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And I was powerless to stop them. But not powerless to restore the true king of Vylheim.

Drak and I would take back that throne, just as we’d taken back control of our land from West Anglor hundreds of years ago, when we fought side by side as Rune the warrior and Myrah the shield-maiden.

I lifted the shard still clutched in my fist. Despite the darkness that swept over us as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the shard burned like the white-hot center of a flame.

Though we sailed through shallow waters now, making a run for it wasn’t an option with the countless executioners at our backs.

“Fight or die,” the Grimward announced, a reminder we didn’t need. Women began stripping their soaked skirts off, revealing the trousers beneath, knowing we’d have to fight. Men forced on the journey shed their sealskins, readying to move freely, to swing swords and axes.

I couldn’t hold my tongue. “How will killing help? The queen needs as many living bodies as possible for sacrifice and feeding her vampires. Where’s the sense?”

His upper lip twitched, and a sheen of sweat caught the sunlight glinting off the sea as his gaze found me. After a moment of silence, his sweaty mouth split into a sickening grin. “I happen to know everyone here has family back in Vylheim. Taking a West Anglan captive will replace their loved one’s sacrifice.” He cocked his head, sparking rage within me because I knew he was right. We had to take a captive if we wanted our families to survive. “Or are you saying witches are cruel enough to let their spouses and young children die?” I opened my mouth to bite back, but it was useless. He spoke over me, and there was nothing I could do to change the course of this raid. “If you turn the weapons on us, trust that you’ll be gutted on the spot. You will be given a shield to protect yourself only after you agree to fight and raid for Queen Silver. Once again, every single one of you is required to return to the ship with a prisoner.”

Everything within me recoiled, but I had to agree to move forward and find Drak’s soul. My people had to agree to survive.

So witches pledged to fight, not only because death was the alternative, but because Silver promised the kingdom a full restoration of serving the gods—something we witches had been denied for several hundred years upon pain of execution.

I stripped off my skirt and sealskin coat, leaving them behind as I stepped over the side of the ship, my trousers keeping my legs from scraping against the oak.

We jumped into the icy water and waded toward land as expected, as prisoners of battle from our own kingdom. Our own men and women held blades out behind us, shouting at us to hunt down the Anglans, fishers, men and women, and children who ran screaming for the protection of their shelters at the sight of us.

My head spun with the skip of my pulse, my weak heart reminding me to heed caution, even if I was unable to die.

We surged out of the water like sea monsters, brandishing blades. Witches were promised not to be executed upon return if we did as we were told: capture farmers and fishers. Capture people who could help rebuild all the crops we’d lost in Thor’s storms. These captives would become more hands to catch fish and hunt wild game. Slaves to Vylheim and souls to appease the gods with human sacrifices, especially for the gods of agriculture.

I glanced at the other witches, and hundreds of villagers, torn from Vylheim and forced to fight. If only they knew the gods weren’t worth a single thought, much less fighting for. I seethed as a familiar face stood out among the rest. Ingrid. Drak’s mother looked frantic and as frightened as everyone else. My fingers tightened around the handle at the back of the heavy shield, instinctively ready to protect her.

The sea surged around us, flowing forward onto the shore as if encouraging us toward our raid, like the water was hungry for battle and blood as it soaked through my skirts, my boots, and down to my bones.

Screams echoed from further up on the shore, and my gaze snapped to West Anglor. I needed to try to protect Ingrid, but when I glanced back, I lost sight of her. The people of Vylheim surged forward, chaotic and crowded, determined to secure their own survival.

I licked salt off my stinging, dry lips and frowned at the fear twisting the witches’ faces, and the shudder of their bodies as they marched forward. Dredging up out of the water, we must have looked like the West Anglors did to the people of Vylheim three hundred and seventeen years ago. Invaders. Terrifying, with a glint of malice off our swords and daggers, spears and axes. Arrows zipped through the air, arcing over our heads from our ships to ignite the fight.

One of our arrows found its target as it embedded right into a man’s spine. Some of the Anglan men stood their ground while others retreated and quickly returned with weapons of their own, some with arrows, others with swords not unlike ours. They loosed arrows erratically and without the organization of our army, but enough still found purchase. One in a witch’s hand, another in a Grimward's throat, just below where his mask didn’t protect him.

As soon as we touched the edge of the sea where water kissed the sand in a foamy line and then receded, many turned and ran for the hills, but it was too late for escape now. We had the fervor to survive, forging us into the warriors Silver wanted—nightmares for our enemies.

We charged forward as another West Anglan man fell with an arrow in each shoulder. One refused to show us his back and ended with an arrow through his eye socket. My stomach lurched as I scanned along the line of witches who’d been taught how to fight during the seven-day sailing trip across the sea. They weren’t exactly skilled, but taking the Anglans by surprise helped enough. The women and children merely ran, and only a few of the men were armed.

Thank the skies and sea that the executioners—now warriors—had learned from Queen Silver that my mother was a legendary seer. She was held back on the ship, armed with a bow and arrow that Reindeer had shown her how to use. Whether she did or not was left to be seen, but they considered her useful enough to keep around for when the new Yggdrasil sprouted. Why not Ingrid? It didn’t make sense unless Silver simply wanted to wipe away any memory of Drak and his family.

Echoing screams filled the air, sharp and ear-splitting amidst the lapping of waves as witches bolted after enemies, holding them at dagger-point, and masked warriors smashed the hilts of their weapons against the enemies’ skulls. Once they were incapacitated, warriors dragged them back to the ships, letting their clothes soak with seawater. When the captors woke, they’d be trapped and bound on a journey to a new kingdom with a raging headache and in the freezing wet misery of The Drowning.

This damn battle happened too slowly and in a blur at the same time. Blood stained the sand, and seawater darkened with the sickly red hue. Those who put up too much of a fight were cut down.

I spun, searching for Ingrid, hoping she grabbed someone quickly and led them back to the ships. That hope dashed on the rocks when I spotted her creased face. She stood helpless and limp in the middle of battle like a lost child.

I pushed toward her, determined to send her back to the ships with no plan other than to beg the guards to let her survive.

Arrows zipped through the air, plunging into the sand, into people. One found landing through Ingrid’s chest. My pulse stuttered, like beating wings in my ears, and a scream ripped through my throat as she stumbled.

I couldn’t let Drak’s mother die. Water licked at my boots as I forced my way along the shoreline and toward her. Another round of arrows crashed down on us as I threw my shield up. It was too heavy, slowing me down. I released a string of curses as I tossed it aside and charged for Ingrid, ready to shield her with a body that couldn’t die.

But I wasn’t fast enough.

Another arrow slammed into her, cutting right through her eye.

I fell at her side, trying to scoop her into my arms.