He wanted to die. Not just die, but be tied to the mast and beaten to death, then his shredded skin and broken bones tossed into the river for Fossegrim to devour. Within his father’s fisted grip, he was buckling and sliding down to the dock boards, falling to his knees, doubling in half, wanting to disappear, disintegrate between the cracks. But then Emil was down beside him, on his knees, his hands open now and his arms crushing Kennet to his wide chest.

“You fool boy,” he said hoarsely, one hand holding Kennet’s head hard against his pounding heart. “You damn fool boy, don’t you know what it would’ve done to me if you died?”

Kennet was sobbing now, braying like a wounded horse.

“Don’t you know?” Emil said, rocking him. “You damn fool boy. If you die, I die.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Get up now. Come on.” Emil put his good foot on the dock and levered the both of them up. “Come inside. Your mother needs to see your face and you need to answer for what you did.”

“I can’t.”

Emil’s fingers closed around Kennet’s clothes again. They didn’t squeeze or shake. They held him up, turned him to face his deeds, moved him forward. “You can. And you will.”

“It was the last time I cried,” Kennet said.

Astrid frowned. “You didn’t cry when your mother died?”

“I did. But not the way I did that night on the dock. I was weeping in a way and feeling in a way that scared me. I felt loathsome. I’d never been so ashamed in my life. I sobbed like a… I’d say a baby but it doesn’t even come close.”

“Like a condemned man?”

“Something like that.”

“Did your father tell you to stop?”

“Stop crying?”

“Mm.”

“No.”

She smiled. “I didn’t think he would. I like your father. He lets his sadness show.”

“What do you mean?”

“He misses your mother terribly. You can see it in his eyes, because he’s not trying to hide it. In Brazil, see… Men are constantly in a competition to prove how manly they are. They can’t stop thinking about their masculinity for five seconds. Displays of emotion, crying, sentimentality—this is all weakness to them. And you see it in the way fathers treat their sons. Don’t cry. Stop crying. Be a man. Don’t be a sissy. If you’re going to cry, go play with the girls.”

“Well, to be fair, Scandinavians can be notoriously stoic.”