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Prologue

On an island across the water from the mainland, the flash of an ancient silver knife signaled the beginning of the ritual. The Grand Soothsayer began chanting in a tongue no longer breathed on this continent as the life's blood of a sacrificial goat dripped into the wooden basin beneath the altar. The full moon blazed brightly above the small crowd gathered before her on the sandy white plains, illuminating every brutal action of the fate telling.

At the front of this group stood two cloaked figures clutching a sleeping infant, a small contingent of soldiers close behind them. The smoke from the fires surrounding the clearing, combined with the chanting of the Grand Soothsayer and her acolytes over the hanging body of the bleeding animal, set the soldier's teeth on edge, but they remained motionless.

“Bring the child forward,” the Grand Soothsayer whispered, so at odds with the continued chanting of the other soothsayers behind her. Her navy robes billowed around her in the breeze as she beckoned with one gnarled hand.

One of the figures holding the infant walked forward to the small circle of stark white stones on the sand and crouched, placing the sleeping infant in the center before quickly stepping back.

“In the name of Odin, in the name of Frigga, in the name of…” The Grand Soothsayer chanted while dipping her fingers into the sacrificial blood and allowing a few drops to roll off her fingers onto the infant’s forehead. “Allfather, hear us now. We ask you to show us this child’s fate so that we may understand your plan for them.”

Dropping to her knees next to a white cloth containing dark-colored wood chips carved with runes, the Grand Soothsayer swiped them up and placed them into the basin. She trailed her fingers through the blood-soaked runes, idly chanting until her fingers stilled and she quieted. Withdrawing her fingers from the mixture, she placed a single wood chip in the sand above the child’s head. The contrast between the white sand and crimson blood was striking.

The clearing became suddenly silent, the anticipation of the soft words from the Grand Soothsayer gripping the atmosphere as they strained to listen.

“Uruz. This one will be strong, powerful, a force of nature.”

The taller cloaked figure sucked in a breath and grinned. The soldiers behind them made sounds of approval before silencing again. The Grand Soothsayer dipped her hand into the bowl and slowly began circling again. When her fingers found the right wood chip, she withdrew again and placed a second chip next to the first.

“Hagalaz. This one will face challenges beyond the norm. They will be filled with wrath, and destruction shall follow in their footsteps.”

At this, the tall figure let out a startled sound and turned to their soldiers. With cheers and applause ringing out around them, they did not hear the third rune the Grand Soothsayer pulled from the blood. Only the smaller figure leaned in close to hear the words that changed this child’s entire fate.

“Gebo. A partnership is in this child’s destiny. A unity that will lead to sacrifice so great they will not bear it. Beware, for the Allfather has chosen a harsh fate for this child, and only they can prevail,” the Grand Soothsayer spoke softly into the ear of the smaller figure. The Soothsayer held their entire attention, so they took no notice whenshe pulled two more runes from the bowl and placed them behind her. “Your partner will not know of this final rune; they will not care for it. Protect this child; it isyourfate. Now, go. I am to prepare the child’s fatemark.”

The small figure released a strained breath but returned to her previous position. Picking up the child, the Grand Soothsayer stood and turned towards the altar. Her back still to the celebrating audience, she placed the child on the bloody surface. The other seers began chanting once again while the Grand Soothsayer traced her fingers across the child’s chest in repetitive circles, right over the child’s heart. The five runes pulled during the fate reading glowed bright white and appeared where her fingers trailed.

With the final words of the chant, the runes flared and then sunk into the infant’s skin, disappearing. In its place, as the Grand Soothsayer expected, shone a tattoo of the Tree of Life,Yggdrasil. Its branches curled downward to merge with the roots to form a perfect circle. However, Valkyrie wings were flanked on either side of the sacred ash tree. The Grand Soothsayer started at the sight but quickly wrapped the infant up at the sound of footsteps, covering the unorthodox mark.

“Is it done, then?” the tall figure bluntly asked, walking up to the Grand Soothsayer as she turned.

“It is done. May the Allfather guide your return home.”

The figure made a rough sound that almost sounded like a smothered snort and turned away, leading the party back to their ship. The smaller figure lingered a moment, looking to the Grand Soothsayer as they were handed the infant back. They opened their mouth as if to ask a question but decided against it. Bowing their head, they turned to catch up to the departing visitors and left the seers insilence.

Alone in the clearing later that night, the Grand Soothsayer withdrew the two bloody wood chips from her robes and ran a thumb along the top of the runes. Letting her hood down, she tilted her face up at the stars and contemplated the great and terrible things this child would face. Another reading from many moons ago scratched at the back of the Grand Soothsayer’s mind; so similar was this child’s fate to that of another. Her stitched eyes let no light into her eternal darkness, but shesawthis infant’s future play out before her. And she prayed.

1

The cheers surrounding the dark and dirty fighting pit were deafening to Maude as she tried to catch her breath after a particularly nasty kick to her ribs. She checked to see if the hood wrapped around her shirt was still up and concealing most of her features before choking down a groan as she rose from where she had hit the ground. She was underground at The Broken Bones Pub, standing seven feet below the riotous crowd of gamblers in the illegal fighting pits of Logi, and she was ready to end this fight. She pressed a hand to her ribs and turned to face her opponent, an unwashed brute of a man, who was leering at her torn shirt where the dark band of fabric she wrapped around her chest was showing.

Okay, enough.

Maude used the moment of distraction to feint to her left, leading him to crouch in preparation for another blow. She launched herself off his bent knee and up to his shoulder, where she wrapped her legs around his throat and twisted to the ground, bringing him down hard into the dirt. Her ribs ached in protest at the movement, the breath in her lungs thinning with the pain, but she was able to hold him down with her legs. He struggled under her weight for a moment before he slowed and eventually passed out, her knees clamped down on his airway as they were. Maude released his neck and stood, shaking his sweat and stench off her.

Most onlookers cheered at her victory, but some grumbled about lost money simply because they hadn’t expected a woman of Maude’s build to win a brawl. Standing just under six feet tall, Maude’s broad shoulders, curvy figure, and thighs packed with muscle usually gave strangers the idea that she would be slow and substantial. She couldn’t blame them, she guessed.

Contrary to what the masses believed they saw, Maude was quick to strike and harder to land a hit on than most women with her training were. She never felt the need to explain or defend herself to people who bet against her because of how she looked— it was their loss. Maude was confident in how she moved in her skin, and these fights only further proved that.

She turned toward the pit runner, who held out a hand for her to help her out of the hole in the ground. Maude eyed the distance from the ground to the lip of the pit. With a running jump, her hands grasped the edge, and she hauled herself up, ignoring the outstretched hand.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to accept help now and then,” the pit runner, Sigurd, sighed.

“Yes, it would,” Maude flatly replied, holding a hand out for her earnings.

Sigurd, the only person she knew by name in this godsforsaken hole in this city, stood at the same height as Maude and seemed about ten years older than her. His coloring was uniform: silver blonde beard, thick silver hair hung to his back, and bright blue eyes so clear they could’ve been ice. Maude thought it was unnerving to look at him sometimes.

He dropped the coin bag into her hand, giving her an exasperated look. She turned away from him without another word and made her way to the bar, where she set a single coin down on its sticky surface, sliding it towardthe barkeep. King Helvig stared back at her, his cruel face twisted in a false beneficial smile.