It had never occurred to me that we wouldn’t, though Anya’s quarters were much larger than Skop’s. Her room was built of stone, like his, but its far wall was a single pane of glass, reflecting the crackling fire and the tapers in the angular iron chandelier. I pressed my face close to its chilly surface and found we were nestled in Yggdrasil’s branches, overlooking the Lysefjord.

“The boys aren’t so lucky,” she added. “The drengs, the young warriors, sleep four to a room in the brakker.”

“Isn’t that a little crowded?” I’d never even shared a room with one person, let alone three.

Anya laughed. “Welcome to Asgard. Everything here—the big windows, big rooms, big tables—is designed for people who don’t care about comfort and who can’t stand to be indoors. Or alone.”

As I sank down on a fur rug in front of my trunk, staring out Anya’s window at the ash tree, a memory flooded my mind—a game of hide-and-seek I’d lost to Momma when I was little. I’d startled a bunch of butterflies from the trunk of an American ash in Arbor Hall, and she’d come running at my shouts. Momma found me shrieking with laughter, twirling in a cloud of raven-dark mourning cloaks and brown-winged hickory hairstreaks.

I wanted to hide somewhere quiet with my book and my godmother’s voice. I wanted to climb out Anya’s window, out of this fortress of stone and too many soldiers, and hide in Yggdrasil’s branches until I could breathe again.

Careful not to jostle the radio in the binding, I opened my book and made one more tick mark on the back endpaper.

Thirteen days left. Thirteen days, and then I would be faced with the Imperiya: with crossing its borders, or with convincing Lang and Perrault to spare me and let me go home to my father, with Torden or without him.

“You get used to it.” Anya’s gentle voice broke into my thoughts.

I considered how charming she’d been at dinner, how awkward I’d been, by comparison. “You certainly have.”

She gave a low laugh. “I didn’t have much choice. Our people—the ones who survived—fled to Asgard after the Imperiya took my father’s throne.”

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

Anya’s bed creaked as she peered over my shoulder and crawled onto the floor. I shifted, shielding my book; but then I saw her eyeing the contents of my trunk with interest. “We should hang up some of your things.”

“Oh. Thank you.” I set my book aside and passed her the green lace gown I’d worn in Winchester. Anya placed it in her wardrobe, fingers reverent. “And Aleksei?” I asked, tentative. “When did he arrive?”