“That might have been better,” Somerled observed, rising to his feet and moving to the narrow window, where he stood gazing out into the dusk. “A clean ending. Didn’t you always prefer that?”

“Must it always be thus?” Eyvind asked him wearily. “That each conversation between us is a kind of battle, a game in which rules are made and broken even as we play? I have not come here for this, Somerled.”

“Why did you come?” Somerled’s back was still turned, his arms obstinately folded. The stance was familiar; it brought old memories sharply to mind, memories that only made this more difficult.

“I don’t know.” Eyvind hesitated. “I think, because of…duty, obligation. It felt…necessary.”

“Duty.” Somerled’s tone was flat. “What duty is that, Eyvind? The duty of a warrior to his chieftain? It cannot be the duty of friend to friend, or brother to brother. That you have already betrayed many times over. You have shown the world quite clearly how little you believe in me.” The shoulders were as tense as those of a wild creature poised for flight. He gazed fiercely away.

“Odin’s bones, Somerled, I can’t talk to you! You don’t make sense to me anymore. How can you speak of the duty of brother to brother, when—I don’t even know where to begin.”

There was a brief silence.

“It was not always thus with the two of us.” There was a somewhat different note in Somerled’s voice now. He had unfolded his arms and was staring down at his hands; the fingers twisted together.

“I was proud of you once,” Eyvind said quietly. “I confess, when first you came to Hammarsby, I resented the task imposed on me. I thought you would never be able to learn anything, and yet at the same time I admired you. You were so quick-witted, so sure of the path you would follow. Then, of course, I discovered that I could teach, and that you could learn. You learned far more than I expected. I think, until the time we left Freyrsfjord and sailed for lands unknown, I still believed that I had succeeded in the task Eirik set me. But I have discovered, between last spring and this, that there was something I did not manage to teach you, and without it the rest was worthless. You always considered me stupid, and I don’t suppose that has changed. But it is you whose understanding is lacking, not I. At least I know…at least I comprehend—”

“What, Eyvind?” Somerled had half-turned, and there was no trace of scorn in his voice now, no supercilious lift of the brows, no amused quirk of the mouth, only wariness. He stood very still, waiting.