The storm had come.

Ivar had been seasick since they left Kattegat. Brynhildr's own nausea threatened to overtake her, though she thought she was more accustomed to boats having ridden around with Ubbe right in the bay of Kattegat. The feeling intensified when she saw dark clouds beginning to roll over them.

"Mother's vision," said Ivar, gripping the railing of the ship. He turned his head down as the first crack of thunder sounded, and scrunched up his face as if afraid.

"If she was right, you'll meet the gods today," said Brynhildr, sitting beside him and bracing herself. "If she was wrong... well, I'll probably be the one that keeps you from drowning."

When the raindrops began to fall, the bribed sailors seemed to lose their minds. Everyone was moving around without purpose once the boat began to rock, the waves slamming against it as if trying to swat it out of the sea– as if they were intruders. Ivar looked down into the water, as if expecting it to grab him. Brynhildr began to remove her weapons, laying everything on the deck save for her knife, which was light enough that it would do nothing to weigh her down. If they survived, she'd have at least one thing to defend herself aside from her fists.

The storm began to rage, pellets falling hard over their heads, clawing at the sails like cats. The boat gave violent lurches back and forth and the sea splattered onto them, wishing to tag along. Brynhildr could no longer see the other two ships, and Ivar had begun to scream.

She remained silent, praying in her head to Thor thanking him for the rain but asking that he keep them safe while he let his thunder fall as he wished. She asked Freya to guide her toward her fate, which surely didn't amount to dying in the sea. She asked Týr to keep them safe for the sake of finding battle in England; it was high time she wet her sword.

"Get up!" yelled Ragnar, tugging at a screaming Ivar. He pulled him against his will, and slammed him against the mast, tying a rope around him. Brynhildr followed as Ragnar extended the rope to her, having her secure herself to Ivar.

She gripped Ivar's shoulders, shouting over the storm. "Do you hear Thor beating his hammer over us? Do you hear him, testing our resolve? Testing whether we believe in all of mother's prophecies or only some?" She shook him hard as he kept screaming. "You want to be a man, Ivar? Shut up!"

He did not quiet, staring at something behind her. "We are going to fall into the sea."

She turned to see both Ivar and Ragnar had spotted a massive wave coming their way. "Ivar," she said shakily, "I need you to listen to me." She undid the rope from the mast but left it attached to herself and Ivar, linking them. "Ivar!" She grabbed his face, shaking him as he screamed again. "Ivar, if you want to live, you have to punch and kick the sea, you have to help me get you out of there–"

The ship tilted, and Brynhildr was the first to fly overboard. She felt weightless for a moment, then suddenly very heavy, as if all the force in the world was pressing down on her. She struggled to breathe and chose to let the feeling sit, trying to orient which direction her body was going. She hoped she was right to judge the sensation as sinking down. She began to kick with all her might, dragging herself the opposite way and hoping to break the surface. She could feel Ivar hanging below her– or perhaps he was above and she was going the wrong way.

Finally, her head broke free, and she gave a strangled gasp as she spit out the water she'd drank and inhaled a fresh breath of air. Ivar bobbed out beside her, his eyes closed. "Ivar!" she yelled, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Ivar, wake up!"

He did not stir. She looked around wildly, seeing no other men had resurfaced. She began to move toward the nearest barrel, hoping to hold on and save herself some effort. Ivar was even heavier in the water while unconscious. She kicked and kicked, tossing Ivar against it and panting heavily as she held on.

A body floated up beside her, and she recognized Ragnar's bald head. She tugged him over by the leg, glad he was face-up and seemingly unharmed. "Gods," she whispered, her arms and legs aching as she looked all around, finding nothing but ocean and darkness. "Gods, please save us. Someone, save us."

She held tight to Ragnar and Ivar, hugging the barrel and leaning her head against it, eyes closed and waiting for something to change. Knowing this was not her destiny, and as such, the gods would keep her safe. The gods would pass that blessing onto Ivar and Ragnar.

She laid there, exhausted, until sleep overtook her. She felt her body moving, she felt as if she was flying. Then, the sun began to rise. She took another look around her, crying out in delight when she saw land ahead.

"Wake up!" she begged them. "Wake up, we made it somewhere!" She kicked toward the sand, using the barrel to hold them all together. She found the ground again and was able to stand, dragging Ivar with her first, snipping the rope with her knife, then returning for Ragnar, who was starting to gather his bearings. More of their supplies had washed up on the same beach– but none of their men yet.

"Ivar." She knelt beside her brother, hitting his face. "Ivar, wake up!"

He began to blink, and groaned in pain, "Where are we?"

"I don't know," she said, helping him sit up. Ragnar had rolled over, grunting and burying his face in the sand. "Get up, get up, Father!"

With a great sigh, he lifted his head, then crawled onto his hands and knees to stand. "Did you bring us here, Little Valkyrie?"

"The gods did," she said. "They gave me the strength to bring you here."

"Mother was right," rasped Ivar.

"Not fully," said Brynhildr. "You did not die." She turned at the sound of thumps along the edge of the beach. "Father, our men!"

Several of them were scampering toward them from around the rocks. Brynhildr leaned down to pick up Ivar, slinging him over her back to meet the others halfway. They pressed themselves to the cliff, finding shade but unfortunately no food.

"What weapons do we have?" asked Ragnar. The men held up the few things they'd managed to bring with them. It wasn't much, and Brynhildr worried it wouldn't be enough if they were meant to continue to Wessex alone.

"So, Father," said Ivar, "what are we going to do?"

"Your son asks a good question," said one of the men. "Here we are in deep trouble. So what are you going to do about it?"

Ragnar exhaled, "I don't know yet."

"Then you better make up your mind," said another sharply. "Because all this is your fault. You made us sail here, and as far as we know, we... this little group here, are all that are left."

"Where is your army of revenge now, Ragnar Lothbrok?" the first man questioned. "I'll tell you where it is. At the bottom of the sea, feeding the fishes."

"Perhaps you should have joined them," said Brynhildr coldly. "We are alive, are we not? We have the gods to thank for that. They saw a purpose in us, and you are ungrateful? You took the bribe. You could have received your coins and disappeared yet you joined us on the boats. We may not be many, but we are Viking. If each of us fights with the strength of ten men, it won't matter that we are few."

Ragnar's lip twitched, and he moved to where another sailor had started a fire. "I suggest you all warm up." Brynhildr sank down beside Ivar crossing her arms, annoyed that he hadn't said anything in his own favor. Perhaps he really was a loser.

When they had warmed themselves, they climbed up the beach toward a slope made of rocks. They crawled little by little, Brynhildr sticking close to Ivar. Each time they heard a noise, they pressed themselves down. At last, at the peak, they heard the clopping of horses along with the creak of steel. Brynhildr peeked over, seeing a group of men in armor riding on horseback. Once they'd passed the road below, they began to run for it, but Ivar lingered behind, grabbing at the sleeves on his legs, which he'd used with the crutches to try and walk. "Forget that thing," said Ragnar. "Just crawl."

Ivar still scrambled to adjust it. "With this, I can walk like a normal man."

"The brace is damaged, Ivar," said Brynhildr. "Crawl or let me carry you."

Ragnar took the more direct approach, tugging hard at him. Ivar flopped over, crying out in pain as Ragnar began to rip the brace off, "I'm not going to stand around all day watching you try to be normal when you never will be."

"I am normal!" shouted Ivar.

Brynhildr pressed her foot onto his hand. "Shut up, Ivar, those men might hear us!" Ragnar tossed the braces down into the rocks.

"No, you are not normal," said Ragnar, turning him around. "Once you realize that, that is when greatness will happen. Now crawl! Your sister cannot carry you forever."

They stopped for some rest once they'd crossed the road and entered a plain that shielded them with some trees. Brynhildr sat down, her legs near a point where they refused to carry her any further after all she'd swam. She lay in the grass, trying to nap, while Ragnar worked on making a small sled they could carry Ivar in. He used a ripped piece of sail that had washed onto the beach and tied it together with some logs while Ivar secured his legs tight with a cloth, to keep them from wiggling around on their own.

They kept moving on little sleep. She and one other man were made to carry Ivar, following a faded path through the line of trees. While carrying him this way instead of on her back gave her legs a small rest, it did little to make her feel as though she wasn't ready to collapse.

They wove together through the forest, and Brynhildr wondered if Ragnar recognized anything yet. Had they actually reached England or had they been sent in another direction?

"If we stick to the coast, we can, uh, find the fishing village," said one man to Ragnar. "We'll make camp and steal a boat in the morning. That is what you want to do, isn't it? What else is there for us?"

"It's the only thing we can do," accepted Ragnar.

They came to a stop when they heard the sound of singing. A girl singing, Brynhildr thought. She motioned for them to be quiet, and the group lowered themselves to the ground, hiding in the brush and behind trees to see if they could pinpoint the sound.

A girl in a red dress was coming their way with a small basket. She was perhaps ten years old, singing in English. Brynhildr found it difficult to follow with the tune, but recognized most of the words from her lessons with Bjorn, who'd insisted his siblings learn the language of England. Unknowingly, the girl neared the group of Vikings, ever so often stopping to pick mushrooms out of the trees.

Ragnar had them keep silent until she was gone. Then, they decided to stop and make camp there. One of the men who had a set of arrows and a bow gave it to Brynhildr to hunt. She fetched them three small birds while another man managed to throw his ax at a rabbit. They made a small fire to cook everything, but Brynhildr wasn't interested in the camaraderie. She took her portion and went sideways in the direction of the coast, finding her father and Ivar there.

"Here," she said, offering them some of the meat. "What are you two talking about?"

"We are leaving the others behind," said Ivar happily. "Only the three of us will continue. I'd have preferred it to be only Father and I, but well..."

"You are a selfish prick," said Brynhildr, taking away the meat she offered. "I saved your life. You would have drowned if I hadn't helped you. All you did was scream and be of no use to anyone." She sat on the other side of Ragnar, who smirked when Ivar pursed his lips, embarrassed. "Well, then, when do we go?"

"Tonight," said Ragnar quietly. "While they are sleeping, we will slit their throats. The girl we heard was a Saxon. The men we saw were Saxons. We are somewhere in England and must continue on our own. It is time for you to wet your blade, Little Valkyrie."

"Good," said Brynhildr. "Then it will be done."

Killing was easy, especially when her victims were near-asleep. They'd spread out at three points of the camp, making their way through the group. With her knife, she cut the throats of three of the men while Ragnar and Ivar worked through the ones that began to wake using axes. In the silence that followed, Brynhildr gathered their weapons for herself. She took back an ax and sword as well as a shield to have on her back.

At daybreak, they moved. Ragnar had Ivar tossed over his shoulder with Brynhildr leading the way, given she held the majority of the weapons. Each time they heard noise, they'd jump behind bushes and lay low until all the sounds passed. Brynhildr's knees hurt from the repeated impacts, and at one point, she felt she might not be able to stand again.

"Let us rest here a moment," muttered Ragnar, holding his lower back as if in extreme pain. He gave Brynhildr an incredulous look. "You carry him always?"

"For almost all my life," she confirmed, side-eyeing Ivar. "And he does not appreciate it."

Ivar made a face. "I bet you both wish I hadn't come along." He wagged a finger at Ragnar, "And I bet you wish you would have killed me when I was born, just like you wanted to."

"Only when you talk," said Ragnar simply, causing Brynhildr to stifle a giggle. He became serious, "I thought your legs were a weakness and you wouldn't survive. I was wrong. Your legs have given you a strength, a strength that your brothers do not have. You are like a deaf man whose eyesight is sharper than anyone else. You are special, not in spite of your legs... but because of them."

Ivar appeared as close to flustered as was probably possible for him. "I think that's the first time you've ever admitted to being wrong."

"It'll never happen again," said Ragnar, "so enjoy it." He ruffled Ivar's hair, "Heed your sister's words more. In a span of days I saw that none of your brothers treat you as she does. If you wish to be a man, be a man your sister can look to for greatness. You are the brother she stands to learn the most from."

Brynhildr refrained from making a face of disbelief out of respect for Ragnar's intention of a serious conversation with Ivar. His gaze flickered to her, and he reached into the knapsack they filled with provisions, offering her a cube of meat. She took it silently, narrowing her eyes and hoping he understood that this wasn't a proper apology, but a good start nevertheless.

Ivar was in better spirits as they continued, and pretended Ragnar was a donkey. At least he'd never done that to Brynhildr, because she would have 'accidentally' let him fall off her back into the water near Floki and Helga's house when he was much younger and much weaker. The more she thought of it, the more she considered how much strength she could attribute to Ivar.

Each time she wrestled with her brothers, she easily gained the upper hand on them with the use of her legs. Her arms, even, could shoulder more force. Perhaps it was from all the years of carrying her brother, who she really had not pitied, only expected more from. How could one be both a cripple and a cold bastard? They ought to pick one battle for their lifetime.

It was days later that they finally reached a field filled with wagons carrying hay. Around the edge of the trees was what appeared to be a castle, the place Ragnar described as the home of King Ecbert of Wessex. He lowered Ivar to the ground and beckoned Brynhildr to kneel with him.

"Once we get inside, we will be separated," said Ragnar, breathing heavily. "If you are both smart, you will not be hurt. When I can, I will find you." He cupped their faces, and the look in his eyes suggested he was saying goodbye.

"I know what to do," said Ivar quietly. "I think you brought me here for a reason."

"No matter what they do to me," said Ragnar, removing the weapons from Brynhildr's belt and tucking them in the hay. "Ivar, you must act like a cripple. Brynhildr, you cannot show your strength. Then, they won't feel threatened by either of you."

"But what will they do to you?" asked Brynhildr. How could they be expected to stand by and watch him be tortured? Ragnar was silent.

"So... we're going to watch you being hurt?" asked Ivar. "Sounds like a good plan."

Ragnar leaned forward, kissing the top of Ivar's head and then Brynhildr's. "Ivar, you must crawl with us." He offered his daughter his hand, having her walk with him as if he was leading her to safety and the one that'd been protecting her from danger, instead of the other way around.

As archers were called to the castle gates, Ragnar came to a stop, holding his hands up in surrender. Brynhildr mimicked him, waiting for the men to notice it. The gates opened, allowing six knights on horseback and four on foot to come for them.

The horses circled them, a rider asking, "Who are you?"

"My children and I have come to see a good friend, King Ecbert," said Ragnar carefully. "We are old friends. We have traveled a long way and my poor son is hungry and he is thirsty. My daughter can barely stand. I have no doubt that your king would like to know of our arrival."

An archer on the tower said curtly, "The King is not here."

Ragnar tried again, "I am still sure that he'd like to know that his good friend has been treated kindly."

The man decided, "Let them in!" The horses ended their circle, two men dismounting. One tossed Ivar over the horse, the other picked Brynhildr up and sat her on it, leading them in as if to hold them hostage. Brynhildr imagined it would take little effort for her to wrap her legs around the head of the man and snap his neck.

Within the yard there were several men in detailed cloaks, surely nobles who stopped what they were doing to stare at them. Brynhildr noticed a man in armor being led out of the castle, surrounded by guards as if he were someone important— surely not the king but maybe that son of his.

"Prince Aethelwulf," said one guard, trying to whisper in his ear. But the Prince had already seen them before him.

"For the love of God," said the man, examining the prisoners. "Do you not know who this is?" He almost sounded excited, "It's Ragnar Lothbrok, the King of the Northmen." He shouted to his men, "Seize him!"

Ragnar showed no resistance as the guards moved in, bashing their metaled fists against the back of his head and making him fall to his knees. Brynhildr clapped her hand over her mouth in an attempt to make no sound, though she dug her fingertips against her own skin angrily, thinking that if Ragnar had not wanted them to be seen as weak, she and Ivar would have put a stop to this.

She watched the men beat and kick her father like a hound on the street. Prince Aethelwulf grinned wide— he even laughed, the bastard. She imagined shoving her knife into his face, as many times as it took to ruin it completely and ensure it never smiled at anyone else.

Ragnar spit blood out, wheezing as he lay on his back, looking at his children. "Who's that?" asked Prince Aethelwulf to his guard, nodding toward Ivar and Brynhildr.

"A cripple," said the man. "And a girl. He called them his children."

Prince Aethelwulf's lips curled, and Brynhildr got the sense he perceived them exactly as Ragnar intended. Hopeless. Helpless. Pathetic. She promised to herself that she'd make him pay for believing her to be those three things.

Finally, a last kick knocked Ragnar unconscious. Brynhildr turned away, shaking with rage, and it seemed the knight nearest her took it as though she was crying, because he jeered like it was the funniest thing in the world.

"Cage him," said Prince Aethelwulf. "Hold the children in the guest chamber nearest the dungeons."

Ivar was pulled off the horse by two guards, while another alone slung Brynhildr over his shoulder. She stared down at Ragnar's bloody body, watched a trail of blood run down his temple and pool in the ground.

Her head bobbed and the pain in her legs increased as she was carted around like a knapsack. She tried to memorize how many turns they took to reach the chambers, in case there was a need to escape. She worried she might not remember, for every hall looked the same and others fed in beside paintings she thought were copies of each other.

She and Ivar were tossed into a room with a single bed, and she immediately scrambled up to help Ivar onto it, seething in their own language, "I will cut off their feet for how they kicked him."

"This is the biggest insult," said Ivar. "To pretend we are weak. As if we are not his children. Do the English truly believe we'd be so useless?"

"At any rate, we need them to believe it," muttered Brynhildr. She unfastened her shirt, withdrawing from under her leather waist wrap that she'd kept a knife. She slid it under the mattress, and Ivar grinned.

They sat in silence for hours. A guard brought them food— a single bowl filled with strange meat and a liquid that must have made it their version of stew. She and Ivar divided it equally, though her belly rumbled and told her it wasn't enough. She wondered what sort of feast her mother and brothers were having in Kattegat. She wondered if Hvitserk and Bjorn had enough food. If they were lacking, they ought to starve King Harald and Halfdan.

They were dragged out of the room a day later, carried to a great hall where they found their father standing in a cage at the head of a table, across a white-haired and pointy-nosed man who regarded them with interest.

"Are you alright?" rasped Ragnar in their language.

"Yes, Father," said Ivar. "Better than you by the look of it."

Ragnar half-smiled, and spoke to King Ecbert, "I will not eat until my children do."

"Your children are also my guests," said Ecbert, offering them a plate with roasted pheasant. They took it carefully and began to eat; if it was poisoned, at least they would die with full bellies. "Believe me, I will make sure no harm comes to them." He pointed a finger at the men who carried them in, "Make sure they're well-kept. No one harms the girl."

"Sire," agreed the knights. They reached for them and began to carry them away again, not caring that they were still scarfing down their pheasant.

"Don't fuck with them," called Ivar in their language, looking over his shoulder.

Brynhildr considered that she might go mad in this small room with only Ivar for company. They talked amongst themselves of Aslaug's prophecy for Brynhildr, whether it meant she'd leave England alive and discover a land on her own or if the English would pawn her off to another distant country and leave her to have her adventure there.

She focused on the conversations taking place outside. There were some words she didn't know, but the majority made sense, and they interested her. She overheard two guards talking about Prince Magnus, who had been sent away. Supposedly, Ragnar had claimed to the boy's face that he wasn't his father, that all Queen Kwenthrith ever did was piss on him. It brought an oddly satisfied smirk to her face, knowing she was Ragnar's youngest child, that she had no Saxon half-brother that she'd need to stomp into the dirt.

The next day, they were met with unexpected company. The young princes came to their room, the younger one arriving with a small wooden box. A guard lingered in the doorway as he set the box down against the table by the window, revealing a chess set. Ivar perked up with interest, and crawled over to sit with the young boy examining the pieces. Brynhildr thought they looked similar enough to their game of hnefatafl.

The other prince watched her, and she stared back at him seriously. Their siblings played but neither of them were eager to participate. Brynhildr finally turned away, hugging her knees. From what she remembered, Prince Aethelwulf had two sons, one named Aethelred and one named Alfred– as if that wasn't confusing. Aethelred was surely around her age, standing much taller than the younger boy. He was handsome, and it made her wonder if Ivar could be right.

What if Ecbert kept them captive and pawned them off? What if he married them to Saxons and did what was attempted when their family first came to England– forced baptisms and whatever corruption their uncle Rollo experienced in Frankia?

(She dared to think of Aethelred a second longer, how different he looked from Viking boys. Brynhildr knew her mother claimed she would never find love in their lands, yet she entertained the idea. She never had a chance to speak to boys in Kattegat because her brothers always drove them away with menacing looks. Either way, Brynhildr had always been occupied with bettering herself. But did that mean she had to deny an instinct? Deny a curiosity?)

At last, Prince Aethelred dared to come closer, standing at the foot of the bed and pretending he was watching the game. Brynhildr side-eyed him, if only because he was a stranger and the grandson of their enemy. "Do you even speak English?" he muttered.

"Some," she replied curtly. "Enough to know that your guards think you are stupid."

His face reddened. "I am not stupid."

"If you were not stupid, you would not have to deny it. Everyone would simply believe it."

"You pagan girls are not like Saxon girls," Aethelred said sharply. "You're nightmares."

"Not all pagan girls are like me," said Brynhildr. "Some are pretty, some are gentle, some are warriors, some are healers. I choose to be honest even when people won't like it."

Aethelred rolled his eyes. "If I were the king, I'd have you learn the truth the Bible says."

She made a face. "And what'll the Bible tell me, that you Christians are boring and small? I don't think you will be very tall when you become a king."

"Yet I'll be King of Wessex," said Aethelred. "What will you be?"

"Anything I want to be," said Brynhildr. "As long as I am away from you."

"Good. When I am King, your people won't be allowed anywhere near here."

"Maybe you will never be King. Maybe my people will take over this country. Maybe one day our roles will be reversed and you will be a prisoner in my castle. I am already a Princess. We are equals."

He scrunched up his nose. "You? A Princess? Why did you travel with your father? Why aren't you wearing a dress?"

"It's not comfortable to travel in dresses," said Brynhildr sharply. "And I traveled to explore the world. Would you not want to do the same?"

He was silent, considering it. Ivar kept flickering his eyes at her, warning Brynhildr to cut the conversation short before she said too much about her abilities. He moved one of the pieces on the board, tapping it down as the door clicked open. A guard spoke, "We've orders to take the girl and the cripple," he said. Brynhildr and Ivar shared a look.

They were carried down to the dungeons, where their father resided in a large, empty room with only a small water basin for him to drink from. Chairs were brought for them to sit on, and the guards plopped them down as if they were mere children.

Their father, still bruised and clearly exhausted, spoke merrily in their tongue from the shadows, "I have some good news. King Ecbert has arranged for a boat. You are both going home."

"Without you?" asked Brynhildr. "No. Unacceptable."

"They aren't going to release me," said Ragnar. "I have to die."

Ivar scoffed. "Then I'll die, too. I'm thinking of being burned alive."

"Don't be stupid," cut in Ragnar, walking toward them. "I don't want either of you to die. It is far more important that you stay alive. People think you are both no threat. But I know differently. Out of all of my children, it was you two who I wanted to bring here, and it is you two that I believe are the most important for the future of our people."

"I'm just about prepared to believe you," said Ivar scathingly. "Brynhildr is the one destined to take our Viking blood somewhere new."

Ragnar grabbed him by the collar and shook him, "Shut up and listen, idiot. You have many gifts, and anger is a gift." He poked at his forehead, "What is in here is a gift. You do not think like other men. You are unpredictable. And that will serve you well. Use your anger intelligently and I promise you, my son, that one day, the whole world will know and fear Ivar, the Boneless."

Ivar blinked several times, expression soft. "I wish... I wish I wasn't so angry all the time."

Ragnar chuckled, "Then you would be nothing."

"I might have been happy," said Ivar.

"Happiness is nothing," said Ragnar.

Ivar smirked, "I was only joking, idiot." He smacked his father's head.

Ragnar rolled his eyes in amusement. "My Little Valkyrie." He turned to Brynhildr, cupping her face. "You've learned well from those that were around you. You learned from Floki and Helga, from your brothers. Yet you keep waiting for yourself to be plucked up towards your destiny. Coming here was the first time you seized a path towards greatness. Do not let it be the last time. When you want something, you take it."

She nodded, "Yes, Father. I understand."

Ragnar leaned close to whisper, "Ecbert is handing me over to King Aelle, who will kill me."

"We'll come back and kill Aelle, then," said Brynhildr.

"Yes," said Ragnar. "Oh, you must seek revenge, but not on Aelle. On Ecbert."

Ivar and Brynhildr nodded wordlessly. "Everyone will always underestimate the two of you. You must make them pay for it." Ragnar removed his arm ring, placing it in Ivar's hands.

"We will, Father," whispered Ivar, beginning to tear up.

As the doors opened again, Ragnar whispered quickly, "Be ruthless," and offered them each a kiss on the head. The guards ripped them from their chairs, carrying them out to a wagon that waited to take them to the harbor. The princes waited with their mother, staring intently as they were loaded up. Prince Alfred approached, offering Ivar one of his chess pieces. As the horses dragged them away, Brynhildr looked up at the castle, thinking of the father she'd soon lose forever.

They were at sea for weeks, left starved and thirsty. Ivar and Brynhildr huddled together on the deck, waiting for their return to Kattegat. She thought of what England had been like, how much it meant to her to have traveled with her father and learned from him. It had been a strange country, yet one she almost dared to want to explore. She even kept thinking of Aethelred, and wondered whether he'd find her interesting if he knew what she was really like.

When they returned home, they were delivered into the arms of Ubbe and Sigurd, who did not carry them back on the path that was expected. Brynhildr's vision blurred, but she swore this wooden hut was not the one they used to live in. Many months had passed, was that the reason?

"Where is our father?" asked Sigurd once they'd given them both water, ale, and food. When they did not immediately answer, Ubbe pressed, "Where is Ragnar?"

"King Ecbert handed him over to King Aelle," said Ivar. "Knowing that Aelle would kill him."

Ubbe frowned. "Why would he give him to Aelle?"

"It was his plan," assured Brynhildr. "And the reason no longer matters. Ragnar is dead, surely. What comes next is our journey back to England to avenge him."

Ubbe and Sigurd shared a look. "We have something to tell you both," said Sigurd, though he pursed his lips and did not elaborate.

"Does it have something to do with why we are in a different house?" asked Brynhildr, narrowing her eyes. "Did Mother finally force you out and make you find wives?"

Ubbe looked down, and could not bring himself to say what Sigurd did, "Mother is dead."

Ivar and Brynhildr turned to their eldest brother, who confirmed, "It is true. Lagertha killed her. Lagertha is now Queen of Kattegat. And Mother is dead."

Brynhildr's skin crawled. Lagertha must have been waiting to strike in their moment of weakness. Ivar, Brynhildr, and Hvitserk all gone. Ubbe and Sigurd the only two men who would have protected Aslaug– and Sigurd could be easily turned to the enemy side. She stared down at her hands, which had begun to shake with rage. She thought of all the times she considered Lagertha her idol, her hero, the woman she wanted to be. That all ended now. She turned up towards Sigurd, who saw her pain but did not share in her anger, in her regret that she hadn't known her mother well, she hadn't mended their relationship. Aslaug was a mother she never really had and had now become a martyr in her mind, the woman Lagertha needlessly killed.

"Why?" whispered Brynhildr.

"Mother asked for safe passage," whispered Ubbe. "Lagertha did not give it."

"Why is she dead?" she pressed. "Where were you two?"

They looked at one another and said nothing. "Well?" she snapped. "Why were you not protecting her? Or did you simply stand aside as Lagertha killed her?"

"We were tricked," said Ubbe. "Lagertha's shieldmaidens captured us." He did not go into the details, but clearly, it had been a moment of stupidity.

"You should have been strong enough to kill her shieldmaidens," said Brynhildr. "You should have been strong enough to already kill her guard and take the throne for yourself!"

"Stop whining," said Sigurd sharply. "Why do you defend her? Our mother only ever loved Harbard and Ivar. Not me, not you."

"She was our mother!" shrieked Brynhildr. "To not avenge her shows we are weak, that blood matters nothing to us."

"What do you care?" snapped Sigurd. "Mother has been telling you all your life that one day you will leave us behind and never return."

"Well, I have returned," she sneered. "I left a girl of fifteen, returned a girl of sixteen, and I aim to avenge both of our parents. I will go nowhere until I see this done. I will show the strength neither of you did."

She turned to Ivar, who had gripped his chess piece tight enough to draw blood. "Somehow, some way, we are going to kill Lagertha."

It was the one thing she wanted. The one thing she would take.