“I swear to God,” Kera snarled out, “don’t make me come over there.”

“Sorry,” Annalisa said, hands raised. “Habit.”

“Erin’s right,” Betty noted with a smile. “You’re not weak.” She stretched out her arms. “So let’s see what the gods have to show you. Give me your hands, sweetie.”

“I’d rather not.”

Betty tossed her short black hair off her face with a twitch of her head and smirked. “First thing you’ve gotta learn . . . you can always trust a fellow Crow.” She winked at her. “Go on. Take my hands.”

Kera looked down at the woman’s hands. She had a diamond-studded wedding band on her left ring finger and three other rings on her right hand that included diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. Not knowing much about jewelry, Kera would still guess the woman had about half-a-million dollars on her hands at the moment. What was it like to be so wealthy?

Kera didn’t think she’d ever find out. She wasn’t really a ring person.

“Come on,” Betty pushed. “I promise not to bite.”

Kera let out a breath. “Fuck it,” she said before placing her hands in Betty’s.

The older woman laughed softly. “Now, do you know how to meditate?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Excellent. Then just close your eyes and begin deep breathing. I’ll handle everything else.”

Kera did what she was told and, at the very least, her meditation helped her calm down a bit.

She breathed in. She breathed out. Then she was off . . .

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

She, who had no name here in this land but “slave,” stood by her body and wondered what would happen next.

Maybe she shouldn’t have fought so. But after six moons of these people, she’d grown tired of . . . everything. So she’d fought. As had the other five. Fellow women with no names who were also only called Slave. They’d fought, too, and they’d also died. Two wept over their bodies and the other three had wandered away, unable to look at what remained.

How good her life had been before the Northmen had come with their long boats and their steel. They’d ripped apart her village in seconds. At least it had felt that way. Even as the village men fought back, the warriors trying their best, the Northmen had simply decimated them . . . then they’d turned their attention to the women and children.

She closed her eyes. She wouldn’t think about that again. She couldn’t. Life was hard enough without remembering that.

Well . . . her life had been hard enough. Now that life no longer existed. But where were her ancestors? Why weren’t they here to lead her to her place of glory at their side? Or had being a slave ruined that for her?

She looked at the other five. They’d suffered along with her but they hadn’t been from her village. Shedidn’t know where they were from, but she could guess how they got here. Just as she had. Thrown over the shoulders of Northmen like so much chattel.

Unable to stare at her body a moment longer, she looked out over the field where the battle had taken place. So much death, but these people lived for death. All the men wanted to die with honor in battle so they could meet their precious gods and feast at their table. Would her short life have been different if she’d been born a man? Probably. But if she’d been born in the same village that would have meant she’d only have died sooner.

Moving among the dead she could see the ones the old women of the village called the Valkyries. They would choose which of the dead would go with them to their special gods’ hall. They were so tall, with long blond hair and bright shiny armor. Their helmets had wings on them but it was their horses that could fly. They waited for the Valkyries at the end of the battlefield, eating grass and nuzzling each other, their wings occasionally fluttering from time to time.

A veiled woman walked onto the field of death from the woods nearby. She was tall like the Valkyries but there was nothing to tell about her except her eyes. They were so dark and cold. Very cold.

One of the Valkyries left the dead to go to the woman’s side and despite the distance between them, all could be heard between the two.

“Why are you here, Skuld?” the Valkyrie demanded. “You did not ride with us this day.”

“I know. The human who caused this battle,” she sneered, “still has my property. I want it back. The only reason he won this battle and the others these last three moons is because he holds what is mine. His advantage is unfair.”

“Whatever you lost is your problem. You cannot deal directly with the living on these kinds of issues. You know that. Father will have a—”

“Your father is not my problem.”

“He is father to us all.” The Valkyrie caught the Skuld woman’s arm and stopped her forward momentum. “I know you like balance, but that is not always possible. Power is always there to be claimed. Someone will take what is yours from the Jarl and defeat him.”

“And then become a monster themselves? I do not like that . . .”

“Unless Odin changes the rules he has set—which we both know he will never do—there is nothing you can do about it.”

The Skuld woman said nothing for a very long moment, her cold black eyes moving over the field of death as if she searched for some answer that never came.

As she wondered what would happen next between the Valkyrie and the Skuld woman, a crow landed on the back of her body’s head. Horrified, she who was once called Slave, dropped to her knees and tried to shoo the animal away. But her hand went through the bird. She was no longer living. She was nothing but air. Worthless air.