Not long ago, coming up Lieneke Lane, he had been wondering if what he needed was a lover. Not just some woman to tumble. One he could fall for head over idiotic heels like he had Fiana. Now he realized he wasn’t just missing a lover. He lacked friends, too. To-the-death, put-up-with-anything friends like those he had brought to Kavelin for the civil war. His circle now consisted of people bound by common interest. The common interest seemed to be diverging with the decline of direct survival pressure. Tomorrow’s defeat might be hiding behind yesterday’s victory.

Derel Prataxis was the closest friend he had these days. And that might be only because he was Derel’s abiding interest. The Daimiellian scholar was writing the definitive modern history of Kavelin, from the inside.

Bragi wondered if he could manufacture a crisis to force a closing of ranks….

Michael. Was that his angle? Had he seen the consequences of a too secure peace? Was he stirring the pot in response? What had he said about a problem in the making?

Sounded like a good possibility. It reflected Michael’s kind of thinking.

“Has something happened?” Kristen asked. “You’re not just tired.”

“It’s not anything I can put a name on. Just a feeling that something is wrong. A resonance. People I’ve been talking to, they feel it too. It feeds on itself.” He glanced around. The children had made their retreat. Little Bragi apparently wasn’t interested in his grandfather tonight. Nor was Ragnarson’s youngest boy, Ainjar, interested in his father. He had not made an appearance either. “Forget it. Let’s talk about what’s bothering you.”

She took him from the blind side. He was mustering the troops for a squabble about the succession, and she said, “I’m not getting any younger. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being Ragnar’s widow.”

His first reaction was a startled “Hunh?” He stared. The muscles in her neck were taut. Tension stiffened her body. She was pale. She was milking the fingers of her left hand with her right.

“I’m nineteen years old.”

“Over the hill for sure.”

“Come on. I’m serious.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You have a different perspective on nineteen when you’re my age. Go on.”

“I’m nineteen. Ragnar has been gone a long time. I don’t want to spend my whole life being his memorial.”

“I see.” This was a problem he had not foreseen. Different backgrounds, he supposed. Kaveliners had customs he would never understand. “Why are you telling me? It’s your life. Go ahead and live it.”

She relaxed a little. “I thought you would…. I thought you might….”

“You found somebody you’re interested in?”

“No. Not that. I wouldn’t do that. It’s just…. I feel locked up. I don’t mind keeping this place, and taking care of the kids—in fact, I love it—but that isn’t all there is, is there? All of my friends are….”

“I said it’s your life. Do what you want. You’re a sensible girl. You won’t make you or me any problems we can’t handle.”