Alfödr spoke to the crowd in Norsk before turning to the Beholder crew. “Seneschal-elect and her guardians, you honor Asgard with your presence. Please accept these treasures. Use them well.”

His voice was strong, powerful; his people watched him admiringly. I thought with a sudden pang of how the crowd had watched my father on Arbor Day, barely able to hear him, their eyes concerned and confused.

I wished I were home with him right now. I wished I could help him.

My very bones felt pulled toward Potomac.

Six men carried bags and cases to the head table, passing brilliant copper rings, swords, and knives from hand to hand, both new gifts and their own weapons that had been confiscated the day before. As my gift, a bronze suit of armor, was unveiled in the corner, I wondered when I’d ever wear such a thing.

I swallowed, shaking off my sadness. “Skop, can I see?” I whispered across Torden.

“Sure.” Skop nodded absently and passed me his ring. When I finally handed it back, he didn’t notice my frown; he was watching Anya as she rose from the table with her stepmother.

The ring was finely engraved with Skop’s name and the outline of the island of Koniag. But such delicate work took time—clearly, more than had passed since our arrival.

How did Alfödr know of Skop’s homeland? His name?

A low cheer from the crowd distracted me from my thoughts. Dronning Rihttá had filled a drinking horn from a large cauldron warming over the fire and offered it to Konge Alfödr. As Anya passed the horn she carried to Fredrik, five other noblewomen rose to repeat the ritual at other tables, answered by every face in Valaskjálf with admiration. I glanced in question at Torden.

“Only a few women are allowed to serve the first mead. It’s tradition,” he whispered in my ear, eyes tracking Rihttá as she approached, statuesque in black. “Their hospitality forges and preserves peace.”

Silently, the queen passed her etched silver drinking horn to Torden.

“Baldr,” he said, voice lower than far-off thunder.

I didn’t understand the word she mouthed as he replaced the vessel in her hands, but her dark eyes said, Thank you. Torden nodded, gaze full of something like sympathy with a bracing edge.

When the drinking horn came next to me, I raised it to Torden, a nervous thrill chasing the alcohol through my blood.

After everyone had drunk, clamor rose again around the hall. Utensils scraped bowls and plates as everyone helped themselves to lamb and cabbage stew, pork and herring, cooked onions and carrots. Loud talk and jokes went up on all sides as Alfödr’s thegns and drengs and heerthmen—his householders—bragged loudly about their past and future exploits.

“In three months, I’m going to be able to finish the morning run in half an hour,” said Fredrik.