The air in his lungs suddenly felt like lead. Something shifted. His gaze lifted, snapping away from Magnus. He swept the benches, the shadows in the rafters, the heavy oak doors.
Harald set his cup down with care. The wood hit the table with a dull thud that felt like a heartbeat stopping.
Magnus leaned in, his amusement fading. “Harald? What is it?”
Harald did not answer him. He was listening past the crackle of the fire and the clink of silverware.
A second later, the doors swung open.
A guard entered. The urgency in his stride was worse than a sprint. His face was a mask of pale sweat, and his eyes lockedonto Harald as if the rest of the room had been swallowed by shadow.
Harald watched the man approach, the world narrowing down to the space between them.
The guard bowed, breath hitching. “Me jarl.”
“What’s happenin’?” Harald asked. His voice was a low, dangerous rasp.
“A patrol ship hasnae returned,” the guard said. The words carried through the silent hall like a death sentence. “They were meant tae signal by dusk. There’s nae sign o’ them, me laird. Nay sign at all.”
The shock of it hit Harald like a physical blow. A patrol ship didn't just vanish in calm waters. His mind raced—was it an accident, or was the silence a scream of warning? For a terrifying second, he didn't know which direction the blow was coming from.
“How long overdue?” Harald’s voice was a low, jagged rasp. It felt like his throat was closing.
“Near two hours,” the guard replied, voice trembling. “And there’s more. Signal fires along the coast… they’re burning at odd hours. Brief flashes, then gone. Like someone’s testin’ us, me laird.”
Harald’s jaw flexed so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. His mind was screaming. Two hours was enough time for a crew to be slaughtered and a ship to be scuttled.
“Where?”
“North ridge first, then two along the eastern cliff paths,” the guard said. “And Rory swears he saw marks near the supply route. Fresh scrapes in the earth. Stones moved. Like someone’s been mapin’ the ground.”
He pushed back from the table, the heavy oak legs shrieking against the stone. The sound tore through the sudden silence of the hall, jagged and raw, echoing the scream Harald was holding behind his teeth.
“Leo,” Harald barked.
Leo was already standing. “Aye.”
“Send two riders tae the northern track. Nay torches,” Harald ordered, fighting himself to keep his voice from trembling. “If that ship’s been taken, I want the shore searched fer wreckage and the water watched fer drift. Send word tae the harbor master. Double the lantern watch. Now!”
“Aye,” Leo said at once.
“Wait.”
The voice was deep, and calm. Ragnar rose slowly. His massive frame seemed to dwarf the table. “If they are testing our response times, sending riders is exactly what they want. Ye’re showing them yer hand, Harald.”
“He’s right,” Ivar added, his dark, calculating eyes flitting between Harald and the door. He leaned back, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the hilt of his dagger.
Harald felt the walls closing in. The absurdity of it all was a cold weight in his gut. His brothers-in-arms were here, his bride was beside him, and yet he felt utterly alone in a trap he couldn't see.
“I willnae sit here while me men vanish,” Harald growled. He looked back to the guard. “Get Rory and the coast men tae the map room. Now.”
Erik and Ragnar fell into step behind him. Ivar followed a second later, his movements silent and predatory.
He felt Enya behind him before he heard her. He didn't turn. He couldn't. If he looked at her—if he saw any trace of guilt in those mismatched eyes—he would break.
He stopped in the corridor, the stone muffling the chaos of the hall. He turned just enough to catch her silhouette.
“Stay in the hall,” he ordered. His voice was flat, dead.
