Dronning Rihttá gathering her limp child’s body into her lap, anguish and loss clawing at her skin.

Dronning Rihttá, stripped of a son who had died and of a son who had not.

How had it happened? How had two boys who stuck so close to their older brothers sneaked into the dark where there was no one to keep them safe? How had they found themselves alone in this place where no one was ever alone?

Nausea hit me in waves. I ran panting inside the fortress, grateful for light and dying for company. But tonight, Valaskjálf’s cheerful roar was replaced with one angry, echoing voice.

I skidded to a stop outside the great hall’s doors and hid, watching.

They’d clustered into three camps inside, like three little armies in a standoff. The first centered around Skop, looking sick and pale beneath his light brown complexion. At his sides, Lang and Perrault were a shifting mass of restless glances and muttered words.

Anya stood inside the second camp, encircled protectively by her brothers. The Asgard boys’ arms were clasped behind their backs, their cheeks pale, their eyes trained on the ground.

At the head of the third camp towered Konge Alfödr, eye blazing like the bonfires outside, flanked by Rihttá and his eldest sons. Huginn and Muninn circled the scene, cloaks flapping, eyes sharp.

“Koniag, you had no right,” shouted Alfödr, stabbing a finger at Skop. “No right!”

“And you!” said Dronning Rihttá, arms outstretched to Anya. Her tone was considerably calmer than her husband’s, but she was visibly upset. “Haven’t we taught you better than this?”

“Nothing happened!” Anya choked. “I did not plan this—to fall in love.”

Alfödr missed the pained pinch of Bragi’s mouth, but not the joy that lit Skop’s face. “Not planned?” he roared, striding toward her. “The fortress was empty but for the pair of you! I did not raise you a liar or a lovesick girl, to grow faint of heart over a boy. You are a shield-maiden and a prinsessa of Varsinais-Suomi, but tonight you have disgraced both your peoples.”

A furious blue vein stood out on Anya’s pale forehead. “I did not—we—” She broke off, eyes wide, nostrils flared.

I burst from my hiding place. “What is going on?”

A dozen pairs of eyes cut my way. “Seneschal-elect, this has nothing to do with you,” Muninn croaked gravely, creaking forward on aged joints as if to block me from the hall.

I nearly backed down, but Anya’s lips began to tremble. I steeled myself. “Skop is in Potomac’s employ, so it certainly does.”

“Very well.” Alfödr glared, stomping toward the Beholder crew. “Your first mate and my daughter were alone in his room. Alone!”

It explained Anya’s absence, and Skop’s. I ground my teeth. So reckless.