When I slept, the voice would come, reminding me of my trial by iron, but it sounded fainter and fainter as I began to move around. My body was different now, not because I was pregnant and uninjured; it wasn’t as muscled as it had been in my previous life. While I was still athletic, I was softer and I doubted my arms could ever pull back the bowstring on a regular bow, much less a goblin-forged bow.

Once I was cleared to do light chores, I was put in charge of sewing and mending the clothes of others, which was something I’d never done before, not in my other life at least. I did manage to get the hang of the patterns pretty quickly and blamed my clumsy stitching on my recent illness and pregnancy. Sitting inside all day—or sometimes outside if the weather was nice—bent over my work while the men played their hunting games, had me bouncing my knee and tapping my foot, looking around at every place I could, trying to count the number of rushes on the floor. My body itched for the sport and the contact, the thrill of the hunt, even if it was in this weak body where I doubted I could pull back a bowstring.

“I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow your stitching got worse,” Avette joked from where she sat beside me.

“And she’s so antsy!” replied Sigfrid, one of my middle sisters who I’d never gotten along with, even in my other life.

I glared at her but didn’t have any answer. While I didn’t have my previous skills from my other life, I lacked the skills most women my age would’ve developed by this point. So, throwing an axe at her head was out of the question.

“Don’t tease her,” Ika scolded. “She’s getting over being sick. Besides, it’s her first child. You were an anxious mess during your entire pregnancy. You couldn’t stitch a straight line even if Freya above led your hand.”

Sigfrid rolled her eyes, but my other sisters giggled and I found myself laughing too.

“Besides, I bet her baby will come out more handsome than yours did,” Jerry teased, bringing back the memory of Sigfrid’s squalling newborn with his pinched red face and hungry mouth.

She sniffed. “It’ll come out a freak, like its father.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Soren’s not a freak.”

“Even if he were,” Ika said, “he’s a very attractive freak.”

“Ika!” Avette scolded. “Stop being mean to Ebba, Sigfrid. No one likes a bully.”