Thorfinn had been glaring at me throughout the two days we were out to sea. He wasn't pleased to see me before we set sail, and he made his displeasure abundantly clear. I had never witnessed such intense anger and hatred in someone so young. So, when I was ordered to help row out to sea, I kept my distance from him. Hovering like a mother hen would have only exacerbated the situation. I had to approach Thorfinn cautiously. He likely didn't even remember what it felt like to have someone care about him, and I didn't want to overwhelm him.

He would downright reject me, and make it even harder for me to approach him in the future.

But Thorfinn never ceased his glaring, and it was starting to draw attention.

And he wasn't the only one who had been staring at me…

I was leaning against my pack, sitting on the wooden floor of the boat enjoying a piece of jerky I grabbed from my supply in my pack when Atli's voice called out from my right: "Hey, can I have some of that jerky, Thorben?"

Before I could respond, he plopped down beside me, wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and snatched the jerky I was chewing on right out of my grasp.

He shoved the entire piece into his mouth and grunted with approval. "Damn, that's good!"

I opened my mouth to protest but froze as his left hand shifted down, pressing firmly against my chest. He began rubbing back and forth, as if searching for something.

Given that I was a girl, this should have bothered me. However, with so many layers of clothing and my breasts bound tightly to my chest, I barely felt his attempts at groping. Not that he could feel anything; I had ensured of that, even if I were bumped or elbowed in the chest, my chest would feel smooth and firm to the touch.

But why was he trying to molest me?

"Why are you trying to feel my up, Atli? Are you hitting on me?" I asked bluntly, disregarding Thorfinn's increasingly hostile glares from the back of the ship.

"Just so you know, I'm not into boys," I added. This seemed to startle him, as his hand quickly withdrew, and a scowl settled on his dirt-covered face.

"Come on, that's not what I was doing. I just heard a rumor and was only checking, that's all." He held up his hand in a placating gesture, but his voice dripped with sarcasm. I narrowed my eyes at him, at his attempt at a smug face. Did he suspect I was a woman? How? Who had told him?

Maybe I was overthinking it, but why else would he be groping my chest unless he was trying to feel for my breasts?

Then again, the who shouldn't be a surprise. Despite garnering some respect from Bjorn, I wouldn't put it past him to not slip up in his speech when referring to me. Doubt he cared to think before he spoke when regarding my status.

My eyes narrowed further, but I kept my voice steady but laced with an edge. "Rumors, huh? Funny how those tend to get people into trouble. If you're checking for something, you might want to reconsider your methods."

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice so only Atli could hear. "Next time, ask directly. You might just save yourself from looking like a fool."

I sprang to my feet, determined to cut the conversation short, and made my way to the other side of the boat and sat down near the railing, facing the other boats. Everyone around me seemed perfectly content to pretend I didn't exist, a relief I hadn't dared hope for. I had wondered how they'd react to my presence once we set sail, but it appeared that storming the fortress had quenched their thirst for blood and drama for now. They had no interest in me, and I wasn't about to complain. The fewer heads I had to bash to keep my mask intact, the better. Still, I caught their occasional side-eye glances, likely more to do with Thorfinn's obvious hostility toward me.

If Thorfinn cared at all about my safety, ignoring me was the best option, though his seething glares left me uncertain. I'd hoped he cared at least a little. When I first approached him, there was a glimmer of concern, but until he calmed down, I wouldn't know for sure.

In the end, if he truly didn't care, what was I supposed to do? When would I decide he was a lost cause? When should I…

I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose through my mask. I couldn't let my thoughts wander down that path. It wasn't fair. Thorfinn was still in there somewhere. I'd seen a glimpse of him when I'd hugged him. Even if he seemed unreachable now, and perhaps for weeks or even months to come, I knew he was still there. Giving up…

Giving up wasn't an option.

Because this mess he was in was entirely my fault.

The memory of him hiding in the barrel flashed before my eyes. I remembered teasing him about exposing his hiding spot, all the while knowing the hypocrisy—I craved anonymity myself. I let him stay hidden, only for him to witness his father's murder.

That was one of my deepest regrets. That, and abandoning my family.

Flashes of arrows raining down on Thors blazed through my mind. Thorfinn's cries, Leif's tears, Ari's futile charge at Askeladd…

My hand ached, and I glanced down to find my gloved fist that was hanging over the side of the boat clenched so tightly that my nails had pierced the fabric, biting into my palm. As I opened my hands, I noticed tiny spots of blood where my nails had managed to break the skin, beading up onto the tiny slits I made with my nails onto my glove. With a heavy sigh, I resigned myself to the fact that next time I sneaked below deck for a much needed bathroom privacy, I'd have to clean these small cuts. The last thing I needed was an infection festering in my hands, especially with the stench wafting off these pirates.

They did not care about hygiene in the slightest…

Thankfully, I had the foresight to pack a lot of soap this time around.

However, when I casually glanced up when a nagging feeling pressed into me, I struggled to conceal my surprise at the sight that met me.

Askeladd's piercing blue eye fixed on me as he sipped from a horn cup at the bow of his ship, his expression blank, bored even.

My hands itched to flip him off, but I restrained myself. He made it clear he understood the gesture, and antagonizing the Chieftain who kept Thorfinn on a tight leash wasn't wise.

Instead, I leaned over the ship's railing, rested my chin on my hand, and lazily winked at him.

He didn't react. He stared a moment longer, then turned his gaze forward. Unfazed. Unbothered.

Ignored.

I briefly wondered how long he'd been watching me but shrugged it off with a smile. I turned back around and leaned against my pack for support. Two more days at sea and we'd reach Askeladd's settlement in Denmark.

Then a heinous thought struck me: what if Askeladd thought I was flirting with him?

I shuddered at the implications.

It took a total of four days to reach Denmark, which was pretty fast, but it shouldn't be a surprise as early winter storms were scarce.

I couldn't help but remember a rough trip with Cillian when a brutal storm knocked us way off course in the middle of summer, costing us three days just to get back on track. We also lost two men to the sea that day. Informing their families had been particularly gut-wrenching.

With calm seas, rowing in was a breeze. When we docked, the men couldn't wait to unload their spoils.

A large crowd gathered near the docks, and as the men eagerly piled their treasures on land, I took a moment to take in the scene as I made my way off the boat and onto their large docks.

Askeladd's settlement was impressive. The villagers, drawn by the promise of pillaged riches, seemed well off. No one looked famished or ragged; their clothes were well-kept, if not new.

And there were kids everywhere.

The buildings were well-maintained and plentiful, dominated by a sprawling manor at the settlement's center. That manor was even grander than my father's, likely filled with numerous private quarters.

This settlement oozed wealth and prosperity. Whether from bountiful harvests or Askeladd's prowess as a Viking chieftain, or perhaps both, their success was evident. In modern times, Denmark's weather was considered dull and uneventful, with bad summer years rare. Such stability likely meant fruitful winters for fishing. I wondered if the same could be said one-thousand years in the past?

It looked to be true.

But, if memory served, I was living in a time marked by a population boom thanks to a warm period in Denmark that led to better harvests. Better harvests meant more babies.

And more babies meant more Vikings.

And more Vikings meant more pains in my ass.

One major pain in my ass had just disembarked, his laughter mingling with Bjorn's as they sauntered towards the pilfered spoils. The young women surged forward, forming a circle near the edge of the crowd with eyes glinting like magpies at a treasure hoard.

And then came the cooing.

"What a haul! Look at all those silks!"

"And gold!"

"Oh, Askeladd! Look over here! Look at me!"

"Bjorn! Bjorn, look at me!"

"Are you looking for a wife, Askeladd? I'll be your wife! I'm still a virgin!"

I couldn't help but crack a smile and stifle a laugh. They were desperate. Too desperate. But who could blame them? Being a chieftain's wife was the medieval equivalent of hitting the lottery, assuming war didn't come knocking on the door.

Askeladd, though, was no spring chicken. He had to be pushing forty, maybe more. How he didn't already have a wife—arranged or otherwise—was beyond me.

He must have brothers, then.

Were they Vikings too, or did they pursue other careers? Were any among the marauding horde here? I doubted they were chieftains themselves. Viking longboats were as rare as an honest trader, and splitting them between viking factions in one settlement wasn't the brightest idea. Better to band together and present a formidable front, minimizing casualties in the long run.

I doubted Askeladd was the feudal lord of this bustling settlement. Maybe one of his brothers wore that crown, or perhaps his father, if the old man was still kicking. Fifty years was the expected expiration date in these parts, but that was more a guideline than a hard rule. I'd met plenty of octogenarians who defied the odds, so his father still being alive wasn't outlandish.

But all that speculation vanished the moment Thorfinn stepped off the boat, thoughts of Askeladd momentarily suspended. Thorfinn strode past me on the docks, turned right, and disappeared behind some buildings. I watched him go, torn between the urge to follow and the desire not to become an annoyance he'd later avoid like the plague.

"Hey, Atli," I called out to him as he passed by, struggling with a small chest piled high with silks. He stopped and looked at me, his eyes wary. I ignored his cautious stare. "Where does Thorfinn usually go when you settle home?"

Atli shifted the chest's weight and glanced around before answering. "Thorfinn? He sleeps in the barn, with the animals. Doesn't seem to mind it much, though. Keeps to himself, mostly." He shrugged and continued on his way, leaving me with a vivid image of little Thorfinn curled on a hay bail with a pig to help keep him warm.

Did he sleep there through the winter months too? And Askeladd didn't care?

My disdain for the man grew stronger every day. But for now, I had to bide my time, waiting for Thorfinn to warm up to me. Only then could I persuade him to join me in whatever lodgings I secured.

If he ever gave me the chance…

One saving grace of a Norse settlement was their renowned hospitality. Following the Norse pagan gods came with a belief: the traveler that came knocking at your door could be Odin in disguise, and mistreating a god was unthinkable. Deadly, even. So, to be safe, they welcomed all travelers, offering kindness, within reason. Social status played a part, of course, but at the very least, I could find a roof over my head and a dry place to sleep.

Once I won over the hearts of my hosts, I could likely convince them to allow Thorfinn in as well. It might take a week, maybe a month, but it would be worth it. I just had to prove my worth—and cooking wasn't my only specialty, thanks to Cillian…

"Listen up, you bastards!" Askeladd yelled, standing near the piled treasures. His voice cut through the chatter like a blade. "This season's been hard, and we've lost more men than I'd like. So, if any of you want to join the next Viking season, send word before Yule's end. We'll likely need to hold a competition for new members to fill the ranks."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over his men, and then to the young onlookers who swarmed around the treasure, his eyes landing on a group of men who were smiling from ear to ear. "Be ready. We'll need the strongest and the smartest. No dead weight. You've got time to prove your worth—or be left behind."

They cheered, oblivious to the lack of remorse in Askeladd's voice when he mentioned losing men. In fact, there was a gleam in his eyes, like a wolf savoring the hunt. I couldn't help but narrow my gaze at him. Before, I wouldn't have given a damn about what he thought of his men. But after spending time with Cillian and his crew, the idea of Cillian not caring for his own twisted my gut.

Then again, these brutes probably didn't deserve my sympathy. They followed Askeladd like sheep to a butcher, after all. And they slaughtered the innocent without remorse.

All on Askeladd's orders.

Whatever. Thorfinn was my main concern. No one else here warranted my attention. Let Askeladd play his games; they were of no concern to me.

But first, I needed to find someone who'd take me in.

After Askeladd's speech, he strode toward the manor, issuing orders to Bjorn to tally up the treasures they'd accrued. As I watched him walk away, my gaze drifted to the fields of winter wheat and rye that sprawled behind the large maner. Farmers, in my experience, were some of the most hospitable folk around.

With that in mind, I made my way toward those fields, hoping to find a warm hearth and a family willing to enjoy my cooking for the evening.

I gave Thorfinn two days to think everything over, though it made me squirm knowing he was bedding down with pigs instead of enjoying dry blankets by a warm fire. As the second evening came and went, and the farmer, his family, and the farmhands had their fill of my stew, I took a second helping and slipped outside.

The settlement had one main barn and smaller ones for chickens and small animals. Thorfinn was in the larger barn near the leftern most side of the settlement. As I entered, I saw him perched atop the highest hay pile, his father's knife in hand, sharpening it. He looked up as I approached, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity.

He sneered at me. "What do you want?"

I offered the bowl of stew as I walked over to him, a smile dancing in my eyes. "Just dropping off some extra stew. Didn't want it to go to waste."

He turned away, dismissive. "Don't want it."

I shrugged. "Eat it, don't eat it. Makes no difference to me." Stepping forward, I placed the bowl near the hay pile. "I'll just set this here and be on my way. Like I said, it's extra. Do what you please with it. Feed it to the rats if you wish."

I turned and walked out. It went as expected. Just had to keep at it.

The next evening, I repeated the same routine. The bowl from the night before was empty, tossed aside like a discarded thought. I smiled, picking it up before placing a fresh bowl of stew near Thorfinn, who lay atop the hay pile, steadfastly ignoring me.

"Here's some more," I said gently, walking away. "See you tomorrow, Thorfinn."

It took a week before he finally spoke to me.

As I set the bowl down and prepared to leave again after offering my farewell, he finally spoke up, "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

He clicked his tongue. "Don't play stupid. You know damn well what I mean."

My eyes softened as I looked back at him. "Because everyone deserves a bit of kindness, Thorfinn. Even if they don't think they do."

He frowned, then sneered again. "What's in it for you?"

So, he suspected I had ulterior motives. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, given his history. After seven years of being used and abused, it's no wonder he's wary.

"Nothing at all. I just had extra stew and I didnt want it to go to waste. Nothing more." I replied, keeping my voice steady. Just hoping you'll see that not everyone wants something from you. Sometimes, it's just about being decent, but I couldn't voice that. Yet.

Ot would only piss him off.

He studied me for a moment, then looked away. "Don't expect me to return the favor. I didn't ask for your help or otherwise."

I smiled softly, though he couldn't see it under my mask. "I don't expect anything from you, Thorfinn. I hadn't asked, have I? But I'll keep bringing the food anyway."

As I left, I let out a sigh at the barn door. It was a start.

The next day, I brought three slices of pizza I made using a cauldron. First time trying a cauldron as an oven substitute, and the first one didn't turn out right (I ate that one), but I was able to adjust and make it work. This time, he wasn't perched on the hay pile but sitting at its foot, his arms and legs crossed. When I entered, our eyes locked, but he didn't sneer as I approached.

"This is a little different than what you're used to," I said, handing him a wooden plate typically reserved for a main course of duck or chicken. I opened my mouth to say more, but Thorfinn simply picked up a slice and bit into it. This was the first time he ate in front of me since starting this routine with him.

His face lit up, and my heart skipped a beat. For a split second, the Thorfinn I remembered surfaced—his eyes widened, his face lightened and rounded, and a sparkle returned to his eyes. It was a relief to see that expression again.

So relieved.

"It's good, right?"

"Yeah, it's alright," he muttered, back to his reserved, distant self, but it was still in the right direction. A breakthrough, in a way.

He wasn't sneering, at the very least.

"I'm glad you like it." Then I winked. "Let me know if you have any recommendations, and I'll make it for you, okay?"

The very next day, he made that request.

"You want the same dish I made the first day I cooked for your family and friends? Back in Iceland?" I asked, handing my latest stew concoction to Thorfinn.

"That's what I said," he replied, taking a large bite, his face warming.

Seeing him enjoy my meal filled me with joy. So, so happy.

"A risotto fish stew, if I recall correctly." I smiled and gave him a thumbs up. "Sounds like a plan!"

The next day, however, an unexpected visitor arrived.

One that was completely unexpected.

I was pouring my second helping of risotto fish stew, the one meant for Thorfinn, when the door burst open, startling me so much I nearly dropped the bowl.

"There you are, Bjorn!" the farmer bellowed from his seat near the fire, his face flushed from eating my stew. His three children, who had been in their shared bedroom near the main living space, came running out, barreling into Bjorn just as he closed the door against the cold. The kids collided with his legs, but he barely budged, kneeling down to pat their heads with a warm smile.

It was so…it was a weird sight, that was for sure.

"Uncle Bjorn! Uncle Bjorn! Tell us more Viking stories!" one of the boys shouted, the other two echoing his excitement. "More! More!"

It was cute, but…

Uncle Bjorn!?

I must have said that out loud because everyone suddenly stared at me.

"Ah, Thorben. I almost forgot you came in with Askeladd's band. You two are acquainted, yeah?" the farmer, Harald, said, seemingly unfazed by my outburst. He must still be basking in a food-induced bliss.

"You could say that," Bjorn replied for the both of us from the doorway as he shooed the kids away who scurried back into their room, laughing and giggling, his eyes never leaving me as I sat crouched by the fire and cauldron, soup bowl still in hand.

Harald stood up from his seat and walked over to Bjorn, slapping him on the shoulder. "Bjorn here is a good family friend of ours," he said with a wide grin. "A complete bastard, but he sure brings in a good load of gold each Viking season." He laughed loudly.

I blinked, processing this. So he wasn't there Uncle, but a good family friend. Like Cillian was to my family. It would have been strange if Bjorn came from a well off family and went Viking every season.

What would be the point?

I shook off the thought and stood up. Looking at the two of them, it was clear they couldn't be related. Bjorn was tall, well-built, with a strong face and prominent forehead. He looked like a Viking, while Harold was short, round, and had dirty blonde hair. Very round…

"I had no idea," I admitted, shifting uncomfortably. Why was Bjorn here?

"You're in good spirits this evening, Harald. What did I miss?" Bjorn asked, grinning, likely finding Harald's mood infectious.

"You've been missing this lad's cooking! Every night has been a feast thanks to him. Feels like we're eating in Odin's halls every night!"

My eye twitched at the "lad" comment. Technically, I should be considered an adult to them, but I guess my voice sounded more boyish rather than manly.

"I can believe that. Thorben here has a gift with food. If only his blade was as sharp as his cooking skills," Bjorn replied with a smirk, giving me a look that asked me to prove him wrong.

Harald let out a hearty laugh. "Well, a sharp blade isn't everything. A full stomach keeps morale high, and that's just as important in battle." He walked back over to me and clapped me on the shoulder. "Keep up the good work, lad. Maybe one day, you'll be fighting alongside us instead of just feeding us."

I nodded at his comment, though I found it confusing. Bjorn and Harald must have been talking behind my back at some point. Bjorn likely mentioned I wanted to come along in some capacity. Harold did sneak off some evenings to visit the hall for merrymaking while I helped his pregnant wife with household chores. They probably gossiped there like school girls.

"So, Bjorn. What brings you here this evening? Don't tell me you're here to steal my cook?"

"Not at all." Bjorn crossed his arms and walked over toward me, peering at the food in my hand. "Is that for Thorfinn?"

How did he know? He must have seen the question in my eyes because he chuckled before saying, "People talk, you know. What did you expect from a bored Norse settlement hunkered down for the winter?"

Before I could respond, Bjorn continued, "Askeladd sent me, actually. He needs to know if you're planning to join the next Viking season. He wants a clear count of how many are applying. The more prepared we are, the better our chances, after all."

Wait, what?

"Why does he need to know if I'm joining? I'm not joining his crew."

His eyebrow cocked. "You're not? So you're okay with fending for yourself, bringing your own rations to last the entire season, as well as your own mead?"

That gave me pause. The thought would have eventually crossed my mind, especially if I couldn't convince Thorfinn to return home before the next season started. Considering he had already invested seven years of his life in this cause, persuading him wouldn't be a quick task.

Askeladd wouldn't spare the rations for me. He'd outright tell his men to refuse me food or drink when I needed it most, letting me die a slow, painful death all the while laughing and making wagers of how much longer I had left. Feeding a hundred men at sea for months on end wasn't cheap, and even one more mouth to feed could put everything out of balance. Sure, raiding helped restock supplies, but who knew what jobs they'd take on in the upcoming season? If it was all war gigs, food restocks would be scarce. And I doubted Askeladd shared his plans with his men, let alone a stranger like myself.

So, that must mean Askeladd had taken Thorfinn into account in his preparations.

I let a smile fall to my eyes, more on the mocking side than genuine. "It's sweet of him to think of me, sending you to tell me all this." I said it with sarcasm, but Bjorn didn't seem to notice, or care.

"Sweet?" he snorted, readjusting his crossed arms. "Askeladd's not exactly the sentimental type. He just wants to make sure no one's dead weight when we set sail. If you're in, you're in. If not, best figure out your own way to survive."

He was so straightforward sometimes.

"Oh, sweet indeed," I said with a smile. "Nothing says affection like making sure I don't starve to death at sea." My hand went to my hip and with a cocked head I continued, "I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I? Guess I'll put in my lot this coming season. Tell him for me, will ya?"

Bjorn frowned. "Tell him yourself. Or are you still too scared to face him?"

That had me cocking my head in confusion. "What gave you the impression that I'm scared to face him?"

Bjorn narrowed his eyes, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips again. "The way you talk, and the actions you've taken to avoid him. Prove me wrong, but it's clear you shirk your way around Askeladd." He then pointed his thumb behind him. "But you should let him know you're interested before the end of Yule. Askeladd isn't a patient man, and he'll make no exceptions for anyone who tries to delay his plan making."

I thought I'd done a decent job of masking my irritation with Askeladd, but apparently, I was wrong. Cillian often remarked that when I wasn't being serious , I was as readable as a picture book.

"Alright, fine. I'll tell him," I conceited, waving my hand dismissively. Bjorn just grunted and turned to his brother, who was helping himself to another serving of my stew. As their banter filled the room, I slipped out and headed toward Thorfinn's barn.

Snow was falling steadily, and as I stepped inside the barn, the change in temperature was minimal. A small hearth flickered in the center, barely keeping the worst of the cold at bay. It was far from cozy. I briefly wondered if Thorfinn tended to the fire, or if the farmhands did.

Did Thorfinn endure this every winter?

I found him near the pile of hay at the back, his makeshift bed. He watched me approach, his hard eyes flicking between my face and the bowl of stew in my hands. As soon as I was within reach, he snatched it without a word of thanks and began eating, his silence as sharp as the winter air.

But his eyes lit up again, and I couldn't help but smile at the sight. Then my smile faded, replaced by a gnawing doubt. Would Thorfinn hate me if I joined Askeladd's crew?

And if I did join, what horrors would I be dragged into? What might I be forced to do? More importantly, what could I avoid doing?

Would I have to kill the innocent? Was freeing Thorfinn worth such a price? He'd probably slain countless innocents himself, murdered them for revenge that had nothing to do with them.

Would Thorfinn ever realize this? Grasp the weight of his actions? Would killing Askeladd truly end it all? Could it halt Thorfinn's endless cycle of bloodshed?

…and if I were to kill Askeladd, would that be a mercy? A mercy for the innocent lives lost and a twisted mercy for Thorfinn.

Or would Thorfinn channel all his years of torment onto me if he found out I was the one who did it? Poisoned Askeladd, murdered him in his sleep, stabbed him in the back. I could almost hear his accusatory silence.

And if I did, would another just take his place? Maybe not as cunning as Askeladd, but still another bloodthirsty Viking preying on the innocent. It was a never-ending cycle with these Vikings, like trying to mop up the sea.

No, I would not kill the innocent. I'd join Askeladd's band, but when we reached an unsuspecting village, I wouldn't partake in the bloodshed. Askeladd likely wouldn't care much—someone had to babysit the ships, after all.

I hoped I could convince Thorfinn to sit it out too. It'd be a step in the right direction.

"What's your problem?" Thorfinn asked from his spot on the ground, eyeing me with suspicion. I hadn't realized I was staring off into space.

"Oh, I was just thinking about…" I stopped myself. Should I tell Thorfinn I was considering joining Askeladd's band now? Waiting could be detrimental.

No. He'd hate me for it, and all my efforts so far would be wasted. He'd know I was only joining to sway him, and he'd despise me even more for it. And everything I worked for thus far would go down the drain, and then some.

"Spit it out, damn it," he spat while taking another bite of the stew.

My brow twitched at his tone, but I kept my retort in check. "Do you always sleep in a barn, Thorfinn? Wouldn't you rather sleep in a warm house instead?"

"Why does it matter to you?" He didn't look at me as he finished half the stew off.

"Because we're friends? Why wouldn't it matter?"

Thorfinn scowled, barely pausing his eating. "Friends? Don't kid yourself. We're not friends. I don't need your pity." He turned his gaze away, dismissing the conversation as if it were already over.

I raised an eyebrow, studying Thorfinn thoughtfully. "Why does it matter to me? Because I care, even if you don't think we're friends. You deserve better than a barn, Thorfinn. We all do." I paused, my gaze steady. "You don't have to be alone in this."

I might be overstepping too soon, but…

Thorfinn's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of defiance in his voice. "I sleep where I want." He looked away again and this time his demeanor closed off further conversation on the topic.

I was pushing it. Time to back off. "If you ever change your mind, I'll be here," I said, offering a small, understanding smile. I left him to his thoughts, respecting his space but leaving the door open for him to reach out if he needed.

I hoped he'd reach out, but it wouldn't be anytime soon. Slowly, I needed to chip away at his distrust and suspicion. Patience and subtlety were my allies. Once I did, I'd try again.

But while I worked on Thorfinn, Askeladd was another problem altogether. He knew I was avoiding him somehow, knew I didn't like him. The former I wasn't really hiding, in all honesty. If I were to join his crew, would he go out of his way to make my life hell?

No, I didn't think so. He wasn't one to waste energy on petty squabbling. But he'd still exploit Thorfinn's vengeance at every opportunity, and my presence wouldn't change that.

How could I convince him to leave Thorfinn alone? If I couldn't convince Thorfinn to sit out future jobs and raids, how could I convince Askeladd to better utilize Thorfinn's skills in ways that didn't involve mindless killing?

Askeladd thrived on manipulation, even if he denies doing it to begin with. Maybe I could plant the seed that Thorfinn's skills were better suited for strategic tasks—reconnaissance, espionage. Make Askeladd see the tactical advantage in using Thorfinn's abilities more wisely.

To care if he died meant losing a valuable pawn.

Then again, he knew how useful Thorfinn was. He was clever. Smarter than me.

After all, stealth seemed to be an innate skill of Thorfinn's when he was younger. No doubt that talent has only grown sharper over time.

But those two options didn't exactly promise a bloodless outcome. And Thorfinn? Stealth and restraint weren't exactly his style, despite my suspicion he was skilled in the two. He wouldn't hesitate to spill blood if it came to it. I hadn't seen him do it, but I could see it in his eyes how much bloodshed he wrought.

And how much it numbed him.

So how…

All Thorfinn cared about was defeating Askeladd in a fair duel… and Askeladd knew he'd do anything for a chance at it. That was his leverage.

The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that killing Askeladd might be the best option. But that would require finesse. It would have to be subtle, undetectable, and most importantly, it would have to look like an accident. A poison that could be mistaken as a natural ailment. Otherwise, Thorfinn's wrath would fall squarely on me.

But then again, Thorfinn's wrath aimed at me instead of Askeladd? I wouldn't exploit him like Askeladd all these years…

Besides, I've danced with death before and ended up a thousand years in the past. What's one more waltz?