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Varrik was alone in a barren dungeon, which was basically just a pit dug in the ground. He sat on the dirt with his knees pulled into his chest and furrowed his brow, waiting for time to slip by until he could meet his fate. He was eager to get it over and done with, now that it had all been decided. His heart was filled with hope that because he had been true to himself, the gods would see fit to grant him entry to Valhalla, but he was still fearful that he might end up as a shadow, wandering emptiness for all eternity.

Movement stirred above him, and he heard voices approach. The pit was covered with thick wood that was bound together in a crisscross pattern, and it was tied to poles outside the pit with tight rope. Above him stood Laird Fletcher and his son, who cackled at him and taunted him. Varrik turned his head away from them and tried to ignore them.

“I thought Vikings were more fun, Da. Ye should hae let me fight him,” Alec said.

“Nay, us Fletchers fight with our minds, nae with a sword. Just wait and see what’s gaeing tae happen next. This Viking here haes given us a prime opportunity tae ensure that our clan will remain powerful,” Laird Fletcher said.

Varrik’s ears pricked up. The men moved away, and their words became hushed, but Varrik had the sense that this was something he should hear. He looked at the edge of the pit and at the network of wood that prevented him from escaping. He dug his fingers into the side and heaved himself up. Just as he began to slip, he thrust out his hand and caught one of the poles of wood, curling his hands tightly around it. His muscles strained as he pulled himself up to within earshot of the men.

This pit was away from the main village, the perfect place to discuss secrets. Even if they had been afraid that Varrik could overhear them, it was unlikely Laird Fletcher and his son would care because what use was the word of a Viking who had already confessed to a crime? Even so, Varrik listened intently to the words that were exchanged between father and son.

“Are ye sure ye still want tae gae through with the plan, Da?” Alec asked.

“Of course! We could nae hae asked for a better opportunity. They may want the Vikings tae live with them, but they’re nae gaeing tae trust them with swords. They’re gaeing tae be in disarray, and this is when we must strike,” Laird Fletcher said viciously.

“But what about all ye said about our clans being strong taegether?”

Laird Fletcher cursed. “Empty words,” he said. “If we join with the Callan clan, there’s only one way it ends: with us becoming part of them. Our history is tae proud tae be swallowed up by another clan. Nay, we can use this opportunity tae take everything they hae, and then the Fletcher clan will be the one that history remembers.

“Laird Callan is a weak fool. I mean, really, who would ever welcome Vikings intae their clan? He’s mad! He deserves tae be beaten. We’ll attack the day of the wedding. Then we can be sure that the Vikings will nae be there, and they will nae expect what’s happening. Oh, I cannae wait tae see the look in Laird Callan’s eyes when he realizes what’s happening! He does nae understand that nothing haes changed. The clans need tae look out for themselves, and I am nae gaeing tae let mine disappear intae history.”

They walked away cackling with each other, no doubt talking more about their deadly plot.

Varrik let go of the wood and fell back down to the bottom of the pit, where he skulked and brooded. He had been calm before, resigned to his destiny, but now anger suddenly swelled within him. He slammed his fists against the side of the pit, roaring with anger. It had been bad enough to think that his beloved was going to live a life without him, but now to learn that she was being used as a pawn?

He needed to escape and warn her, but how?

He looked up at the wood, and then his gaze went past it toward the sky, peering beyond the realm of Midgard toward Asgard itself.

“If you have any pity for me at all, you will grant me one last request. I will even forfeit my right to enter Valhalla if I must but grant me the strength to escape this place and warn Fiona. I only made the choice I did because I thought it would ensure her safety, as well as the safety of my people, but if what I heard is true…I cannot allow it to pass. You must let me make this right. I beg of you.”

He sank to his knees and bowed his head, hoping that his words had wings and would reach the ears of the gods.

Since Varrik had been taken away, there had been a hole in Fiona’s heart. She was determined to prevent anyone from seeing her true feelings, though, for she was tired of having them used against her. So when Lotta strode up to Fiona with a smirk on her face, Fiona hardened her expression and turned her eyes to stone.

“How are ye feeling, Fiona?” Lotta said, tilting her head to the side and placing a hand on Fiona’s arm. Her words were soft, and anyone who heard them would have thought she was being a kind sister, but Fiona knew the words were a lie. She could hear the mocking tone behind them.

“I’m well,” Fiona said.

“I’m glad tae hear it. Ye seem shaken, though. Ye dinnae seem like yer old self.”

“Neither would ye if ye haed been through what I hae been through.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Lotta said with a sigh. “Although at least ye still hae a wedding tae look forward tae. I am gaeing tae hae tae find myself a new husband.”

“I’m sure it’s a challenge ye are well suited for,” Fiona said icily.

“It’s such a shame that my betrothed ended up being evil. Perhaps one of the other Vikings will be more noble. I hae never seen a man executed before. A wedding and an execution in such short order…who would hae thought it?”

Fiona ignored the insult toward Varrik because she knew that Lotta was merely trying to goad her into an emotional outburst. Fiona wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

“I’m sure it will all gae by quickly,” Fiona said.

At least she hoped it would. In a matter of days, she would see her own ambitions die, but she wouldn’t even have the dignity of seeing Varrik die. She wouldn’t get to have a final goodbye.

She rose from her seat, not wanting to be around Lotta any longer. She excused herself to go train. Lotta bid her farewell, and Fiona could feel her sister’s burning gaze against her back.

Walking outside, she kept her head held high. Nobody looked at her the same way any longer. It was as though this crime had changed their perception of her. There was always a look of pity or guilt, as though somehow they were all responsible for this happening. Fiona wanted to gather them all together and scream the truth at them. She wanted to tell them that this was all a lie and that Varrik had been kind to her, that her heart had opened with love for him.

It was hopeless, though. She would be seen as a hysterical woman, her mind twisted by the attack, only being able to cope by turning it into something romantic. She walked briskly, for her emotions were simmering under the surface, and the only way she could release the frustration within her was by holding a sword in her hand.

She grabbed a training sword and strode out to the middle of the field, daring anyone to come and attack her. At first, the women were hesitant, asking her if she was really capable of fighting after the ordeal she had been through. Unlike with Lotta, Fiona did not have to keep her emotions in check. She screamed with anguish and whirled her sword around, making it clash with the other weapons. That was her answer, and battle ensued.

In the heat and the fury, Fiona could lose herself. Her heart raged, but she lost herself to the movements and the rhythm of her body. She let the sword guide her, as though it was as much a part of her as anything else. The weapons as she twisted and danced away, slashing as she ran all about the field. She was nimble and skilled, and as she fought, she imagined that she was fighting against everything wicked in her life. She imagined that she was fighting against destiny itself. She thrust and parried and slashed, and by the end of it, sweat streamed down her body as she gulped in deep breaths.

A slow round of applause greeted her ears. She turned, taking a break from the fighting to see that Alec, her betrothed, was approaching. He eyed the sword with suspicion.

“Soon enough, ye will hae no need for this sword any longer,” he said. “I cannae wait for our wedding day, and what comes after. There are gaeing tae be plenty of surprises in store.”

Fiona’s throat grew tight, and her fingers curled around the hilt of her blade. Her lip curled as she bit back a sharp reply, not wanting to cause any further controversy.

“Until then, I shall dae as I please,” Fiona said, turning away from him and throwing herself back into the frenzy of battle once again.

Alec remained, watching her like a hawk, but she ignored him. She immersed herself in her training because while she was on the training field, it was almost as though time stood still, and she could allow herself to pretend that nothing was going to change.

But Fiona could not delay destiny. Even now, the clouds were gathering in the sky, dark and ominous, and there was no way to escape them.