“As I said, you should speak to Eyvind. It is his choice. I do not set myself up in place of a king here. There are difficult times ahead of us; I intend that we should all face them together. I’ll be glad of your help, Margaret.” Nessa put out a hand; a moment later, she felt the cold touch of Margaret’s fingers, grasping hers. They sat in silence awhile, side by side.

Then Margaret said, “Thank you. Oh gods, I’m going to be sick again.”

“It will pass,” Nessa said, holding the other girl’s head as she doubled over, and wondering how long it might be before this particular malady struck her as well. “I promise you, it will pass.”

Magnus was true to his word. The ships had been gathered together at the safe harbor for final repairs. At the second full moon they sailed for Freyrsfjord, and Eyvind waved goodbye to Eirik and to his old comrades, Erlend and Holgar.

It was a strangely assorted company that stood on the hillside above Hafnarvagr, where the sweep of sheltered water spreads out before the dazzled viewer like an ever-changing shawl of lustrous blues and grays and greens all the way across to High Island. In springtime, that stretch of sea is a vessel of light whose loveliness quiets the heart. They watched in silence as the oars dipped and rose, and the fleet moved farther and farther away across the silver of the bay, threading between the isles on the perilous journey back to the home shores of Rogaland. One might have looked at these people, Nessa thought, and wondered what future the islands could have under their care. There was pale, silent Margaret with her woollen shawl hugged around her, and beside her a small, tight circle of protectors: young Gunhild, pink-cheeked and anxious, and the two stalwart guards, Ash and Bjorn. Behind them were two other men of Ulf’s household. All had convinced Eyvind of their worth and loyalty. To Nessa’s right stood Rona, tall and straight with her iron-gray plait and her shrewd, far-seeing eyes, and beside her the slight, unassuming figure of Brother Tadhg. Thank all the powers he had not followed his first instinct and jumped into that boat with Somerled. How would they ever have managed without this brave, calm little man? On the sloping sward below Nessa, Thord stood with wolfskin on shoulders, a hand lifted in salute as the Golden Dragon hoisted her sail to catch the westerly wind. Thord’s woman, Zaira, watched the ships pass with a dimpled smile. She had it in her to give, that one; Nessa had seen it. And she loved the place: already, among the island women, Zaira had a wide circle of friends. Even thus, quietly and without any fuss at all, is the torn fabric of community mended. Give us time, Nessa prayed, closing her eyes. Give us long enough, so this can be.