the men who begin cheering and smashing their cups against the table. There's a dramatic pause as he revels in the encouragement from the men, and then he raises a finger down the table from me and yells, "Charlotte!"

A choir of surprised oooh's and ahhh's echo up and down the table. I crane my neck to see who he's pointing at, and sure enough it's exactly who I think it is. Charlotte Lewis, looking as surprised as everyone else, forces a smile at the announcement.

"Come over here," he says, "my little—"

I look back at Erik just in time to watch a cup smash into his chest, splashing mead up onto his face and hair and clothes. It takes me a moment to realize Jane is standing, fixing Erik with the same frothy rage she had for me the first time we met, right before she knocked me unconscious.

All the hairs on my arms stand on end as the music stops and the entire hall falls silent.

Erik wipes a hand across his face and begins laughing. "I see this one still cannot handle her mead."

Jane steps away from the table and begins walking towards Erik, swaying slightly, but Ben intervenes before she can reach him. The height difference would be funny if the room wasn't quiet enough for me to hear Ben say, "You're drunk and he's goading you, that's all. Ignore it. We can't afford this right now."

Her shoulders relax slightly at his words, and she reluctantly turns to walk back to the table.

"You are fierce, Jane. I'll give credit where it is due," Erik yells into the silence. "But for all your talents in combat, I've decided I much prefer a beautiful wife."

Jane swings back around, her fist landing hard against his jaw. She becomes a flurry of punches and blocks, but what surprises me most of all is the sound. A punch to the face doesn't sound anything like what I thought it would. It's much quieter than in movies.

I cling to Fenrir as everyone stands at the same time, yelling encouragement for one side or the other and moving closer to the fight. The woman sitting next to me groans and puts her face in her hands.

"How much has she had to drink?"

Even Fenrir cannot stop the rush of anxiety when I look up at Ben. "A lot," I tell him. "What's happening?" He gives me a look and I gesture wildly at the fight, as if I could possibly mean something else.

"They were engaged once," Ben yells over the cheering, suddenly yanking me sharply out of the way of a cup that smashes into the wall behind me. "Sorry," he apologizes and releases my wrist, nodding towards the brawl. "As you've probably surmised, it didn't exactly work out."

"Should we do something?" I ask just as a man walks up to Jane, hands raised, calmly trying to talk sense into her. Without hesitation, Jane swivels towards him, smashes his mouth with her elbow, and then turns back to Erik to deliver another blow to his face. Eventually, she grabs him in a headlock, and the both of them swing around, smashing into tables.

"If you want to stop her," Ben offers, "be my guest."

Most of the men have started forming a circle around the fight, and I can't really see what's happening anymore. I want to get a better look at who's winning, so I take a step towards the circle, but Ben reaches out and grabs my wrist again.

"I didn't actually mean to go stop her," he says, looking panicked.

I turn sharply and frown at the contact. I'm so sick of people touching me. "Get your hand off me."

Fenrir twists around in my arms and bites him. "Friend says back off," he growls.

"Ow." Ben retracts his hand and flexes his fingers. Blood trails across his skin, and I stumble an apology and start to scold Fenrir. "No," Ben interrupts. "No, it's alright. He's technically just doing his job. It's just a scratch. You," he says to Fenrir, "have very sharp teeth."

I look back at the circle, but I still can't see much. "Does this happen often? With Jane?"

"Surprisingly no." Ben wipes his bloody hand on a cloth napkin and picks up the nearest loaf, ripping off a small bite and dipping it in jam. "Your people may make excellent bread, but we make superior ice cream."

I hug Fenrir tighter. "Ice cream?"

"And cheese," Ben adds. "We make much better cheese. Our cows are happier."

I don't know enough about cows to tell if that was supposed to be a joke or not. And besides, his representative is beating the living snot out of the island jarl. A jarl who already threatened to burn the barracks to the ground. Why the hell is he talking about ice cream and cheese?

A voice sounds from below, "Cora, I need to speak with you."

"Hello funny smelling dog," Fenrir barks.

I look down at a nearby bench and watch Todd wrap his tail around his body. "Oh," I say. "Hi, Todd. Did you watch the fight?"

"I'm not here to talk about the fight," he says quickly.

Ben's eyes shoot from me to Todd, watching as we talk.

"I've decided you amuse me," Todd says. "I'm ecstatic to finally be able to have a conversation with a human, and I'd hate for something to happen to you, so I'll say this. Benjamin is the cleverest human I've ever met. He's almost fox material, and I don't just hand out praise of that magnitude."

A whole slew of questions form, but I stop to think of something that won't give away the topic of our conversation to Ben, who is still very much listening to everything I'm saying. "The point, Todd?"

"I've heard things," Todd says ominously. "Strange things."

My stomach begins to ache. "Like what?"

"Inconsistent gossip, really. Nothing I can confirm. Just . . . be weary of who you talk to. Not everyone here is happy you've returned." Todd glances at Ben and then licks my hand. "I don't like the way he's looking at me. Farewell for now, Cora."

As soon as Todd has scampered off, Ben says, "Sounded like you had quite the conversation."

Particularly loud cheering sounds through the hall. I look back at the circle as Jane roughly shoves her way through and heads for the door. I can tell by her walk that she is either injured or very, very drunk. Possibly both. All I know for certain is Erik has been absolutely destroyed. One of the men pours a cup of something over his head to wake him up while the rest of them laugh.

"Please excuse me, Miss Collins." Ben bids me goodnight with a nod. "I need to ensure she doesn't light anything on fire. That, unfortunately, has happened with some frequency."

Now that the fight is over, and all of the people I'm acquainted with have left, I take a look at Erik. Most of his face is already swollen, and a steady stream of blood drips out his nose. "Is he going to be okay?" I ask the bearded man standing nearby.

"He's going to be very angry in the morning, my lady," he laughs. "But he'll live, if that's what you mean. Don't you trouble yourself with him. We'll get him out of here for you."

Erik stumbles in and out of consciousness—mumbling bitterly—as two men sling his arms over their shoulders and drag him out.

There's a hand on my arm. I turn, fully prepared to yell, but I stop when I realize who it is.

"Are you going after Jane?" Charlotte asks worriedly. She stands before me in a beautiful green dress that highlights her red hair and blue eyes. "Can you please tell her I didn't know he was going to propose? I didn't even know he was trying to court me, to be honest."

I had no plans to chase after Jane, but now I'm intrigued. "I'm sorry, should I congratulate you? I think you just got engaged. Charlotte, right?"

"Yes, Lady Cora. I. . . yes, thank you," she finishes softly.

"You don't seem very happy about the engagement." I shift Fenrir in my arms and scratch behind his ears. "Wait, did you say you didn't know he was. . . courting you?"

Charlotte looks miserable. "No, my lady."

"Do you want to marry him?"

She stumbles for an answer, eventually settling for, "It is an honor to be proposed to by our jarl."

Something is wrong, and I think I know what it is. I study her face, suddenly less anxious than I've ever been since I ended up on this island. "Are you afraid to reject him?"

The look in her eyes is all the answer I need. I think of my mother—trapped in a loveless abusive marriage and raised on the belief that divorce is the worst thing that could happen to a women—and it feels like I'm breathing in soup, but with each breath I feel more stable, more powerful. I could not protect my mother, but maybe I can protect this woman from being forced into the same circumstances.

"Nobody is going to force you to marry them," I assure her. "Not even Erik. I promise you that much. Look, would you like me to talk to him for you? Maybe tomorrow, after everyone has sobered up?"

"No, my lady, you don't have to—"

"Do you want me to talk to him?" I ask again. "I will gladly speak on your behalf if you don't feel comfortable."

Charlotte looks like she's going to cry. When she reaches out to squeeze my hand, I squeeze back in reassurance. "He did this to embarrass her," she whispers. "Jane's my best friend."

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Wow, what an asshole." I catch what I've just said and grimace. "Sorry."

Charlotte smiles sadly, but it doesn't last long. "I need to make sure she's okay."

I put Fenrir down and brush his fur off my dress. "Do you know where we can get her some water? She's gonna need a lot of it."

It takes no time at all to find them both. Ben's practically dragging her back up the hill leading to the village. Jane flops her long legs, but is otherwise limp. I stop walking when I hear she's crying hysterically.

"Let me go," Jane wails in-between sobs. "I want to die!"

"No, you don't." Ben struggles, so I hurry down to help, with Charlotte following close behind. "She's way past the point of reasoning, Charlotte," Ben warns when he sees us. "I think you'd better leave."

"Is she hurt?" Charlotte asks.

"Just her pride," he answers. "She's fine, Charlotte. Incredibly intoxicated, but otherwise fine." Ben stoops down and hoists Jane up onto his shoulders the way Locke carried boar in the first season. "I've got her. You really should go. I don't want her to get any worse."

Charlotte shoots me a worried look, and I mouth, "I'll watch her." She nods, hands me the bucket of water she pulled from the nearby well, and walks up the path to a collection of smaller houses.

"I cannot apologize enough for this," Ben huffs as he carries her back up the hill.

I follow him down a path, trying my best not to slosh the bucket of water. "It's fine. I don't drink, so I'm used to being the sober one in the group."

We approach a house off the main path, and I walk ahead to open the door for him. About a dozen cots line the room, a small fire already lit in the center. Ben carries Jane to the far corner of the room and shakes her off his back onto the cot. She flops with a groan, her left arm hanging off the side, and then immediately starts crying again.

"Here." I hold out the bucket in offering. "We should probably try and convince her to drink this."

"She's crazy," Fenrir says at my feet. "What's wrong with her?"

I look at him and get an idea. "No biting," I say and pick him up, plopping him on her chest.

Jane stops crying when Fenrir sniffs her face. "Hey Brandon," she coos and kisses his snout. "How's my good little boy?"

"Who's Brandon?" Fenrir asks me.

I look at Ben for an answer, but his eyes are closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose. His voice comes out low and flat. "I can't even say what I'd truly like to say to you, Jane, because I know you won't remember it in the morning. And you should go." It takes me a second to realize the last part was directed at me.

I stare at Jane—take in her slurred speech, her mood swings, the weird jellylike way her body moves—and the memory resurfaces. The memory that I've pretended didn't exist for so long. The one that nobody in our family talks about because it could land both my parents in jail. The biggest reason why I'm such a psychotic mess. For the first time since it happened, it assaults my mind full force, and it's like I'm experiencing it for the first time all over again.

My heart is pounding hard and sporadic. Blood screams in my ears. My eyes sting with sweat, but I don't dare blink.

I barely hear Ben ask, "Are you alright?"

"I want to stay with her." A thought occurs to me, and I suddenly feel like I'm going to throw up. "What if she stops breathing?"

"Why would she stop breathing?" I'm looking at Jane, but I can feel his eyes on me. Eventually, he relents with a quiet sigh. I hear the strain of a cot as he takes a seat. "Stay, then. I guess the damage has already been done."

"Is this a friend?" Fenrir asks me. "She smells like wolf, Cora." He sneezes in Jane's face, and she laughs, flopping a limp arm down in the dirt and reaches up with the other to scratch behind his ears.

"That was a good sneeze," Jane coos happily. "Such a good sneeze. Good boy."

"Can I ask you something?" I blurt out and look over at Ben. He doesn't look terribly interested in talking, but he nods for me to continue anyway. "Any idea why Jane hates me so much?"

"Mm," he hums. "I'm not so sure hate is the right word."

I reach up and swipe sweat off my forehead. "She knocked me unconscious before we even shook hands. Actually, we've never shook hands."

Ben nods slowly, thinking. "Yes, well, I think that had more to do with the fact that you brought her wolves into it. You can talk to them, and it frightened her. Even if she does hate you, I wouldn't take offense," he adds with a smirk. "She dislikes just about everyone."

"So. . . what happened?" I wait for him to explain more. "With her and Erik?"

"Bold of you to assume Jane would have told me. She's not exactly forthcoming with personal matters."

We fall into silence, and I pass the time by watching the flicker of light from the fire-pit. It causes shadows to dance across the floor and walls and ceiling in the same way the candles did in the Temple. Thinking of the Temple reminds me of Aiko. "Did Aiko talk to you today?"

"Yes," Ben says simply and falls silent again.

I won't lie. His intense disinterest in conversation stings, but I just can't seem to keep my mouth shut. "You didn't mention she was six."

"You didn't ask."

"How did it go? With Aiko?"

"It could have gone better," he answers flatly.

"What did she say?"

Ben closes his eyes. "With absolutely all the respect in the world, can we please condense the game of 20 questions? I haven't slept in two days."

"Sorry." I turn to look back at Jane and find her, mouth open, snoring. Fenrir looks at me with confused eyes, so I lift him up back in my arms and hold him tight against my chest.

"Thank you again," Ben says randomly. "For not telling any of them about Margo's funeral."

"You knew I wouldn't tell them."

"I suspected you wouldn't tell them," he corrects. "But that doesn't make me any less appreciative that you didn't."

"This morning, Erik told me—" I start, but I stop when I see the expression on Ben's face.

"Told you what?"

I don't know how serious Erik was, but in case he was serious, I think I should give someone a warning. Alex is at the barracks. Indiana and her mother are at the Barracks. There's a whole community of people living there that may be in danger if extra precautions are not taken. "He sort of. . . threatened to burn all your houses to the ground? But I don't know if he meant it," I add quickly. "He seems like someone who likes to threaten."

Ben's expression remains blank and unreadable. "I don't suspect that was an idle threat at all."

I don't realize I'm shaking until Fenrir reaches up and licks my chin. "Why is he so intent on killing you all?"

"Erik has been raised on the belief that the only way to get into the afterlife is by dying in glorious combat. In recent years he's become consumed with the idea of war, but the last major war between our people was almost thirty years ago. He was nothing more than a toddler then. Essentially," Ben sums up, "he's young and very bored."

"So. . . he's a dumb jock?"

Ben's too tired to laugh, so he exhales slowly instead, the corners of his mouth twitching up. "I will reluctantly give him a little more credit than that, but you're not terribly off base."

He makes it seem much more complicated than it is. Surely all I have to do is put on a serious face and tell these people to leave Ben's people alone. But maybe Ben already knows that? Maybe this little speech is just to make me feel guilty enough to settle this dispute all on my own without him actually having to ask me for help.

"You never did tell me about the meeting," I say. "I might be able to help."

Ben stands for some reason, looking at the fire-pit. "It was unnecessarily long for what can be summed up as a complete waste of time. We asked for a small handful of the survivors, and Erik refused."

"I'll talk to him," I say. I already have to talk to him about Charlotte. "I'll convince him this whole thing is. . . really, really stupid."

"If you can convince that man of anything, I will eat this shirt."

I smile. "Deal."

Ben locks eyes with me and smiles with what looks like pure, unadulterated warmth, like he did at the feast. It's pathetic how much power a simple smile has over me. I'm suddenly thankful the lighting in here is dull, so he can't see my embarrassed flush.

"I could slit your throat wide open," he says just above a whisper. "Immortality doesn't mean you can't bleed out."

My eyebrows pull down in a frown. "What?" It takes my stupid, infatuated brain a moment to realize he has a knife.

"Do you have the slightest idea how easy it would be to kill you right now? I have my back to the door," he continues, "and you have your back to a wall. The only available window is behind me. You don't have a weapon on you. All you're holding is a cute novelty that won't be of any real use for another six months when his adult teeth finish growing in." Ben steps closer and narrows his eyes. "Is Charlotte the only one who knows you're in here?"

I can't tell if he's bluffing, or what the point of bluffing would be, but I do know he has it in him to kill an island deity. Three years from now, he's going to stab Jacob the way he's threatening to stab me.

Despite the cool night air, its actually rather warm in this guesthouse, but I feel all the heat leave me at the realization that he's right. If I wanted to leave, I have next to no options that don't result in me getting stabbed, or at least cut. The inevitability of it all makes me slightly calmer, but I still feel my arms tremble against Fenrir.

I glance at the knife and huff a nervous laugh. "You're not going to kill me."

"That's a hell of an assumption to make," he snaps, "considering I have a very long list of reasons why killing you would make my life infinitely easier. Tell me something. . . do you know how long it would take for me to carry Jane to one of the canoes down by the dock? Exactly sixty-seven seconds. Do you know how long it would take for me to row us both back to our island?" he continues without pause. "Fifteen minutes if she were conscious enough to help. Thirty-two minutes on my own. Most of your people are either asleep or too drunk to be of any help to you. I could kill you and be back home long before morning. I'd have quite the head-start."

I stop shaking as a calmness completely washes over me, and I think about how good that bread was for dinner. Crunchy exterior, soft and flavorful interior. Perfect with jam or honey or dunked in soup or just all on its own. I wish I knew how to make bread. I can make decent pizza crust, but that's about it. I wonder if these people know how to make pizza? Ben said they make their own cheese, right? I wonder what kind of cheese they make. . .

Ben lowers the knife and leans close to my face, looking both confused and intensely irritated. "Are you even listening to me?"

Wait a second.

I blink at him as a realization hits.

It doesn't make sense. He can't kill me. That's not how the space-time continuum works in this universe. If he kills me now, I won't live long enough to time travel back to the 70's, and none of this will exist. But it does exist. Which means he can't kill me. And besides, what he's saying is sounding less and less like a threat and more like a lecture.

If he's not trying to kill me, he must be trying to scare me.

It takes such a concentrated effort to clear my throat and look him in the eye, I worry I'll collapse from exhaustion right where I stand. "Okay," I say as clearly as I can muster, "you've made your point. So who is actually trying to kill me?"

Ben doesn't move. He doesn't blink. But something in his expression changes regardless. He leans away from my face, sheathing the knife. "I don't know," he finally answers. "So I would stop being so trusting if I were you. You're no good to any of us dead. Again." He takes a step to the side, freeing the narrow path to the door, and I walk past him. "Cora."

I can't tell from his tone if he's more angry than worried. When I turn to look at him, his expression also gives nothing away. "What?"

Ben studies me in silence before walking towards me, stopping closer than I'd like. The bags under his eyes are so dark with lack of sleep, it looks like he's been punched. He produces a hunting knife in a simple leather casing and holds it out for me to take. When I don't move, he grabs one of my hands and places it in my palm, curling my fingers closed over it.

"Until Aiko can tell us information of actual use," he says with an air of finality, "assume absolutely everyone is trying to kill you."

My bedroom behind the wall in the banquet hall seemed rustic and charming while Gail helped me get ready for the party. Now, as I settle into bed and try to get comfortable, it feels like a tomb.

I crawl to the edge of the bed and unsheathe the knife Ben gave me. It glistens and shines my reflection in the pale torchlight. Looking at it freaks me out. Thinking about having to use it freaks me out even more. I slide it back in its case and try to sleep.

What little comfort I gained from finding out my door locks is contradicted by my newfound worry of other ways people could kill me. Although it's highly unlikely someone can break through the thick plank of wood wedged into built-in slats across both doors, they could light the longhouse on fire. They could have poisoned my food and drink. They could already be hiding in here, waiting for me to fall asleep.

Fenrir follows me around the room, sniffing everything, as I hold the knife steady and search the wardrobe against the wall and the trunk at the foot of the bed. Fenrir assures me we're the only two people in here, but I check every nook and cranny myself. Even this does not bring peace of mind.

I shake out the sheets, pound the pillow with my fists. Nothing works. "Fenrir," I ask, "can you please bark and wake me up if you hear anyone come near?"

"Yes, Cora," he replies, but it's not like it makes a difference.

I don't sleep for even a second.