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He and the others who participated in the instruction ofgalderwalked a precarious line of obedience and rebellion in their daily lives. In a world where magic saturated the daily lives of its people, control was power, and thevitki’ssecret limited that power for them. The rare few who possessed potent capabilities were usually sought out quickly, common or otherwise. If a common person were found to have a powerful gift for flame or wind, they would be whisked away from their families to become soldiers or blacksmiths for the royal army.

No, this sign warned those who struggled withgalderlike Maude, the uncontrollable hot heads. But Maude was tough to control; emotions ruledher, not the other way around. She had always felt freer when her emotions were allowed to run wild with hergalder,but as she grew older, the constraints needed for civilized society weighed on Maude.

Stopping these thoughts in their tracks, Maude passed through the archway and felt the wards dampen her flames. She breathed deeply, her skin allowed to cool as her fire dimmed. Dropping into the pit for her third fight of the night, Maude stopped short when she spotted her opponent, the hunched cloak familiar. The chatty stranger from the bar straightened, pushed his hood back, and stripped his cloak from his shoulders. Maude quickly assessed him.

He was taller than her, but not by much. Thick, almost black, hair curled around his face and hung down to the back of his neck with a few stray curls that had fallen forward over his forehead. The light of the torches danced off his dark hair and created an inky halo that seemed to pulse around him. Freckles splattered across his golden tanned skin, running over his straight nose and high cheekbones, his square jaw showing off rough stubble.

A long strip of woven leather hung from his neck; small carved wooden runes dangled from each thin strip until they were all intertwined. Maude couldn’t make out what each of the runes were, but there were six. She thought she could see the rune for fire but couldn’t be sure.

Eyes moving lower, Maude saw that he had stripped his shirt for the fight. Avegvisirfatemark of a second son and warrior was present over his heart, mirroring where her ownYggdrasilmark was. Surrounding the fatemark was a dragon, weaving up his left arm, through itself, and across his chest. Different runes were printed on the dragon's scales, similar to her weaving runic ink on her arms.

The stranger also had tattooed scales covering the rest of his chest like inked armor. The stiff muscles of his arms and stomach taunted her, but Maude forced herself to look up into golden brown eyes that danced with humor, daring her to say something. She only pulled the hood of her shirt tighter, adjusting the tie around her waist to keep it in place. And she waited.

Herrick had to admit the flash of surprise in the pit fighter’s eyes was rewarding. Of course, he could only see her eyes since her hood stayed firmly pulled up, the shadows obscuring all other features. Only the gods knew why she kept her face hidden from the world, but he would reveal her one way or another.

He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that he couldn’t see her when he was so familiar with how she fought. He had been watching her for a few nights in these fighting pits; seeing her dodge and strike captivated him as if she were dancing to a melody they both understood. Hehad to know her, and Herrick had a gift for aggravating a person just enough that he could get his way.

Gloves with the fingertips cut off protected her hands, and her arms were bare to the shoulder, her sleeveless shirt ripped on the side. He saw black ink swirling on her ribs but couldn't determine what it was. Her arms were also covered in tattooed runes inside more complex patterns that weaved within themselves and snaked up her long limbs to her shoulders like wildfire. He studied her hood and noticed it was a long piece of fabric she had wrapped around her waist and fashioned into a hood to conceal herself.

Cracking a charming smile at her, dimple on display as planned, Herrick yelled over the roaring crowd, “It’s good to see you again so soon! I didn’t catch your name earlier…?”

Herrick trailed off in an attempt to have the woman introduce herself. She remained silent, baring her teeth at him.

“Maude! Play fair!” The pit runner shouted as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, offering Herrick a wink.

Maude.The name rippled through Herrick, over everything he knew about the world, like a drop of water in a still pond.

She glared over her shoulder at the pit runner and growled, “Thanks, Sigurd. You’re a dead man.”

“Anytime, my friend,” Sigurd responded cheerily and ignored her threat, hearing the empty words for what they were. Herrick looked back to Maude, stopping himself from laughing.

“Are we fighting or chatting? You seem good at conversation, so you must be shit hand to hand,” Maude fired at Herrick.

“How else am I supposed to get you off your guard?” Herrick bit back, eyes narrowing on her movements. “Don’t you want to know what my name is?”

“No. Seeing as we are still only circling each other, that must mean I am right, and you can't f--,” Herrick lunged at Maude, but she was ready for him. Ducking, she pivoted under his up-swinging arm and shoved a knee up into his back to hold him up against the wall.

One arm pinned between him and the wall, Maude leaned to trap his left wrist and whispered in his ear, “I’m faster than you think I am.”

Herrick shivered at the touch of her whisper on his skin. He didn’t entirely hate it.

“You know what to say to get a man excited,” Herrick laughed back.

Maude made a disgusted sound and shoved off Herrick, circling as they both resumed their dance.

“Beast,” Maude bit at him, but again, Herrick snickered as he matched her pace.

“I’m not the one who had the other pressed against a wall.”

Maude broke their dance this time and kicked her leg out, connecting with Herrick’s ribs. Stumbling away, he fought to catch his breath.

“You are all talk,” she taunted him, the jibe coming out flatter than it probably ought to have.

Herrick noted the tone of her voice but decided it was time to stop playing and push her. The pair exchanged blows, neither gaining ground on the other until she slammed into his jaw so hard that he swore he saw the moon for a moment. She kicked his knee out, causing him to hit the ground, but Herrick managed to swipe his leg at the last second, taking her down with him. They both groaned, their banter snuffed out by their labored breathing and the spectators screaming around them. Blood trickled out of Herrick's mouth from a tooth that had been knocked loose, filling his mouth with the tang of iron and salt. He spat it out, probing the sore spot in his gums with his tongue. Maude wasn't much better off—a bruise across her cheekbone was already beginning to show. They both struggled to their feet.

“Don’t pull your punches now,” Maude breathed, pretending she wasn’t hurting.

Herrick lay heavy on his limp, hoping she would fall into his trap. She chuckled, the sound lifeless, as she wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. Maude rushed him suddenly, her movements giving away that she figured him defeated. But at the last second, Herrick spun away and pulled the tie that held her hood in place. It unraveled around her as he held on to the strip of fabric casting, her hood down with the movement. He turned to face her, fabric in hand, but her back was still to him.