Eyvind excused himself politely and made his way out. Clouds veiled the moon; the yard was in darkness. A dog sniffed around the doorway, lured by the smell of roast meat. A stone flew through the air, hitting it squarely on the rump; the dog squealed and bolted. Following the stone’s flight back, and hoping the next target would not be himself, Eyvind made his way to the steps that led up to the grain store. Somerled stood there in the dark, hurling stones at the ground now, hard enough to make them bounce. He did not stop as Eyvind approached.

“Somerled—”

“Go away.”

He’d heard that tone before, long ago, and had learned a lesson: not to ask what was wrong. Instead, he seated himself on the steps, saying nothing at all, and after a while Somerled ran out of stones and sat down beside him.

“So,” said Somerled after a considerable silence, “what do you think of this fine Ulf, and his grand plans to build a new home in the fair realms of light? Does it inspire you?”

“It seemed not unreasonable, the way he explained it,” Eyvind said cautiously. “A good place, with opportunities. But—”

“But, ever so slightly regrettable that he has sold my birthright to fund his dreams? Oh well, never mind. My mother was no more than a concubine, and my father treated her like dirt. Why should I expect any better?” His voice was not quite steady. In the dim light from the hall doorway, Eyvind could see his ashen pallor and his tight-clenched hands.

“Come on, now,” Eyvind protested. “Ulf is your brother. Surely—”

“That’s the trouble with you, Eyvind. You don’t listen. I’ve told you before, Ulf despises me. I’m no more than an embarrassment to him; he’s never known what to do with me. Well, he’s solved that problem now. Sold my father’s lands, all of them, no thought of any share for his father’s other son, and he’s off over the sea where he’ll never have to be reminded again that he has a brother. Neat. Tidy. Only one little loose end, really.”

“I don’t like to hear you talk like this,” Eyvind said. “You must be wrong. Have you spoken to Ulf of this? He must have provided for you.”

“As I said.” Somerled’s voice was tighter now, threatening to slip from his hard-won control. “You judge all men by your own measure. Very unwise, Eyvind. It’ll cause you grave trouble some day.”

Eyvind drew a deep breath. “Somerled?” he ventured.

“What?” The word was like a whip crack.

“Are you sure you’re not jumping to conclusions because you are angry with Ulf? I did think…I thought perhaps…well, with the wedding, you know—”

“Thinking doesn’t suit you, Eyvind. You’ve never had a talent for it. What can you mean? You believe I am jealous?”