‘What alliance is that?’ drawled a voice behind her. She spun around in surprise, spilling ale from her cup. ‘Forgive me, Lady. I didn’t mean to startle you.’ Before her stood a thin man with lank yellow hair spilling loose about narrow shoulders. His robe was the colour of dark wine, cinched at his hips with a loose cord so that his pale chest and a thin white leg were visible. He held a drinking horn rimmed with silver plate. He took a swig, his gaze never leaving Lilla.

‘My Lord Osvald?’

‘I am Osvald. But am I your lord. . .? Or are you mine?’ He gave a mirthless snort. He was drunk. ‘They tell me you are Sviggar’s daughter, Queen of the Twin Kingdoms.’

‘I am.’ Which put her above him. Estland was part of the Twin Kingdoms. When her grandfather Ívar had ruled, it had been one of the most loyal provinces in his realm. ‘Nevertheless I come here asserting no sovereignty over you. Our two realms are bound by their shared past.’

‘I wonder, would your husband say the same? The King-Over-Them-All.’ Osvald smiled, not a pleasant sight. ‘Though I hear he has not been saying much of late.’

‘He was sick,’ admitted Lilla. ‘Alas, the sickness took him.’

‘I am sorry to hear that.’ Though he hardly looked it. ‘And you. Left all alone.’ He went to the table and refilled his horn. ‘Sit, Lady, sit – and you others. Your servants?’

She nodded.

‘Quite the retinue.’

Einar and Gerutha found a seat on the benches against the wall.

‘And you?’ enquired Osvald, sliding himself into his high-back seat.

‘I prefer to stand.’ Her body cried out for rest, but she needed to retain every scrap of her dignity just then.

Osvald was eyeing her with curiosity, pulling at his wispish beard with long, pale fingers. ‘Assuming you are who you say you are, your presence here already tells me many things. If your husband is so lately dead, then your place is in Uppsala – at least until the Sveär choose themselves a new king. And even then, you would be treated with honour. Yet here you are, soaked through on a black night, with only a pair of misfit servants—’

‘Doubtless much is plain enough,’ she broke in. ‘We come seeking help.’

‘We?’

‘I do.’

‘Then I’m flattered. Of all the lordlings in your wide realm, you come to me.’

‘Our fathers fought together long before you or I were born. The bond between our peoples is strong as iron.’

‘Is it? My father – whom you remember so fondly – was slaughtered at Bravik. He stood on the left flank of your brother’s army.’

Lilla’s fingers tightened round her cup.

‘And where did you stand that day. . . my lady?’

Lilla didn’t answer.

‘You were there though. No? The Eagle Queen, some call you.’ He fluttered his hand in an airy gesture. ‘As you said – an alliance strong as iron.’