Her eyes locked onto mine, pleading for me to understand, tolisten. “I’ll find someone to watch them, to keep them safe while we search. Please, Balthazar. Trust me.”
Her fingers curled into my chest, aching with urgency.
“No,” I said, prying her hands away. “It’s not safe to leave. We should keep living the way we have. Keep them protected. Stay hidden.”
“You’re such a stubborn man!” she snapped, stepping back. “Every day, it gets harder. We kill to survive—buttheydon’t. Our daughters don’t have to feed like we do. Don’t you see that means something?” Her voice faltered. “I need answers. And every time we get close, you vanish again.”
I said nothing. After a long beat, I knelt back down, the sharpening stone already in my hand. It rasped against the blade in methodical strokes, filling the space between us like a warning drum.
Then it hit me.
A chill crawled up my spine. Goosebumps rose on my arms. The visions were back—slivers of shadow bleeding into my mind. Something had shifted. I turned toward the window.
The trees beyond swayed in an unnatural rhythm, and the leaves whispered like old tongues in the wind. The air felt wrong—thick, like the moment before lightning split the sky.
My gut clenched.
Something was coming.
Something unstoppable.
Zara wrapped her overwrap tightly around her slender frame. Her voice softened, but it held firm. “I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t hunt and leave the children behind. And I can’t keep watching you disappear into war without answers.”
I stared at her.
Where is this coming from?
She had never reacted like this before—never so fierce or afraid. This wasn’t just frustration. It was something deeper. A storm was rising not just outside… but within her.
“Surely you haven’t forgotten about our stable boy, Håkon? He’s a responsible lad,” I said, returning to the steady rasp of stone against steel.
“What? No—of course not!” Zara replied, though her gaze flickered away with a trace of guilt. “But Håkon isn’t a parent, Balthazar. He’s still just aboy. He doesn’t understand the proper discipline to care for children.”
I paused, the sharpening stone hovering above the gleaming blade. “But you’re only asking him to watch them while they sleep. Is that too much to ask?”
She didn’t answer. The silence that followed was cold and deliberate.
“Never mind,” she muttered, throwing up her hands before turning from me. “I need to start dinner.”
I watched her go, confused by the sudden chill between us.
“I won’t need supper tonight,” I called after her. “I’ll be out carousing with the others.”
She didn’t turn. “There areothersin this family whodoneed to eat,” she snapped, her voice tight as she marched to the provisions’ cupboard. Her brief and scorching glare lingered in the air long after she turned her back.
The tavern buzzed with celebration, the air thick with smoke, laughter, and the scent of spilled ale. I sat at one of the long wooden tables, the wattle-and-daub walls flickering with firelight from the roaring hearth behind me. The flames fought off the night’s bite as my fellow warriors and I drank deep, long past the point of reason or restraint.
“To victory!” I roared, raising my mug high.
“To kicking ass!” Ragnar bellowed in response.
A thunder of laughter and cheers followed as tankards and drinking horns clashed together, ale sloshing over the edges and soaking the battered wood of the table.
I downed my mug in a single pull and slammed it onto the table with a satisfying thud.
“Ale-keeper!” I shouted. “Refills all around!”
A fresh chorus of cheers erupted. The barkeep nodded from behind the crude counter and rounded it with a jug as wide as his torso. He made his way down the table, refilling mugs with frothy golden ale while I traded insults and boasts with my men, our laughter echoing off the cavern walls.
