Page 3

Chapter two

Sifa

Am I Done Here?

M orning sex. Aksell’s pale, flabby ass is bouncing up and down while his consort, a female I know named Liv, stares at the ceiling above and tries to keep from yawning. If I had any idea I’d find him like this, I’d have dawdled a little getting here. This isn’t the image I need to start my day.

I woke way too early this morning so I could sneak in and out of Aksell’s house before the staff gets up. He should have been asleep, maybe in his wife’s arms. Instead, he’s on top of Liv. His moans and the smack of flesh against flesh, like fish being tossed onto the pile at the harbor, fill the room. Ick.

Maybe I should turn around and come back in a few minutes—probably more than enough time for a man like Aksell. But I’m here. May as well get it over with. At times like this, I’m grateful the underside of Revalle is a small place. Liv works for Bevin too. She’s pretty, with straight blonde hair, eyes the color of the sea and an hourglass shape, everything perfectly proportioned. Bevin must have decided to assign two of us to this job, although I have no idea how Liv knows Aksell has the satchel. I’ll worry about that later.

If Liv’s here fucking Aksell—and there’s no denying it, much as I wish I’d never seen this—she hasn’t yet gotten what Bevin wants from him. We’ll try my way. Stepping forward, I raise my finger to my lips as Liv’s eyes grow wide. She holds her tongue while I slide my blade between them and position it at Aksell’s neck. He goes still, even the pathetic thrusts of a moment ago coming to an abrupt halt. My other hand wraps around his mouth to make sure he doesn’t call for anyone.

Tugging him off to the side, I let out an involuntary laugh as his manhood flops to rest on his thigh. Or should I say boyhood? Aksell’s a hefty guy, but his pride and joy apparently stopped growing at a young age.

“You’re here for that?” I whisper to Liv, who still looks like she may never blink again. “No wonder you were bored to tears.” Turning again to inspect Aksell’s still exposed crotch, I smile. “You should cover that up. I’m tempted to relieve you of your misery. It must be such a disappointment when you pull that thing out.”

“What do you want?” His voice is more respectable than his dick. But that’s not saying much.

“Thrym sends his regards,” I whisper, leaning forward to rest the knife’s tip on his collapsed cock.

Aksell’s eyes grow wide as he realizes why I’m here. But he’s not ready to give in yet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputters, little bits of spittle erupting to land on his face and chest.

I dig my blade in just enough to draw blood, triggering a whimper as a few drops trickle down Aksell’s leg to fall like crimson tears onto the sheet.

“Aksell, please. We both know that’s a lie. I usually start with fingers but this ... pitiful penis ... is sitting here just begging for attention. I’ll start there. Unless you tell me in ten seconds where to find the satchel Thrym gave you.”

Aksell’s lips set in a thin line, while mine grow into a wide grin. I’m gonna enjoy this.

“Ten, nine, eight …”

“You wouldn’t dare.” His voice is shrill, desperate.

“Seven, six, five, four …”

“I’m a powerful man.”

“Three, two …”

“Fine, stop.” His tone is angry now, defiant. “It’s in that closet, on the left side at the back.” His chin is pointing to a set of doors on one side of his room but his gaze never leaves me.

“Wise move.” Pulling ropes from my pack, I bind him to the bed as Liv pulls a skintight dress over her head and shrugs it around her curves. When I’m done, I step back to double-check the view I’m leaving for his maid, then stride over to the closet to find Bevin’s package. It’s exactly where Aksell said it would be.

Smiling my thanks, I capture Aksell’s gaze. “I’m taking this to Bevin. He’ll be very angry if you tell anyone I was here.” That should keep him quiet; few people in this town are willing to risk Bevin’s wrath. “You asked her to do this,” I warn as I gesture at the ropes, “so she did. Now be a good boy and stay quiet while we leave.” Pausing, I glance over at Liv. May as well help protect her cover while I’m here. “Oh, and I’m gonna take her with me.”

“I can’t go to Bevin. He’ll hurt me.” Liv’s voice barely reaches my ears. She’s a good actress. Aksell tenses, a sneer teasing at his lips as his gaze bounces between Liv and me. He probably believes she’s terrified.

“Not if you come without a fight. Bevin will just want to talk. Make sure you understand why you can’t say anything about what just happened.” I turn to Aksell. “He still might hurt you for getting involved in this,” I say as I wave the satchel at him, adding a threatening laugh that always makes my marks nervous. “Or he might not. That’s up to Bevin.”

“You won’t get away with this.” His voice warbles with anger. I’ve made a dangerous enemy today. Thankfully, Bevin’s more dangerous.

“I work for Bevin,” I remind him as I shove a gag into his mouth and lift his head to tie it. “He decides who gets away with what. If you have a problem with me taking this,” I add as I grab the satchel, “talk to him. But if you’re a smart man. You’ll let this go.”

Grasping Liv’s hand, I drag her toward the door and down the hall. We barely make it out of the house unnoticed. Twice, we’re forced to scramble around a corner to avoid one of the cooks walking toward the kitchen. But we find our way out without being caught and are heading to Bevin’s home before the sun starts to lift over the horizon. Bevin will be up—he doesn’t sleep much—but it’s too early for him to be in his office.

“Why did Bevin send you to Aksell?” I ask once we’re a half-viku or so away from Aksell’s home. “I only found out last night that he had the satchel and I hadn’t reported that yet.”

“I wasn’t there for the satchel,” Liv explains as she strides along beside me. “Bevin’s still got me working for Ulfhild. She sent me to Aksell.”

“Why?” Ulfhild runs the most exclusive—and expensive—brothel in Revalle, which means she’s well connected. I’ve been watching her for a while.

Liv turns to me, eyebrows rising into her forehead. “Come on, Sifa. I can’t tell you. If Bevin wants you to have that information, he’ll give it to you.”

I know but it never hurts to ask. We’re quiet as we stroll to Bevin’s home, not familiar enough with each other to make small talk. The morning is beautiful, still holding the overnight cool. Revalle’s days can be unbearably hot this time of year. Although we arrive at Bevin’s house early, a maid ushers us in without hesitation. Bevin’s always available for business.

“I didn’t expect to see you two together.” Bevin’s voice carries a hint of surprise as we walk through his sitting room door.

I realized shortly after I met Bevin that he’s old, maybe even older than me, but he looks like a man in his forties. His black hair and beard have a spattering of gray running through them, like streams across the desert on a bright night. His flawless sunbaked skin, sharp chin, and silver eyes combine with a thick, muscle-bound physique to lend an overall look of cold cruelty. If we were close enough, I’d ask if he’s an elf, but we are not close. I work for him. Nothing more.

“We were just as surprised as you.” I choose the seat closest to Bevin as Liv nods her agreement and drops into an adjacent chair.

“And you were successful?” His gaze lands on the satchel at my feet for a moment and then shifts up. It moves more slowly than I’d like, lingering too long at my chest, but I’m used to that with Bevin.

“As requested.” I lift the satchel and hand it to him. “I tracked this to a man named Thrym.” Bevin’s eyes widen for a moment and then narrow again, but he doesn’t interrupt me. “Thrym had picked it up at Aksell’s request and gave it to him yesterday before I had a chance to get it from him. I went to Aksell this morning and found Liv there.”

Bevin nods, his long, dark beard shifting up and down with the slow movement. “Good work, Sifa.”

“Thank you. Am I done here?” Bevin holds information close to his vest. He can’t want me around for whatever Liv plans to tell him.

“No.” Bevin’s response is sharp. “I’ve been considering sending you with Liv. Perhaps the gods are giving me a nudge. Let’s see what she has to say.” His gaze finds Liv’s. “Is Aksell more than a client to Ulfhild?” His voice is now a harsh rasp.

“Much more.” Her hand drops to rub her thigh—a gesture Bevin notices, his eyes narrowing—and I wonder how she feels about continuing to work for Ulfhild. She’d been a bedmate for months before Bevin started giving her jobs. Perhaps she’s ready to spend less time on her back and more on her feet.

“Aksell’s become frustrated in recent months with his wife’s limit on his spending. He’s started making money in less legal ways. Ulfhild wonders how loyal he is to the Dróttning—or if he’s started to sell parts of himself to others. She wants me to find out how deep he’s gotten into whoever or whatever’s funding him.”

I’m not surprised. Aksell loves money and status, and rumors are he had none in his youth. He found an heiress to marry and clawed his way into the overseers’ numbers through her wealth and means. If he’s not getting what he wants from his wife, he’ll find it elsewhere.

"And why is Ulfhild so concerned about who’s loyal to the Dróttning, and who’s not?” Bevin’s voice drops further, a dangerous note entering it. This is important.

“I know your suspicions. I haven’t been able to confirm them. I’ll report to you as soon as I do.”

“You’ve been helpful, but you’re a bedmate. Not trained to find things you shouldn’t.” I have to hold back a grimace at his words. If Bevin had to fuck someone like Aksell, he’d have a bit more respect for what Liv’s willing to do to get the information he demands.

Bevin’s gaze shifts to me. “Sifa is exceptionally good at finding things. Perhaps she can help.”

His eyes lift to the ceiling for a moment and then he nods to himself, looking back at Liv. “Take Sifa to Ulfhild. Introduce her as a friend who needs work and can handle a blade.” Turning back to me, he adds, “You’ll work at her house—as a shield maiden if she’ll give you that job, a bedmate if she won’t. Or even a maid. I don’t give a fuck. Just get in and stay in. I must know what Ulfhild is playing at.”

I nod, even as my stomach turns, because I can’t do anything else. If I refuse Bevin’s demand, he’ll stop asking. But I sure as fuck won’t sell myself to any man, even for him. Not after what happened in the dragon Nest when I landed in this place a decade ago. I’ll need to make sure Ulfhild sees me for my skills, not my looks.

“Now we’re done,” Bevin adds, his tone terse. Nodding again, Liv and I stand and spin to leave. “Don’t disappoint me, girls.” Bevin’s warning when we step into the hall echoes in my mind. I turn to catch his gaze and dip my chin in a quick acknowledgment, then close the door behind us.

Liv’s face is cast toward the ground as we stride down Bevin’s long hall. “This must be important, if he wants two of us working on Ulfhild,” I point out. “What do I need to know?”

She turns toward me with a sigh, shadows in her pretty blue eyes. “Ulfhild has no love for Bevin,” she mutters. “She can’t know you work for him.”

I know that much but I don’t tell Liv. Ulfhild may not recognize me—we’ve never met in person—but I’ve learned much about her over the years.

“I understand,” I assure her. “Why is Bevin so interested in Ulfhild?”

Liv doesn’t answer right away. I realize she’s deciding whether she needs to tell me everything. Finally, she shrugs, as if part of her just capitulated in an argument she had with herself, and turns toward me.

“Bevin suspects Ulfhild uses the brothel to help the rebellion, going places she wouldn’t otherwise be welcome. We need to find out if that’s true. If it is, Bevin wants to know her contacts. And anything else that’s important.” She’s silent for a moment, adding in a more speculative tone as wrinkles form on her brow, “Whatever it is they’re doing, Ulfhild is terrified of Bevin learning about it. Or worse, the Konungr and Dróttning.”

“I’ll be careful.” Liv doesn’t offer anything else so I move on. “We need to know a little about each other if we’re going to convince Ulfhild. How long have you lived in Revalle? Where were you before?”

“I’ve been here seven moons,” Liv explains. “I’m from the North, west of the largest dragon training grounds. I stayed out too late one night, after curfew, and accidentally saw them in formation, going through drills just outside my village. One of the riders realized I was there and I barely got away. I came here to avoid the death I would face there.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t catch you.” For reasons I’ve never understood, dragon training is shrouded in secrecy. The areas around the grounds have strict curfews, and the Dróttning has ordered that all deviants be put to death.

“I am,” she agrees. “I can’t go back or even tell anyone where I’m from. They’re probably searching for me. I couldn’t get a job in a household without a sponsor, so I went to work for Ulfhild.”

“What did you do before you came here?”

Liv laughs, releasing some of the morning’s tension. “I cared for the overseer’s children. A far cry from my work here.”

“Very far cry,” I echo. “How did you start working for Bevin?”

She glances at me, her eyes speculative. “That’s a story I don’t share often,” she says after a few moments. Turning, she gestures toward a large house. “That’s us. But I don’t know why you’re here looking for work. What should I tell Ulfhild?”

“If she asks, tell her I killed a man who tried to rape a slave girl in a distant village,” I suggest, my voice firm. “We met at the Shaking Boots, when you were getting a drink and saw me asking for work. We started talking, and you decided to bring me to her.”

She nods as we walk slowly toward the door. “I’ll introduce you, but you’ll need to convince her to give you a job.”

“This is what I do,” I tell her with a smile. “I am whatever I need to be to get what I want.”

“If you say so,” Liv murmurs with a shrug, her eyebrows rising as her head tilts to the side.

She’s skeptical—and I’m not as confident as I sound—but I’m not lying. I’ve thrived in this land, even more so than in my worlds, by knowing instinctively what I need to do and say in every situation. It’s my special skill.

Ulfhild swings open the door, to my surprise. I’ve seen her from a distance but she’s even more stunning than I recall, with light brown skin and dark mahogany eyes, the silver hair that comes from age, and a spattering of wrinkles. Her lithe body, dressed in a simple but stunning red gown that hugs her curves, is stronger than it looks, if my information is correct. It’s her eyes that draw me in, though. Sharp and focused, they tell me I’m dealing with an unusually smart female. She’ll either be a valuable ally or a worthy foe.

“Meistari Aksell’s maid visited this morning, Liv.” Ulfhild’s shoulders are tight, her lips set in a thin line. She spins and leads us into the house, her long skirt swinging behind her as her hips sway with her steps. “Why did you tie him up before you left?” she asks without turning around.

“He asked me to,” Liv responds with a shrug of her shoulders. “I think he wanted to shock his staff.”

“He’s a foolish man.” Ulfhild’s tone still holds a hint of disapproval, but she glances back to reveal one side of her mouth ticking up just a touch. “Did he not think to relieve himself before his odd request?”

“Now that you mention it, he didn’t. Did he … have an accident?”

“The poor woman who found him said his pathetic penis was not the most embarrassing thing for the Meistari.” Ulfhild’s smile is broad and genuine as she pauses to gesture us into a large room, full of bookshelves and plush furniture in warm, soothing colors. “While she enjoyed the laugh, it wasn’t worth the mess she had to clean up. She asks you to send him to the privy before you tie him up next time.”

“I’ll do that,” Liv assures her, her own grin emerging as she settles into a chair by the fire. “And I’ll apologize to the poor woman.”

“Please do. Her goodwill is as important as the Meistari’s.”

“Yes, Meistara Ulfhild.”

Ulfhild chooses a chair next to the wall—the room and both its entrances within her sight—and drops into it with ethereal grace. She watches me with a question in her eyes as I sit across from her. “Have you brought me another bedmate?” She looks me up and down. “She’s a rare beauty. We could make space for her.”

“I’m Sifa,” I explain in a tight voice, the shard of ice that speared down my spine turning my words cold and brittle, “and I’m no bedmate.”

“Then why are you here? The kitchen is fully staffed and I don’t think you’ve come to buy what we have to sell.”

Releasing the breath that’s caught in my throat, I relax my shoulders. Calm confidence , I remind myself. “My talents differ,” I explain with a little tilt of my lips. “I can wield a sword like no other, and with or without blades, I win every fight, even against males much larger than me.”

“I don’t need warriors.” Ulfhild narrows her eyes, suspicion growing. “And I don’t trust you enough to place my girls’ lives in your hands. Why would I?”

In the next moment, two of the blades I keep on my belt are in my hands and flipping through the air, each landing a hair’s breadth from Ulfhild’s ears. Her smile widens as she holds my gaze. Next to manipulating minds, which I can’t risk with someone as astute as Ulfhild, my skill with knives is my most useful tool.

“Nice trick,” she says in a firm voice, “but unless your knife pierces the heart of one of my men, the fact remains I don’t need another warrior. I ask again, why would I trust you enough to hire you?”

Now I smirk, letting her see my devious side. This is where being a spy comes in handy.

Watching her as I stroll over to pluck my knives from the wall, I move to the chair closest to her and lower my voice. “I’ve been keeping your secrets for a long time, Meistara Ulfhild.”

“What secrets could you hold, girl?” The laugh that accompanies these words is forced. She wonders if I’m telling the truth.

“Two moons ago, a man drowned north of the town.” I hold my smile as I watch Ulfhild’s drop away. “He’d been drinking—he liked his mead—so the vekter believed he’d fallen in. But we know differently, don’t we Ulfhild?” My gaze hasn’t left hers.

She opens her mouth to speak but apparently thinks better of it, clicking her jaws shut after a moment. “He had stolen from you, and he took too much joy in causing pain to the females he bedded. Vanatia lost nothing when the sea claimed him. So I held my tongue.”

Ulfhild nods. She understands my unspoken threat, which is why I make it my business to gather tidbits of information about powerful people in Revalle.

“Perhaps it would be good to have a shield maiden who can pass as one of my girls,” she concedes after a moment. “You can join them when they’re called to one of the estates, or to the Kastali to entertain the Konungr and Dróttning and their guests.” She lifts a hand, rubbing her thumb along her jaw as another smile emerges. “Yes, you’ll do well.”

“Understand, though, that I’m not a bedmate. Ever. You’ll make sure nobody chooses me.” I don’t tell her why—that I couldn’t protect myself in the Nest, and swore I’d never be touched by unwanted hands again.

“I’ll do my best. If you catch the eye of someone powerful, it may be hard.”

“I don’t care. I’ll kill anybody who tries to bed me. Make sure it never happens.”

Ulfhild stares at me for nearly a minute. “I can send you with something that will repel most suitors,” she says at last. “It’s powerful but if any are interested enough in you to ignore it, you’ll also have a sedative you can give them. Just make sure they drink enough to believe it was the ale, and nothing else. We can’t have people suspecting we drug our clients.”

“That will work,” I agree. “I’ll return tomorrow. You’ll have a place for me?”

“I will. I trust I can rely on your discretion in all matters?”

I spin my knives in my hands a few times, never looking down at them, and then dip my chin. “I’ve kept your secrets, Meistara. I won’t stop now.”

I make it home within an hour, ready to become myself again. Sagga has no new words for me today, thankfully, and Halla is delightful without the weight of her mother’s premonitions. We laugh and chat about her day and how much she’ll enjoy the chicken on tonight’s menu. And then she skips off, leaving me to wander away lighter than when I met her.

Toffer looks up when I open the door, a broad smile taking over his crooked face. He’s the perfect embodiment of trolls from stories told in my worlds. Short enough for me to rest my chin on his shaggy yellow hair when we hug—which we do often—he’s stocky and surprisingly strong. With a broad, round face, an absurdly-wide nose, and a beard hanging halfway down his chest, Toffer looks exactly like Midgard children imagined when they pictured trolls.

He stays home most of the time because very few trolls exist in Vanatia. When he ventures out, he causes a stir. People gawk and talk about his unlikely existence in animated whispers. And that attention always—every single time—triggers his innate need to kill. I’ve had to stop him more than once. Since I’ve managed to convince him he should try not to kill people who don’t deserve it, he doesn’t often leave the house without me these days. He’s learned to lean on my presence to control his most base urges.

“Sif, my Sif,” Toffer yells as he launches himself from the couch and picks me up in a huge hug—the response I get every time I come home, like a dog ecstatic at its owner’s return. “I thought you’d never get back.”

“Toff, I won’t leave you. You know that,” I assure him as I return his hug and pat his back a few times.

“You tell me that, but you’re always gone so long. It feels like forever.” His huge eyes don’t stray from mine as he sets me down and then reaches up to touch my face. “I don’t like being home alone.”

“You’re not alone, Toff,” I remind him. “Why don’t you chat with Thor?” I gesture toward our cat, who stares at me as if I’ve condemned him to death. His gold eyes are bright against his black fur, which is disturbed only by a bolt of white, like lightning, on his forehead. He always looks like he’d throttle both of us if he could.

“He doesn’t like me,” Toffer complains as he glances toward the cat. “And it’s very hard to stop myself from killing him when he looks at me like that.” He turns to me again. “I know you love him. I don’t know why, but I know you do. I stop myself. For you.”

“Have you tried talking to him?”

Toffer, like most trolls, can speak to animals. He’s my permanent sidekick because we somehow got sucked into Vanatia together. Turns out, he was imprisoned in Midgard by the same man who was holding—and torturing—me. I know why Jonathan captured me, the bastard. Toffer had no idea why he’d been targeted. Maybe just because Jonathan was a psychopath.

I push that asshole out of my thoughts. I might despise him even more than the Dróttning, and I refuse to give him any space in my mind. He’s worlds away and I’ll worry about him if we ever make it back home.

Toffer and I got yanked from Jonathan’s dungeon at the same time, landing in Vanatia together. We still don’t know how or why. We dropped into a cell beneath the northern dragon Nest. Convenient, since that’s where we’d have been sent anyway. Once we got here, we were tortured some more. Ten years later, I can think about those days—and sometimes talk about them—without collapsing into a fetal position. But it took a while.

Toffer and I weren’t alone and the Dróttning’s people knew it, although they couldn’t figure out what I was hiding. Luckily, she disappeared before Toffer snapped out of the daze he’d been in when we arrived. I still have no gods-damned idea why she came with us or how she escaped the Nest, but it doesn’t matter. The weeks of the Dróttning’s torture weren’t enough to drag that secret from me, but Toffer might not have held out. If they knew about her, we’d have no hope. I don’t know exactly how we’ll need her, but I know we will when the time comes.

I couldn’t leave Toffer when I escaped, so I broke him out too. Now he’s sworn to me until he pays back the life debt. Since he hardly ever leaves the house, afraid he’ll accidentally murder someone, he’ll be mine for as long as he lives.

Which won’t be long enough. He’s aging here much more quickly than me. In our worlds, time passes slowly for elves and trolls. I looked like a teenager when I landed here, although I’ve been alive nearly three hundred years. Now, only ten years later, most people think I’m in my mid-twenties. Toffer is racing through his life even faster. If we don’t get back to our worlds soon, Vanatia will suck him dry. And then me.

Toffer’s not thinking about that right now, though. His head spins so he can throw death rays at the cat, who yowls in response. “He told me to fuck off. Again. Even though I’ve told him I hate that word.” He turns to me and smiles. “He’s hungry, but he refuses to be nice to me. He knows he doesn’t get food unless he’s nice to me.”

Exhaling, I step away from Toffer to pick up Thor. He starts to purr and snuggles into my arms. Dinner is coming soon, he knows. “Maybe if you fed him without threats he’d be nice to you. You could try.”

“Nope. He has to try first. Stupid cat.” Toffer turns toward the kitchen. “You, though, I’ll feed. Even if you don’t give me many options. Tonight, the cooler held pork. Nothing else. I added a few beans and that’s what you get. Pork and pintos for my pretty princess.”

He grins at his alliteration. For some reason, he loves wordplay. When he’s nervous or anxious about something, he falls into that pattern, a coping mechanism from our time beneath the Nest, I think. It makes it easier to keep a murderous troll around the house.

“A queen’s quota from my quazy quiller,” I respond with a smile. “First I need to change,” I add as I head into the bedroom. I wear black when I work—usually a leather skirt or pants along with a fitted corset—because it helps me blend into my surroundings. But I don’t like it. Big, bold colors always make me feel better. I grab the shirt on top of the stack in my drawer, a bright pink number with loose sleeves and buttons down the front, then add baggy blue pants and furry slippers. A sigh escapes as I become me again.

As usual, Toffer’s meal is divine. He’s lived long enough to learn to cook, and seems to enjoy it. Which I love. In my hundreds of years, I’ve figured out how to make food I can eat, but I’ve never liked cooking. Another reason I’m happy Toffer’s around.

After dinner we settle down on the balcony with tonight’s drink, a blend of fruit juices and the mead that’s popular in Vanatia. Talking to Toffer helps me think through my day and my searches for a path home.

“Why worry, woman?” he asks, his lips lifting as he savors his word choice.

“I have a new job,” I tell him. “I’ve joined Ulfhild’s girls. As a shield maiden, not a bedmate,” I clarify when I see him frown.

“Well, that’s good,” he says with a carefree expression he probably hopes will lighten a subject that would weigh us both down if we let it. “Because your bed’s barren. Bounceless and bereft. You’d be out of practice. You’re pretty enough, but I don’t think they’d pay much for someone who hasn’t”—he pauses as his wrinkled cheeks bloom like a summer rose and then glances at the ground before finishing—“pleasured a man for years.”

“Do you think I’ve forgotten?” I ask with a laugh. As his eyebrows shoot up, I add, “It hasn’t been that long.” It really has, but Toffer doesn’t need to know that . “Besides, when it comes down to it, one dick is much like another. They all like to be sucked and pulled and maybe bitten a bit.”

“Bitten?” Toffer demands, his eyes wide. “Why would you bite it? Remind me to never let you anywhere near my trollpikken,” he adds.

“Your pikken is safe,” I assure him. “You’re my friend. We’ll keep our parts to ourselves.”

“Yes, we will,” he declares, his hand moving to protect his crotch from me. He narrows his eyes and then takes a gulp from his drink.

Smiling, I settle into my chair and look up into the night sky. Ulfhild’s brothel is connected. I’m happy Bevin sent me to her. Maybe I’ll finally start getting the information I need to get Toffer and me back home.