It had been said that the Seer was born in an eagle's nest and grew up on the top of the mountain, never going to the hills or valleys below or into Kattegat itself. In actuality the house that the being dwelled in was a fairly modest structure in appearance, tucked into the shelf of a cliff overlooking the village, not a far trek away.

A white-painted acolyte met Thorunn on the trail when she came into view of the shack, putting out a spread-fingered hand that even though it held no weapons, managed to be quelling. "What is your purpose?"

"I would speak to the Seer."

"So do all who come here."

If this was a test, she had no knowledge of proper procedure. She bowed her head.

The figure inhaled audibly. "What did you bring?"

"I...bring?" she said, sounding stupid.

"All who would speak to the Seer"—(was it mocking?)—"must have some offering, child."

"I did not know." Thorunn had nothing. Her hand found its way to Bjorn's stone round her neck, under her dress as usual. Her fingers tightened on it. If there were anything else she would have given that instead. It made her insides twist, but the acolyte's face was implacable. Slowly, she pulled the stone upwards and over her head, dropping it along with the twine in the outstretched hand. White fingers closed around it. Thorunn remembered Bjorn's smile when he'd given it to her. No recovering it now; she had made her choice.

"Wait," the acolyte said, and went towards the hut, disappearing within.

Thorunn counted numberless clouds. An unreasonably long amount of time seemed to pass before the acolyte reappeared and gestured her over, with a curt caution to be brief.

She stepped inside the hut, ducking almost immediately under dark hangings, curtains of some kind. There was almost no light except a few guttering candles along a ledge close to the door. The Seer had no eyes, she remembered having heard long ago. Only webbing where eyes should have been. Thorunn's own eyes weren't adjusting as quickly as she would have liked to the darkness. She stumbled once over something as she ventured further in. There was a dry cough in the corner, alerting her to the Seer's presence. Or someone's presence, if not theirs.

"Come closer," said a rattling voice, neither clearly male nor female, as the acolyte outside.

Thorunn obeyed, though here in the back corner it was nearly completely black. Something feathered against her face and she swallowed fear down and took another few steps. A vague shape began to take form as her eyes became accustomed. A withery hand extended. Thorunn took it, knelt, placed her forehead to the dry papery skin in an action of instinct rather than true knowledge that such was the right thing to do.

The hand withdrew. "What question do you have?"

Am I only allowed one? Thorunn had not formed a coherent single question in her own mind yet. For a moment, she felt panic. "I...I would know if I am on the right path."

"If you don't know, how should I?"

"I..."

"I hardly watch your daily choices, child. You are not that interesting. Moreover," a rusty cackle, "I am blind."

"Of...of course. Apologies."

"Where did you get this?"

For a moment she was taken aback. "I...it was a gift from a foreign land."

"Who put it in your hands?"

"Bjorn, son of Ragnar."

"Ah, Bjorn Jarnsida, yes. A good gift. You want it back."

"Yes," she agreed in a whisper.

"But it is mine now."

"Yes."

"Unfortunate for you. Answers have a price."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

She was silent, not sure that she really did.

"Try again."

"I..." Thorunn fought for clarity. What did she want to know? These confusing black shadows, the air thick with herbed oils and something being burned, were clouding her mind. "Can I be something that I am not?"

"What is it that you are?"

She felt like a fly being toyed with, the idle legs of a spider twisting her gently but inexorably in its grasp.

"I know what you are, Thorunn of Hilde. But you should say so yourself."

Again, she bowed her head into the darkness. "I am a slave."

"And have you seen the fortunes of others change?"

"Yes, I...I suppose so."

"Then of course it is possible for you yourself." The rusty clearing of throat, the cackle of a soft chuckle.

Was that what she had wanted to hear? Was that the answer? Or was that too simple, too easily gotten, like Bjorn had said the first day in the fields.

But she terribly wanted to believe it, even if it was.

"I'll make you a bargain, slave." The tone was matter-of-fact, not insulting. "Do you want this gift back? This stone from Ragnar's son?"

"I think you know I do," Thorunn murmured, unable to keep the words unspoken.

"Then have it. And you will owe me a new payment for my answer. You will come back to me. I see you already."

The stone was pressed back into her palm, comforting, solid. Its smoothness a balm in the wretched darkness. Her fingers closed, either of her own volition or the Seer's pressing them together.

Thank you, she said, or perhaps thought, and then had the overwhelming need to get away, so she backed up, and found her way to the entrance again, stumbling out into the light, with only the Seer's raspy chuckle in her ears for a farewell.

More than a sevenday passed before Bjorn would admit to himself that he was, if not exactly bored, missing the afternoon sparring lessons and wondering if Thorunn was continuing to practice on her own. It had given him something of a pleasant purpose during the quieter summer season when any wounded were recovering from the raids and there was no active battle to keep one busy. Bjorn had gone unscathed yet again this past journey overseas (strengthening his nickname of Ironside), and had too much natural energy to sit around day after day. One could only do so much hunting and drinking with one's brothers. Ragnar had asked him to accompany on a visit to a neighboring ally on the morrow—they would go on horseback and it would be a welcome diversion—but until then, he was somewhat aimless.

He and Ubbe were returning from a largely fruitless hunt—they'd bagged only a couple of rabbits—when he realized they were not far from the spot where he and Thorunn practiced. "Here," he said, passing over the skinned animals into his brother's care. "I'll catch up with you later."

Ubbe grunted and didn't ask questions, which Bjorn appreciated, and jogged off down to Kattegat.

Bjorn circled back and went to the field.

Seeing Thorunn there—at midday, so a little early—was unexpectedly gratifying.

She wasn't practicing, however, just sitting on the large rock that they often talked and told stories by. Her head was down, the light wind obscuring her face as it blew her long sand-colored hair about.

He approached, quietly, the way he might an adversary.

She almost fell off the rock when she noticed him, then scrambled to her feet.

"I told you you weren't ready," he said, without meanness.

"I did not think you would come again," Thorunn said, stammering a little.

"Thought I would make make sure you were still working." Bjorn gestured. "But I don't see your axe. Or a knife. Or anything else."

Thorunn straightened, trying to be as tall as he was, trying to meet him completely eye to eye. "I have my hands."

"I don't remember teaching you how to do anything with those yet."

They turned into fists, at her side. He smiled at her. "You're going to hit me?" He reached for her right fist, unfolding her fingers. "Not like that. This way." He squeezed her fist with the thumb properly repositioned. "Go ahead."

"I didn't say I wanted to," she murmured, her head drooping.

"I think you might." He tapped his jaw invitingly.

She did look tempted. "You told me I wasn't ready to fight."

"And you didn't like that. I know. Go on." Bjorn leaned in, getting just close enough to be intimidating. She struck out almost out of reflex which was what he had assumed would happen, and he ducked easily, laughing a little. Thorunn pursued, swinging, and he avoided, interjecting quick observations on her technique, or lack thereof, with each sidestep. Actually, she didn't get angry as fast as he'd thought, but kept after him doggedly, until she was panting with fatigue and he was breathing more deeply than usual, though it was still only the equivalent of mild exercise. He only defended, refusing to swing back in any way, even widely where he was relatively certain she'd have the brains to be able to avoid in time. She still had a lot of fear in her, a lot of fire too but not tempered by experience.

After a time Thorunn paused in her pursuit, having dogged him around most of the field, to breathe and wipe sweat from her forehead. She rested hands on her thighs and leaned forward, dropping her head. He used his leg to snag one of hers and dropped her to the ground, as gently as possible under the circumstances. On her backside, Thorunn gaped up at him in humiliated incredulity.

"You can't stop in mid-battle," he explained. "You have to fall back completely if you can't keep up." He reached down to pull her to her feet again but she spurned his hand, flipped over, dusted herself off and marched for the trees.

Bjorn was undecided for a moment whether to follow or to go back to the village and find some other, less troublesome form of entertainment. Determining how, if at all, these interactions with the girl benefited him had not been something he'd quite worked out yet. He jogged after her, calling her name.

She started to run, too, and sighing, he increased his pace, catching up shortly before they reached the lake. A pretty enough spot—he would've taken her there last year, that day he'd given her the dress, except it had been too cold. He and his brothers had come here often as youngsters to swim in summer, Ivar lurking in the shade and glaring at them from shore, while they shouted and fought and dunked each other until the sun slid too low in the sky.

Thorunn stopped at the rocks edging the water and Bjorn fancied that he could still hear childish shouts in the silence as he drew up behind her. The air was sultry, inviting loafing over exertion. He watched her shoulders rise and fall, her hands still tight at her sides.

"You still won't fight with me," she pointed out the obvious, after their breathing had settled.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said, equably.

"I am not afraid of pain." She turned her head to look at him, dark eyebrows arched, high cheekbones, firm line of jaw. Her skin so unblemished, for a slave; no marks of pox or disease. Not conventionally pretty, but...fresh. And simple. "And how will I know what I can endure, if I am never tested?"

"There's time enough for you to be tested," Bjorn said mildly.

"There is no time." Thorunn stubbornly gazed back over the expanse of cool blue-gray water. "This is all we have. A few moments. Then I must go back and do the rest of my work. You can't know what it is like." She crouched and threw a pebble into the water to make it skip, but it sunk on the second bounce. Bjorn crouched beside her too, feeling amongst the rocks for a flatter one. He held the stone out to her. She took the offering and threw it, but without any effort at all to make it skip, so that it just sailed through the air and fell directly down. He smiled at her petulance.

"Your brother said he would fight with me," Thorunn said. "Do you not trust him?"

"With my life." Maybe not with yours. He was aware he was feeling a sense of protectiveness towards her, though he wasn't prepared to overconsider why or how deeply. On one hand there was simply the injustice of someone with her passion and potential reduced to the duties of a kitchen wench, and Bjorn had never liked injustices—on the other, there was something in particular about Thorunn that he had a desire to nurture.

Scoffing brothers notwithstanding.

He wanted, suddenly, to change the energy between them. It was their surroundings, partly: the echoes of his childhood here, the warmth of the sun, the feeling that here there were no battles, no disruptions, only healthy vitality. "Want to go in the water?"

Thorunn cast him a startled glance. "To wash?"

He shrugged. "If you want to. It's hot."

Other cultures could be quite prudish about such ventures but it was not a strange suggestion for them; in a place where children had to go to sleep a few feet from where their parents or relatives might be indulging in affectionate interludes, there was little room for artificial modesty or claiming privacy. Clothing itself was worn for warmth or protection in battle, not because anyone was bothered by nudity—and it was the same across differing status levels and age groups. Thus, Bjorn and Thorunn could mutually strip off clothing without any self-consciousness on Bjorn's part and only a small hesitation on Thorunn's. Bjorn launched himself into the water first, letting out a howl at the shock of the cold, even in summer. Thorunn held back, crossing her arms over her chest.

Bjorn wasn't looking, anyway. Not really. Once he surfaced, he regarded her. "Coming?"

She nodded, picking her way over the rocks and sliding into the lake, letting out an audible breath when she experienced the cold herself. She did not approach him, so he swam closer and sent up a gentle armful of water in her direction, grinning at her unimpressed expression.

"I spent a lot of time here," he told her. "With my brothers."

"You must have scared all the animals away."

"We did. The people, too." He spouted water like the whales they sometimes saw. "The other boys left when they saw us coming."

"Ragnar's sons," Thorunn murmured, washing her face delicately. "I remember all of you. I believe I am closest in years to Ivar, but he's—" She paused.

"What?"

"He was always—the most scary."

"He still is," Bjorn said, circling around her. "But he's mostly talk, our Ivar. He was coddled by everyone most of his life. When his mother died, they didn't know if he would make it or not."

Thorunn made a sound of understanding. "Was it—was it hard for your mother? To accept your brothers?"

"She didn't have much choice."

Thorunn abruptly shuddered, though whether it was from the cold of the water or something else he didn't know. The sun had temporarily been eclipsed by some clouds. "I cannot imagine having—that many children."

"How many can you imagine?"

She hesitated. "I haven't thought about it," she said, so vaguely that it seemed unlikely. "As a servant I may never marry."

Bjorn submerged his head and resurfaced again. "That'd be a shame."

"Would it? Kattegat has plenty of villagers. Plenty of families," she amended.

"The bigger we get, the better." Bjorn stretched in the water, contracting and expanding muscles. He liked the thought of his people's growth, the expansion of the town into a major port. When he imagined having his own children he thought of half a dozen running around, a mix of boys and girls. He would name his first daughter after his sister, Gyda. A son, Ragnar. Probably.

He loved and respected his father deeply, but there were times when the older warrior and he didn't always have the same vision for life. It didn't help that they had been separated for most of Bjorn's formative teenage years. He doubted he'd ever truly be able to forgive either parent for forcing him to choose one of them when they had, although superficially such things were never spoken or even thought about in depth.

He realized Thorunn was watching him with some intensity and he sent out a spray of water at her again to lighten his own thoughts. They lingered in the water a while longer, washing and playing, until the afternoon light began to fade and Thorunn said she needed to go. They got dressed again and he walked with her back to the village, where they parted ways at Hilde's. "Tomorrow," he said, and "Yes," she said.

Back at the great hall for evening meal, his younger brothers all seemed out of sorts. There were varying responses as to why. Ubbe and Hvitserk were apparently quarrelling over something to do with Margrethe. Sigurd and Ivar wanted to accompany Ragnar on the trip to the north and did not know why only Bjorn was invited. In Ivar's case it was purely practical, since bringing him would have meant a wagon or some other wheeled device and would be slower, but Bjorn did not point out the obvious. And both the youngest two were too green for diplomatic ventures, regardless, and would only be in the way. They did not take well to this being stated.

"You're Father's favorite," Sigurd grumbled half under his breath. Bjorn thought that this was also obvious and did not need to be said, but trust Sigurd to try to seed dissent among them. Snake in the grass, he was and had been since birth.

He shrugged. "I'm the oldest." He was also Lagertha's son, not the offspring of the dethroned Aslaug, which made a difference to some people although not particularly to Bjorn himself as far as his siblings were concerned. And if Ragnar were to father more children with another woman—since Lagertha seemed not to be able to have more—those children would be equally welcomed as new siblings. "I don't treat you any differently, do I? If you have a problem, take it up with him."

Sigurd cast a glance at the mentioned patriarch who, on the other side of the room, was playing with a goat whilst concurrently holding an animated conversation with Floki. He looked down at the table and scuffed his feet across the floor.

"That's what I thought," Bjorn said. "Don't look for trouble just because you're bored."

Margrethe appeared, very stiff-necked, and set platters of meat in front of them. "More ale, Margrethe, my sweet," Ivar told her, and grinned at Ubbe and Hvitserk who looked on, irritated.

"As I said," Bjorn began, meaningfully, focusing his gaze on his youngest brother, "just because you're bored..."

"On the contrary I am very entertained," Ivar replied. "If Margrethe is tired of you two, surely she can come to me, for...counsel?" He grinned while ripping a piece of bread in pieces and dunking them in the meat juices.

Bjorn shook his head infinitesimally at Ubbe—though the latter was generally sensible enough to realize this on his own—communicating of how little worth such words were. As for Hvitserk, he had already punched his brother in the chest and now the two of them were grappling, half in anger, half in jest. Ivar had an uncommonly powerful upper body to make up for the weakness of his lower.

"Stop," Bjorn said calmly, aware despite himself that Thorunn had just appeared from the kitchen, but appeared to be hesitating upon seeing them already seated. "Stop before Father separates you and you'll both be worse off for it."

Though Ragnar had an eagle's eye for some types of trouble, where it concerned his family members the roof might oftentimes have to fall down around their heads before he would take notice.

The two did not stop, however, and it fell to Bjorn (as it usually did) to reach across the table, grab a fistful of Hvitserk's tunic and shove him backwards on the bench, and then strongarm Ivar fully upright, pulling him against his chest. Ivar despised being held so (since Bjorn had done this to him since he was little and continued to be able to do so, even though he was fully grown) and went limp, understanding the futility of resisting. The quicker he submitted, the sooner Bjorn would let him slide back down to sit.

"See, you're not really convincing me or Father that you're ready to come on diplomatic ventures," Bjorn told them.

"It wasn't me," Sigurd muttered again resentfully.

Ubbe was watching Margrethe, who was watching Thorunn, who was scrubbing assiduously at a distant table trying to to notice anything at all.

He let go of Ivar, giving him only a subtly punishing thump on the back for having instigated the whole thing. Then he sat back down, realizing he was looking forward to getting away from these miscreants.

It occurred to him, seeing Thorunn as she finished scrubbing the tables, that he'd told her they were meeting tomorrow, though that wasn't going to be possible since he'd temporarily forgotten about traveling north. He thought about hailing her, but did not want her to attend their table a second time—the boys would not let that go unaddressed. And going over to have a conversation was equally out of the question.

Well, he didn't owe her any explanations. And while Thorunn wasn't anything like Margrethe, at least so far as he could tell, he didn't like the expression on the latter's face as she went about her work this night. Too speculative. His brothers would both do well to stay away from her. Granted, Bjorn couldn't immediately give such advice without them demanding to know why he could consort with whom he wished and they suddenly couldn't. That would only cause the perception of injustice to grow further.

He drank well-fermented beer until people's faces started to look more pleasant, in fact all sounds and sights became softer and more congenial, and then Ragnar was cuffing him on the shoulder and telling him they had an early start and to go get some sleep, and so he complied.

You have no claim on him, Thorunn reminded herself. Not even the tiniest bit.

But he had promised! He had promised to be here. And she was alone in the fields. He wasn't late. He simply hadn't come.

The targets saw considerably more damage that day. She worked at her throws until she was sweating hard even under the overcast sky. She picked up the axe again and again, doggedly, until her aim began to improve and her markings more reliably placed. At least she was improving; there was satisfaction to be gained from that, even if Ragnar's son wasn't around to witness it.

But here came another of his sons. Ubbe, with a smile that seemed to be friendly and not meant to harass. He put up a hand in greeting. She lifted uncertain fingers.

"You look like you were expecting Bjorn," he said, drawing near. "He went north with our father this morning."

"North?" she repeated, blankly. Dared she ask why? It was none of her business and he might well say so. But he'd volunteered the information in the first place.

"They'll be a few days," Ubbe said, eyeing the ax in her hand. "How are you doing with that?"

Thorunn turned and flung it towards the target for the hundredth time. It smacked satisfyingly into the wood and stayed there, as though lodged in a human heart.

He made a not-bad expression. "And have you fought with it yet?"

She went to retrieve the weapon and came back, shaking her head.

"I'll show you, if you want. As I said I would." He tapped his own axe, hanging from a belt.

Bjorn wouldn't like it, she nearly said, but considered why not. In any case he wasn't here to object.

"You don't have to," Ubbe said, shrugging.

"I would like to learn," she said quickly, seeing her chance slip away. "Thank you."

Thorunn was nervous from the moment they began, but soon saw that this brother had no intentions, at least now, of humiliating her. He was careful and patient, challenging just enough to give her the experience of actual battle without the accompanying damage. Every few moments he would stop her and correct a mistake, or point out a flaw in her attack. Thorunn was eager to self-correct, and tired though she already was, worked harder than ever. After some time Ubbe laughingly told her to take a break and said that was enough for now.

They sat, resting, side by side, and she drank from the leather container she'd brought. Ubbe talked a little, nothing of particular consequence. A few anecdotes about him and Bjorn. Thorunn felt herself beginning to relax, even though Ubbe was the son who looked physically so much like Ragnar that every so often she was startled by the resemblance into thinking she had to be more subservient.

"You don't have much to say," he pointed out, after having chatted in her direction for a bit.

"I have done nothing interesting to talk about," Thorunn replied simply, not feeling sorry for herself; it was indisputable.

"Still, you could ask questions if you want."

"Do you love Margrethe?" She blurted it out before she really considered, and thereafter felt her cheeks warm at the audacity of such an inquiry.

Ubbe was silent for a moment. "I don't know if I would say that," he answered finally. "I only know I don't want to share her with Hvitserk any more."

"I think you are a good man," Thorunn said, carefully, unsure of the ground here.

But Ubbe only smiled, a little raw. "And you don't think she's a good woman?"
Thorunn twisted her fingers together. "I did not say that."

"And what about you?"

"I—I don't..."

"Are you good to my brother?"

"I am—I am not anything to Bjorn." Thorunn's face was hot now.

"Hm," Ubbe said, the grunt sounding noncommittal at best, skeptical at worst.

"Truly I have no..." what didn't she have? Plans? Expectations?

Certainly she didn't have expectations.

"Margrethe wants me to free her."

Thorunn could think of nothing to say to that.

"Did she speak of it to you?" Ubbe leaned forward and his face was not wary, but childlike in its earnestness.

She didn't want to lie, but she didn't want to praise the other servant girl when she was so unworthy in Thorunn's mind. "I am not sure if she is certain of her own feelings."

"Then I shouldn't do it."

She hated to agree to a fellow servant remaining in their life that was not really a life, but he was right. "I could not say one way or the other."

Ubbe stood suddenly, looking away into the distance and then down at her, as if he'd forgotten she were there in the brief interim. "Thank you for talking about it."
"Of course. And thank you for the teaching."

"You still need practice. Tomorrow again?"

She bowed her head. "I would be grateful if you have the time."

"Kattegat is always going to need good warriors," Ubbe said. "I will find the time."

Thorunn could not help the smile that spread across her face.

Learning from Ubbe was a different experience and, Thorunn soon discovered, somewhat more enjoyable. He treated her more like a companion or a sibling than a student, often stopping mid-lesson to laugh or fool around, which took her by surprise the first few times and she wasn't sure how to respond, but which she quickly acclimated to. Bjorn's comparative seriousness would never have allowed for such moments. Ubbe had a more playful nature and Thorunn soon began to recognize the spark in his eyes that meant he was not taking things too seriously. At the beginning of her training this might have annoyed her, but it was ideally suited to her mood now that she had, if not mastered, got many of the basics of hand-to-hand combat under control. Where Bjorn's eyebrows would draw together if she made a previously corrected error, Ubbe would fall dramatically or come up with some fantastical fake curse that made her want to giggle even in the middle of things. Their training sessions became so relaxed that they were more fun interludes than exhausting intervals, even while still working hard. Thorunn even began to feel that this might approximate what it was like to have an older brother.

She did not have brotherly feelings towards Bjorn at all. When she thought about him, as happened often, it was mostly confusion and a vague sense that she should not have any feelings whatsoever, just as she had told Ubbe.

Today, the sky was bright and clear but it was not too hot, perfect weather really, and Ubbe had brought shields with him this time. They were fighting with shields alone, practicing different maneuvers with the brightly colored shields. The thwack of wood on wood was satisfying. Ubbe suddenly swung the shield parallel to the ground and at her, whistling by her head—she only just ducked in time. She widened her eyes at him and he laughed again. "Too slow, woman!"

"I know," she panted, hands briefly on knees to regain her equilibrium, but laughed, too. His energy was always infectious.

She looked up, taking a breath, and watched the smile on his face die as he stared at something beyond her.

Thorunn turned her own head.

Bjorn was standing a ship's length away, his face and body language the very image of what she envisioned as Thor himself. Stormy and formidable.

Her mouth formed his name, if only to remind herself that he was only a man, whatever rumors about Ragnar's family being of the gods might float about their village.

Bjorn had been still for a few moments, but now he strode closer, approaching in a swirl of riding cloak that highlighted his height and breadth of shoulder. Thorunn stood tall so as not to be intimidated.

"Which of you," he said in clipped syllables, "is going to tell me what's going on here?"

"Me," Ubbe said, resigned, as Thorunn glanced from one brother to the other. "It's not her fault, it was my idea."

"Put down those shields."

Thorunn's dropped nervelessly from her grip, clattering by her feet. Ubbe lowered his, but did not let it go. Which may have been wise, considering his elder's proximity and still fierce expression.

What did she want to say more, if he asked her to speak? I'm sorry? Or you were gone? Attack or defend? Parry, or take the initiative? This too was a battle. All was a battle.

"How...how long have you been there?" she tried, as a compromise.

"Long enough to see you've been working hard while I was away," Bjorn said, with what she thought was sarcasm but wasn't sure. And was that a compliment, or a criticism? Probably the latter. She saw no pride coming from his eyes.

But she hadn't disobeyed a direct order. He had never told her not to fight with anyone, Ubbe or otherwise. The implication had been there, certainly. Vaguely.

Maybe not so vaguely.

Actually, Thorunn couldn't recall Bjorn's exact words on the topic at all, right now. Not the way he was looking at her with those sea-colored storm eyes.

Ubbe had straightened, too, tilted his head back in that Ragnar Lothbrok way, gazing at his brother with a mouth turned slightly mutinous as though he had no intention of begging forgiveness.

Bjorn turned to him. "You know better," he said evenly.

Ubbe's chin tilted still higher. "You could have been here the whole time. She's done fine. If you'd been watching you would have seen it yourself."

"What I saw was you nearly taking her head off."

Ubbe put up his hand in defense. Thorunn opened her mouth to say something and closed it, feeling like a fish, but momentarily unable to come up with anything that was unlikely to further inflame the situation.

"Maybe she's better than you think."

"I'll be the one to judge that," Bjorn said, which struck Thorunn as a little arrogant, even if he was who he was. He waved a finger between the two of them. "And this is not happening again."

Ubbe shrugged. "Just thought I'd give you a break," he said, now more careless, more lightly insolent.

"You don't need to do anything for me but what I tell you to." Bjorn was close now, bridging the gap between so they were both breathing in each other's faces.

"Please," Thorunn interjected. "I don't want to be the cause of—"

Neither of them broke gaze with the other. She felt rather helpless.

"You should go," Bjorn said, not looking at her, so it was a bit confusing for a moment. "Get back to your duties."

Now that was easily the most dismissive thing he'd ever said, and though he was well within his rights to say it, Thorunn felt a responding flare of anger kindle in her stomach. Was it so easy for him to forget all the work they'd put in together, all the conversations and stories they'd shared? Even Ubbe's forehead wrinkled in disapproval, she thought. But she would not go without pushing back just a little. "Of course, master. My humblest apologies for my disobedience. Please forgive me—"

Oh, that was too much, and both their faces told her so, but for different reasons. Ubbe's face read clearly noooo, you're just making him angrier and Bjorn looked like he was ready to forgo disciplining his brother if he could just have her instead. So she backed away quickly, adrenalin coursing through her body, fuelling the retreat. She tried to leave with dignity and not run, but it was very tempting, especially when she couldn't look behind her to see what she was leaving—or for that matter if Bjorn was about to follow her and tackle her to the ground, which seemed a distinct possibility.

But no one followed—and when at the last she dared look, at least they had not come to blows in the interim, although neither had backed down, either.

Thorunn fled.

"Gods, Bjorn, wait up."

Ubbe was trying to keep pace with him, but Bjorn walked fast when he was mad.

And he was mad.

Well, if that even encompassed all of his feelings at the moment. He didn't know which one of them he was madder at, either. He'd barely avoided flattening his brother back there, having decided leaving was the more cool-headed option, and as for Thorunn...

Oh, he would deal with her, too. He would decide how later.

"Bjorn. Come on. If you want to hit me, just get it over with now."

Bjorn swung around so fast that Ubbe almost crashed into him. "I want to hit you," he said, through gritted teeth, "but I wouldn't stop at one and then Father would need to know why your face looked like it would."

Ubbe sighed and threw back his head. "You're being awfully dramatic. It's not as if you found us in bed—"

"Oh! So you didn't do that. That's good. Thanks."

"I know you like her," Ubbe rolled his eyes.

"I don't like her," Bjorn ground out. "What I like is people...minding their business and not doing what I tell them not to."

"So you're just mad that your brother and one of your citizens – " Bjorn thought it lucky he had not used the word slave because that might have been the last thing he would have taken— "were having a friendly competition. Outside. Under the sky. With all the gods watching."

Ubbe was his favorite but Bjorn really hated him sometimes. "Stop following me," he said. "Find another way back to town."

"Through the bushes?"

"Off a cliff if you want."

"How was your trip?" Ubbe yelled after his departing back, a few minutes later.

Bjorn ignored that.

The trip had been fine, in fact, nothing noteworthy had happened along the way or at the seat of their hosts up north. Talks had gone well and as far as Bjorn knew there were steps in place to set up some liaisons or another. The northerners had had a daughter that he had no intention of marrying—she had been pretty, but dull as a cow—but perhaps would do for Hvitserk, if they could pull him away from Margrethe, or possibly Sigurd in a few years. Really, his brothers grew eminently less marriageable once you moved down the line. That was their father's problem to figure out, anyway, not Bjorn's.

His thoughts were on another girl entirely, and not all of them pleasant.