“Stop!”

Kolbjorn heard himself yell the word that had been screaming in his head. He had to stop this. Seeing Rachel about to die broke something in him. He could not live with himself if he allowed his father to kill the woman he loved.

She had to live even if it meant betraying his father. She had to live even if it meant breaking the code of honor he had lived by his whole life. She had to live even if it meant his father would never accept Kolbjorn, even if he’d kill him, even if he’d make him an outlaw.

Father looked at him, annoyed by the interruption. “What? Why?”

Kolbjorn’s forehead prickled with sweat. He’d never had to lie, never had to trick anyone. This was new, and Rachel had been so right when she’d said he could not achieve everything with his honor.

Sometimes he had to be a trickster, too.

And so he was—at least, trying to.

“Stop, Jarl. She’s a witch. You are making a mistake by killing her.”

“Why?”

The experience of lying was completely new to him, and he searched for believable explanations.

“There’s more treasure where she is from.”

Rachel’s eyes widened, her face pale. He was proud of her; she took death like a warrior would—stoically, head held high, without begging, without humiliating herself.

“What are you talking about?”

“The iron wasp, the food and drinks, the goddess in the air—it’s all her doing. She’s a witch. She tricked us with magic.”

Bjorn only gripped her stronger. “Yes, she’s a witch, and she has to die. Even a volva does not get to steal from me and live.”

Loki, god of mischief, help me. Sit on my shoulder, whisper to me the words that would save the woman I love.

He did not know if Loki heard his prayer or not, but somehow, the lie was born in his head.

“But she can bring more treasure. Treasure that is worth five times more than the Necklace of Northern Lights.”

The jarl squinted at Kolbjorn. “Can you prove that?”

Kolbjorn nodded and removed the transparent pouch with the sapphires from his belt purse. They glimmered even brighter against the snow. He came closer to his father, the gemstones in his opened palm. Father removed the scramasax from Rachel’s throat, and Kolbjorn began breathing easier. The jarl took the pouch and rustled the material between his fingers. He dipped one finger into the pouch and circled it.

“They feel real. Why do you steal my jewelry if you have these, witch?” he asked Rachel.

“She likes jewelry—she’s addicted to it. She has raw materials but not this beauty, the artful jewelry that you commissioned.”

“But why steal? Why could you not trade instead?”

“Because Loki is her god, and he told her to do mischief,” Kolbjorn said.

Spinning lies was hard for him. Harder than fighting and killing ten men. Every word was like a wet, slippery stone in a stream, and he had to choose very carefully where he stepped.

Father looked at him long and hard, his eyes squinted, probing. Kolbjorn did not look away, sweat streaming down his spine. Father would know. He’d see the lies in Kolbjorn’s face. He knew him like no one.

But his father nodded and looked down at Rachel. “It is hard to believe, but I have never heard a lie from you, Kolbjorn. If you say it is so, then it is. And if there is more treasure, then I must have it. What do you say, witch, your life for more of this?”

He dangled the pouch and it rustled.

Rachel nodded, and a cloud of steam puffed out of Kolbjorn’s mouth. His first lie to Father. He felt as dirty as Loki’s sweaty armpit, but Rachel was still breathing, and that was what mattered.

Now he had to get her back to her time—with the jewel.

“She needs the necklace.”

“What?”

“For the spell,” Kolbjorn said. “Or it won’t cast.”

Jarl Bjorn regarded her, heavily, and Kolbjorn thought that he’d say no and grab her again. And this time he wouldn’t let her go.

Bjorn glanced at the sapphires. One hand went under the folds of his cloak and removed the necklace, but still he did not give it to her.

“How can you prove you will be back with more treasure?”

Rachel swallowed. She reached under her own cloak, to the silver necklace around her neck. She undid the clasp, removed it and held it out in her palm for Bjorn to see, her hand shaking. Separating from the necklace was like separating from her mother, from her childhood, from an integral part of herself.

“It’s my mother’s,” the words came out in a pained whisper.

Bjorn regarded it, then took it and turned it in his hand. “This is just silver. It does not stand close to the Necklace of Northern Lights.”

“But it means everything to me. I’ll be back for it.” She stole a glance at Kolbjorn, who watched her with such intensity, she thought he’d set her skin on fire.

Jarl Bjorn gave a nod and placed the Necklace of Northern Lights in Rachel’s hands. Rachel felt as if a piece of her heart was left with her silver necklace in his hand, but if it was the price for her mother’s life, then so be it.

Still shaking, her back tense, her shoulders aching as if a vise gripped them, Rachel stumbled through the snow towards the grove and the rock that appeared black against the whiteness. She felt the jarl’s heavy eyes on her. “Be back tomorrow,” he called after her, and she almost flinched. “Jul is in a week.”

“Tomorrow,” she said, breathing deeper to steady her shaking breath. That was a lie, and she did not even want to look at Kolbjorn.

She continued, and Kolbjorn went with her. The rest of the warriors together with Jarl Bjorn followed.

She was well aware of Kolbjorn’s tall frame walking by her side, and even though it could not physically be possible, it felt as if his presence warmed her.

She still could not believe that Kolbjorn had lied for her, that he’d tricked his father for her.

He’d chosen her.

Warmth spread through her whole body, joy bubbling in her stomach.

He’d listened. He would not play by his father’s rules anymore.

The realization made Rachel smile, but she hid it, too afraid to do anything that would make Bjorn doubt her.

Kolbjorn’s face was a stone mask, his eyebrows knit together, his eyes staring in front of him but not seeing. He looked stiff and tense. Did his shoulders hurt, too?

The rock with the runes was very close when Rachel finally started believing that she was actually going, that the necklace was in her hand, that she was alive, and that she was leaving Kolbjorn.

The fear and the adrenaline that had flooded her body for the past day, and especially in the past few hours, were gone.

She was about to lose Kolbjorn forever. A sucking, ripping tornado of pain began whirling somewhere in her middle. She put a hand on her stomach in a useless attempt to calm it down.

He was still next to her, and then they were in front of the rock.

Only about a third of the pillar was visible, a cap of snow on top of it. And even though Rachel wanted to go—needed to go—the rock that she had almost fought for with her life just yesterday now looked like the promise of doom.

She turned to face Kolbjorn.

Steam rushed out of his mouth and nose in a fast, unsteady rhythm. His hazel eyes were serious. He looked like he wanted to say something but held himself back.

Rachel had to go, there was no way she could stay now. And even if her mother was fine, Rachel did not belong here, not in this time.

Not with him.

Or did she?

Rachel swallowed. Looking at Kolbjorn, big and gorgeous and kind, her heart started to bleed. She’d fallen for him, so deeply she wasn’t sure there was a bottom.

But no. She couldn’t wait another minute, not with so many Vikings staring at her, their axes and swords sharp, their faces mistrustful.

And she couldn’t stay another minute because with every moment that passed, it was harder and harder to leave him, the whirlwind of pain in her gut turning faster and consuming more and more of her.

Rachel leaned into Kolbjorn, her lips finding his, planting a last desperate kiss on him despite everyone looking. He answered, his arms wrapping around her, squeezing her against him in a bone-crushing hug.

“I love you,” she whispered, wetting his ear with her tears.

Then without meeting his eyes, she pushed herself off him, and he let her go. She turned to the rock, putting her hands on its rough surface, sinking them in snow, the ice burning her hands.

And as the feeling of spinning began, pulling her in, she turned to see Kolbjorn for the last time. The world began disappearing, until all she could see were his eyes, just like that first time they had met, eternity connecting them even as darkness began taking everything around her.

And then there was nothing.