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“They’re in the harbor now. Your husband,” she told Rahv, “he’s among them.”

Rahv nodded, her face giving away neither pleasure nor disappointment. Calm. Steady. Emotions be damned. I, on the other hand, nearlygroaned aloud, my shoulders slumping. My father-in-law would cause me nothing but grief. He always did.

“That’s not all,” Beckra said. A smile cracked her worn face. “Your boy, Roan—he’s with him.”

And it was like the world went sideways. Rahv and Beckra were embracing, tears streaming down my mother-in-law’s face, before the truth of the words hit me.

The laundry fell from my hands, tipping to its side and spilling out into the mud.

I’d been married to a stranger for the past ten years—and now that stranger was home.

Chapter Two

Roan

Iwas going to be sick. I stood in the rain on the threshold of her hut and considered what kind of omen vomiting on her stoop would be.

Likely, not a good one.

Gods’ piss, what I wouldn’t give to have this done and over with. I gathered myself and knocked, then promptly forgot my courage and regretted my boldness. Should I run for the woods? A quick glance told me there was a chance I could make it before the door opened and my bride of ten years found me fleeing like prey among the trees.

But it wouldn’t do. I held fast and prayed to Toke I wouldn’t lose my bread on my boots at first sight of her. And it seemed the god was watching out for me because no one came or made a sound on the other side.

I cracked the door open and had a peek.

“Anyone here?”

When no reply came, I heaved a breath and made my way in, dropping my wet gear off to the side before swinging the door shut. My eyes landed on the bolt just above the handle, and I hesitated. I almost didn’t recognize it for what it was. Ten years living out of tents, and anything more than a flap felt like a luxury. But a bolt? Hell, I could lock myselfin. Get some space for myself, some distance between me and the people who wanted to manage my every task.

I was tempted, but only for one brief moment of weakness. Then I bolstered myself and set my mind to bigger things. More than anything, I wanted to do right by my clan. Besides, I’d only be keeping outher. Fenli. The thought brought me shame. This was all hers, not mine. Her bolt, her hut.

I turned, taking down my hood and shaking out my cloak. My eyes adjusted to the dark gloom, and I took the space in.

I’d never seen such a mess.

It was the smallest hut I’d crossed on my trek out, but it felt large when compared to my tent. In the back corner was a small fireplace, and while the fire had died down, the coals were still hot and glowing orange. There was a single chair in front of it draped in a sheepskin. Beside it, a small table sat heaped with junk. A larger table in the middle of the floor held even more—ink pots, parchment, and large strips of birch bark. Strange. Gobs of crates crowded the back wall, and various items cluttered the floor. Clothes, a discarded pair of shoes, an upside-down basket, a crumpled rug. The only thing left was the bed that stood pushed against the wall.

I tried not to stare at it, but that was a lot to ask of someone who couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t slept on the ground. My sleeping roll was enough for me—or so I’d thought—but looking at her thick wool pad, on its raised frame and swathed in blankets, I found myself suddenly forming new opinions.

Damn, it looked nice.

But it washers. Her door, her bolt, her hut,her bed.

My cheeks warmed as I turned to the corner beside me, the only open space with room enough for my roll and belongings, and I tried to forget the rest. This bit would be mine. My corner. I had no need for the rest of it. A hut was more than I required. If I could have gotten away with pitching a tent out by the cliffs, I would have. Hell, I’d have slept under the stars. But neither of those things would fix the mess I found myself in.

I didn’t think Toke himself could save me from it now.

I had to put it from my mind lest I barf on the only bit of floor I had. Resigning myself, I moved on to the task of unpacking. My pad was unrolled in moments, my spare clothes folded and stacked neatly at the foot, followed by my mending supplies, hand knife, and whetstone. I’d just stood and pulled my larger hunting knife from its sheath when someone threw open the door.

She came in like a squall.

“No,” she was saying. “No, no, no, no. Not now, not ever.”

And she didn’t even bother to close the door. The mangiest looking dog I’d ever seen darted in behind her, but neither saw me where I was in the corner. Her hands went to her head, fingers twining between strands of short, dark waves, and I knew without a doubt it was her. It didn’t matter that her back was to me and I had yet to see her face.

No one else would dare have hair like that in this clan.

I was vaguely aware of the dog jumping onto the bed and laying itself down on the blankets, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Wrapped around her forearms were her marriage ribbons, the same blue and green threads set to swirling as those I wore. Ten years with these bands on my arms, and only now was I seeing their match. It was unsettling, proof thatthis was real and happening when, so many times over the last decade, my union had felt more story or myth.