I was sick of being cold. From the autumn nights of the steppes to the freezing water somewhere off the coast of Norway, this SoCal girl was tired of being miserable. The Vikings around me appeared cheerful, untouched by the chill that froze their breath and rendered their faces red. The one who hauled me out of the water didn’t even seem to mind the frozen sleeve of his right arm.

I can’t do this. I didn’t feel sick to my stomach anymore, but my soul hurt. I’d dated a lot of guys in college, but Batu wasn’t anything like them. He was … perfect. Different, without a doubt, but mine. I wanted to spend my life with him.

Technically, at this point in time, he hadn’t been born yet. Although, I’d been learning, time was flexible to the travelers, and Batu was one of them.

Could he find me somehow?

Not if Carter has anything to do with it. I had never hated anyone as much as I did the mastermind behind my treacherous journey through time. He took me away from Batu, but not before driving a wedge between my Mongol warrior and me. Carter had threatened to un-create Batu the way he had my first time-traveling husband, Taylor. If I could never forgive myself for not helping Taylor, who I had admired but not loved, then how could I ever live with letting Batu be un-created by Carter?

I couldn’t, and the manipulative bastard in control of my life knew that. He always predicted how I’d react, and knew how to push my buttons from the very beginning. Before now, I had never thought to ask myself how he was always several steps ahead of me. From our first meeting, when he offered up a gift card he had to know would appeal to a broke, recent college grad, to dropping a man like Batu in my path, probably knowing I’d fall in love with him. He’d been targeting me from the beginning.

He always found me. Always knew what to say to force me to do what he wanted.

Freezing and shaking at the bottom of a Viking boat, I couldn’t help feeling surprised that I never asked myself how before. I’d been stuck on why since meeting him. Was this part of a psych profile he did on me, similar to the one Taylor’s agency – the organization trying to prevent Carter from interfering with history – had told me they’d done? Even if Carter had a profile, how did he know the specific details he needed to push me around? How did he know to be where he was in Tombstone, to place me safely in the Mongol empire, to toss me exactly here, in front of three Vikings in a boat, instead of in the middle of the ocean, far from anyone who could help me?

Carter was freaky brilliant, an evil mastermind who had made me the center of his life for reasons I didn’t think I’d ever understand.

The small rowboat bumped against the dock. Two of the men sprang out and tied the small watercraft to it. The third, Jorgensen, wrapped an arm around me and hauled me unceremoniously out of the boat.

There was a time when I’d have been offended to be treated like a bag of potatoes. That time would’ve been when I wasn’t too cold and wet to feel most of my body.

Oblivious to the cold killing me, the three spoke warmly and walked down the dock, in no hurry to return to the village perched at the edge of the fjord. When we reached the end of the dock, Jorgensen and the others paused to talk a while longer before they fell quiet.

I couldn’t see the other two men, but Jorgensen tensed. He sighed, and the three of them began walking once more. This time, no one spoke, and their pace was slower.

I really felt like I was dying this time, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. Fortunately, Jorgensen didn’t seem to mind hauling me around with him.

The village was quiet. We appeared to be the only ones out. Jorgensen took me deeper into the village. When he reached a dwelling – somewhere in size between a hut and a tiny cabin – whose door was overhung by drying herbs, he hesitated, hefted me over his hip and then pounded on the door and stepped back quickly, as if the door was hot against his fist.

The other two men stood back, peering anxiously towards the door with one wringing his hands.

The lights of the home were out, but the door opened not a second after Jorgensen’s knock.

He took another step back, distancing him from whoever answered the door. With my ass to the door, I couldn’t tell who was there or why all three of the upbeat Viking warriors suddenly seemed tense, uncertain.

“You were right,” he said. “She fell from the sky in front of our faering.”

“Bring her in,” answered a man’s voice, low and hoarse, a silky, creepy hiss.

The Viking warrior obeyed. He set me down on the ground near a table and backed away quickly, returning to the doorway. The other two stood close enough to peer with a combination of curiosity and dread into the cabin.

A man all in black lit a lantern, shedding some light on the sparse interior. A table, shelves for storage, small workbench, hearth, trunks, and other meager possessions were all I could see.

“For your effort.” The hooded man tossed Jorgensen a chunky piece of gold. “And for your silence.” He tossed him a gold cup with a single murky ruby embedded into it. “If all of you drink from this cup, you will be blessed with Thor’s ferocity in battle.”

Jorgensen smiled nervously and retreated out of the cabin. He closed the door behind him. The three of them hurried away, their boots crunching in the snow.

I rested my head on the ground. The draft didn’t bother me at all when I was almost dead from exposure. I couldn’t help thinking of Batu, of how warm and strong his body had been.

I sighed, lost in the memory, wishing this nightmare would end.

Fire blazed to life across the room from me. My eyes cracked open. More of my surroundings became visible. Another doorway led into a darkened room off the common area, a curtain hid what I guessed was their version of a bathroom, and more herbs hung from the rafters about twelve feet overhead. Furs were piled in one corner, tools and weapons in another.

The hooded man disappeared into the other room.

For a moment, I stared at the fire. It seemed too far away from me. I could stay right here and freeze to death, or crawl across the room to survive.

I started crying and pushed myself up, hating the fact I thought of surviving when my heart and soul were dying within me. Batu had always told me to survive, no matter what. Did I do this for him or me? Because I hoped to see him again, somehow?

It hadn’t worked with Taylor.

My tears were fire on my cheeks. I crawled on all fours to the hearth and sat, staring at the flames and recalling the ger where I had lived with Batu for a short time. The fire began to warm me. When I could feel my fingers again, I fumbled with the drenched Mongol clothing. I started to remove it and stopped.

It was all I had left of my time with the Mongols. Of the home I had adopted and the people who had adopted me. Of Batu.

I’d probably die of frostbite if I kept it on.

After a moment, I removed it clumsily, not caring who saw me naked. The silver iPhone, which worked no matter what time I was in, clattered onto the wooden floor. I glared at it, shivered and pulled the furs Jorgensen had draped over me back over my body. I folded the wet Mongol clothing and set it beside the fire, not about to let it out of my sight, or anyone discard it the way Carter trashed my wish to stay with Batu.

I couldn’t bring myself to throw the phone into the hearth. I wanted to keep it in case Carter miraculously found me a way home or back to Batu. It disturbed me beyond words to know that, if either of those things ever occurred, it was because I did what Carter told me to. I was at his mercy. Always.

Hiding the phone within the layers of fur, I gazed into the fire once more, exhausted and frustrated.

The hooded man returned. His face was hidden, and the exposed skin of his hands was scarred. I studied him. He was thin and walked upright without the shuffle or slow movement of the elderly. There was no other indication of his age.

“You knew to look for me?” I asked. My voice was scratchy from throwing up.

“Yes.”

“How?” Thus far, everyone I met who had possessed advanced knowledge of any sort was a traveler.

My empathic memory chip, the disastrous invention Carter implanted into my brain, no longer worked as intended. But it did give me an enhanced sense of intuition that alerted me when someone was a potential danger, and when someone was generally safe to be around.

This person felt safe.

“A vision,” the hooded man replied.

“Vision,” I repeated. “Are you a traveler?”

The hood turned towards me. “I have never left the village. But you are a traveler.”

I pursed my lips. Was he a time traveler trying to hide his identity, as Batu had, or genuine? I didn’t know. I couldn’t know. And this left me crying again.

Wiping my tears, I released a heavy breath and sagged. “I am,” I said.

“The vision said you would be.”

“Why not.” I shook my head. I never had a real choice in whether or not I played this game Carter had thrown me into the middle of. “What are these visions?”

“Sacred knowledge passed from the gods, land sprites, and ancestral spirits,” he replied gravely. “I am a mystic.”

“Mystic?” I repeated, puzzled. “Does that mean you see the future or talk to ghosts?”

“In part. I am a seer granted foresight by Frigg and the Vanir and wisdom by Odin. I do often receive and interpret messages from visiting members of the otherworlds – elves, dwarves, and jotun, and those who dwell in dark places.”

“You’ve seen an elf?”

“Once. And dwarves twice,” he replied.

Was this guy crazy?

“But the vision of you was different.”

Unable to wrap my head around these legendary creatures, I concentrated on the mysterious vision. “How so?”

“I dreamt of you in such detail, I recalled the color of your eyes when I awoke. It had to come from Odin or Frigg to be this powerful.”

I didn’t put it past Carter to somehow transmit knowledge into someone else’s mind. It was more likely he manipulated another time traveler into doing his dirty work. Some poor soul caught in Carter’s web probably planted the seeds for the vision into this seer’s head.

But I didn’t believe in visions, coincidences or premonitions, not where Carter was involved.

“What else did you see in this vision?” I asked, humoring the man who was either a time traveler messing with me, or the latest victim of Carter’s manipulations.

“How to protect you.”

Why wasn’t I surprised? Carter had sworn he would always protect me, even when he tore me away from the man I loved. Even after brain surgery that almost killed me. Even after admitting he could never take me back to my time. Even after using me to un-create one of the most honorable men I’d ever met. He had no problem destroying me mentally and emotionally.

“Tomorrow, I will summon a woman named Thora to meet you,” the mystic continued. “She must approve of you first.”

“Okay.” I was too tired to care about Carter’s elaborate scheme to protect me from everyone but him. If my history with him was any indicator, I wasn’t going to be here long anyway before he launched me even further back in time. Would I wake up to find myself surrounded by dinosaurs one day?

“Are you hungry?” the seer asked.

“No, thanks,” I replied. “I’m tired.”

“You should not leave the fire, or you may fall ill.” He moved to the corner with furs and gathered a bunch of them in his arms. He deposited them on the ground beside me.

Curious about him, I glanced into his hood when the fire reached his features. His face was horribly scarred by fire. He ducked his head when he saw me looking at him.

“You don’t have to hide,” I said softly. “They’re just scars.”

He stood and left the reach of the fire anyway. “My king does not agree,” he whispered.

“He’s not here now, is he?” I asked. “I have a few scars, too.” I showed him my arms, where Batu’s uncle had bled me to access the magic he believed to be in my blood.

“Those are the scars of a child,” the mystic said, a smile in his low voice.

“They still hurt,” I grumbled. “Show me yours.”

He hesitated then lowered his hood. Knotty scars covered every inch of his head, neck, and most of his face. His lips and hair were gone, his nose lopsided, and one eye a slit. The other eye was bright blue. From what I could tell, he didn’t appear to be much older than I was.

“You survived,” I said. “You should be proud.” God knew how he had lived through all that in an era with no modern medicine.

He smiled, or did his best to. “I was the only one to survive,” he admitted. “But it will not be enough for Freyja to choose me for her great field or Odin to take me to Valhalla. Odin only chooses the strongest warriors, and I cannot fight.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I nodded sagely. “Did your vision say why I’m here?” I asked. Carter always had an angle for everything.

“No. Only that I had to help you.”

“Thank you for telling Jorgensen to fish me out of the ocean. It must have cost you a lot,” I said, thoughts on the gold.

“It cost me nothing. The gold will return tomorrow.”

“You know this because you’re a seer?” I managed not to sound doubtful.

“I know this because the goblet I gave him contains poison.”

I shivered. Here I was, feeling comfortable with someone, only to be rudely reminded I could trust no one ever.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked.

“Not anymore,” I replied.

The mystic chuckled. The silky whisper he had used with Jorgensen was gone, replaced by a low, warm voice. “Some greater being entrusted me with you. You have nothing to fear from me.”

I wasn’t sure about that. He poured me something that was too murky to be water and handed it to me. I took a drink, resigned to my fate this night, whatever it was. I almost gagged but forced myself to swallow the mead down. “Thanks,” I said. In truth, it helped. Time traveling left me feeling beat up every time I went through it.

“Rest,” the seer said and retreated into the dark room.

“Wait. Can I ask your name?” I called.

“Asvald.”

“Thank you, Asvald,” I said.

“If you feel ill or require any aid, please let me know.”

I nodded.

He disappeared into the bedroom.

I stretched out by the fire. I needed clothes but at the moment, I was too comfortable to want to deal with the drafty air of the cabin by stripping.

* * *

Asvald was up at dawn. I groaned when he opened a wooden window, throwing light and coldness onto me. Snuggling beneath the furs, I was about to fall back asleep when my phone vibrated.

I ignored it, or tried to. When I didn’t answer Carter on his timetable, he would text until I was pissed enough to respond. When the second text vibrated, I sighed and wriggled around in the furs to find the phone.

Safe from Asvald’s view beneath the warm furs, I read Carter’s notes.

Did you make it? Read the first. Josie, are you alive? Said the second.

I wanted to tear him apart. But venting at Carter made me feel vulnerable to anything he said. I didn’t want to give him that power over my emotions anymore.

I’m fine. I texted back.

Are you still mad?

“You son of a bitch.” I murdered him in my mind, not for the first time.

You mean about ripping me away from the man I love and throwing me into a shitty, cold ocean? Or the part when you un-created Taylor and told me I could never go home? Or the chip in my brain that almost exploded? I texted back.

He responded fast. I can see how you’d be mad.

I told him where he could put the next empathic memory chip and turned off the phone. My mood had shifted from content to furious in a matter of seconds. I gave up trying to sleep in and pushed my way out of the furs before remembering I had no clothing.

“Asvald, may I have some clothes?” I asked.

Busy at his workbench, the mystic rose and went into his room, returning with a plain maroon dress. “It belonged to my sister,” he said. “It is not much, but I have nothing else to offer you. What is mine is yours, as long as you are here.”

Something about his humbleness made me like him, against my desire to remain aloof and withdrawn this time around. Asvald didn’t deserve my anger, especially if he was being used by Carter.

“Thank you. It’s perfect.” I smiled. I stood and accepted the clothing then shuffled into his bedroom to change. The dress was thick and itchy – definitely wool – but provided instant protection against the chill in the cabin. I folded the fur and returned to the common area, where I folded the rest of the furs and piled them in the corner where they belonged.

My Mongol clothing remained by the fire, where I’d left it.

Facing the mystic, I was about to ask him what herbs he was grinding when the nausea hit me again. I bent over, barely reaching a bucket in the corner in time. I hadn’t eaten in a day or two and did nothing but dry heave again.

Asvald was at my side in seconds. He handed me a rag and then pulled my hair back away from my face. I began to think he had grown up with a whole herd of sisters, if he instinctively knew to protect my hair. Before I could ask, I vomited again.

The spell lasted for half an hour. I sat down beside the bucket, drained. Asvald was a good host, in spite of his habit of poisoning others, and brought me bitter herbs mixed in with broth. When I had finished the warm drink, I felt better and leaned my head back against the wall.

My eyes settled on the gold cup with the ruby on the shelf beside the jars and bottles of herbs.

Asvald followed my gaze.

“It came back,” I murmured.

“It always does.”

I shivered. If he ever gave me that goblet, I was running away as fast as I could.

“Any more visions last night?” I asked, uncomfortable with the silence.

“None,” he replied. “How do you feel?”

“Better, thank you.”

“Can you eat?”

I nodded. He brought me more broth and roast meat warmed over the fire. Aside from his goblet, he didn’t have much in the way of worldly possessions. Then again, I knew nothing about social status in this time and place.

“I have sent for Thora,” he said. “She is the first person I thought of.”

“To protect me?” I asked. “Is she a warrior?”

“She is too old to fight,” he replied. “But her son is an honorable, generous man.”

My eyebrows went up. “You’re a matchmaker?”

“I am a mystic given a task by a greater being.”

“To find me another husband.” The words made me feel sick again, this time because I would never, ever, ever let any man touch me.

My scowl must have been uglier than his scarred features, for the mystic laughed. It was a broken, airy sound, a reminder this man had been through hell and somehow survived.

“I won’t marry anyone!” I told him.

“It is not what you think,” Asvald said kindly. “You will not be in danger.”

I’ve heard that before. I ate angrily and didn’t move from the wall, partially because I had no shoes or socks, and my feet were cold.

Not long after we subsided into silence, someone knocked at the door.

Asvald replaced his hood and crossed to it. He opened the door. A middle-aged woman with pretty eyes and wisps of silver hair floating around her head entered. Her eyes went from me to Asvald, and she wrung her hands nervously.

What made people afraid of him? Was it his scars? His profession?

Or did everyone but poor Jorgensen know not to accept a goblet from him?

“We came as quickly as we could. What have you foreseen, Seer?” the woman asked anxiously. “Will my son’s journey be fruitful? Will he know the glory of Tyr and return with great wealth? Will he be taken to Valhalla, if not?”

“It is about your son, but not about his journey,” Asvald replied. “Long ago, you brought me a problem you could not solve.”

The woman’s features blanched, and she looked down at the floor.

“I have a solution,” he said quietly. “Will you listen to it?”

“Does it involve shaming my son?” she demanded with a flash of heat.

“It involves saving his honor.”

Her eyes went to his face. A flicker of hope was within them. “A potion? A favor from Odin or Freyja or my ancestors?”

“A favor. Come. Let us talk.” Asvald motioned to the bedroom.

The two went, and he closed the door.

I glared at it, suspecting I wasn’t going to like Asvald’s solution to whatever Thora’s problem was. I stood and went to the front door. Without shoes, I wouldn’t make it far. I had been too cold to notice much about the village last night and peered out the window beside the door.

If not for the cold air, I’d think it was spring. Tufts of grass poked up through clumps of snow. The village was alive with activity, from the ships fishing in the fjord to men and women hauling carts and walking through the small cabins and huts making up the village. On each side of the fjord, gorgeous, jagged mountains topped with snow and trees rose towards the sky. The scent of the sea and fish was in the air, the sky blue, and the hardy Vikings oblivious to the mud clinging to their boots, pants, and cloaks as they traversed the village.

An ache almost dropped me to my knees. These people appeared content, comfortable in their day-to-day routines. I had been content, too, crushing herbs by day and sleeping with Batu at night in the Mongol empire.

My gaze settled on the older Viking with braids in his beard and hair standing outside the mystic’s cabin. He twisted one of the braids in his beard nervously, eyes on the door through which the woman named Thora had gone.

What kind of problem did their son have that a seer could fix with a favor from their gods? If he were able to journey, then he was healthy. I couldn’t imagine this era had the kind of drama I was used to. Was he secretly ill, and this was why Thora sought out the local apothecary-mystic-seer-psychic-guy everyone went to when it came to concerns not based in the physical world?

I didn’t want to know, didn’t want to involve myself in anyone else’s life or time and definitely didn’t want to involve anyone else in my plight. People around me died horribly, were un-created, or were left heartbroken and alone.

The door to the bedroom opened, and the woman hurried out. She came towards me so fast, I had little time before realizing she was headed in my direction and when she grabbed my hands.

Her eyes glowed with happiness. “Thank you. And thank Odin!” She kissed the backs of my hands and all but flew out the door to the man awaiting her, where she whispered words that turned his worry into a smile.

Asvald closed the door behind her and lowered his hood. He faced me.

I crossed my arms. “What did you say to her?” I asked.

“I told her my vision,” he said.

“Did you just marry me off to her son?”

“Yes.”

I gave a growl of frustration. “Why can’t I be a normal woman without being pawned off on some man. I’m a strong, independent woman. I don’t need a husband or man!”

Asvald ducked his head in what I’d call bashfulness. How a man who openly poisoned others could be shy, I didn’t know. “You are strong. You will make him a good wife.”

“I’m not marrying anyone!”

“You would be considered a slave here otherwise.”

“Maybe I’d rather be a slave.”

He shook his head. “You would not. You would be forced to submit to anything your master ordered and flogged or killed or outlawed if you refused.”

“Outlawed sounds good.”

“Can you survive in the wilderness? Anyone outlawed can be murdered without cause by any man who crosses him. If the bears and wolves did not feast on you, you could be killed by any man you met.”

My track record for surviving without help in the places I ended up was exactly zero-for-two. I hated that I couldn’t hunt or build a house out of pine needles or whatever people did to survive the harsh environments and cultures I’d experienced.

“Isn’t there any other way?” I asked in desperation. “Can I help you with herbs?”

“I cannot protect you,” Asvald said gravely. “I serve my king at his will. That he lets me live is more than I dare ask for.”

“Because you’re scarred?”

He motioned to the herbs. “I wished to be a brave warrior celebrated by my people. But Frigg appeared to me in a dream, and she bade me to peer into the future. It is a woman’s place to predict what comes.”

I didn’t understand most of that, except he was looked down upon for being in a woman’s profession.

He was resolute, and I didn’t want him to break out the Death Cup.

I started crying. “What is wrong with me?” I sobbed. “I don’t cry!”

“Sit. Rest.” Asvald took my arm and led me to a bench beside the table.

I cried for twenty minutes. He brought me more broth and mead. I drank both, calming and warming my hands on the warm bowl of broth. “You’ve been very kind to me,” I said. I didn’t want to like him or anyone else here or anywhere. “I’m sorry your king is not kind to you.”

“If I had not been chosen, if I had not seen this vision, you would have died in the sound,” he said wisely. “I am grateful for my place here.”

I smiled, touched by his sincerity. “Thank you for saving my life. If I can ever do anything to repay you, please let me know.”

“I need one thing of you. For you to marry Thora’s son. He will protect you.”

I wanted to throw the bowl at him but didn’t. “May I have a moment to pray for guidance?” I asked.

The mystic nodded.

I rose and went to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. My head felt like it was about to explode, and this time, it wasn’t because of the chips in my brain. With reluctance and anger, I turned my phone on.

Carter hadn’t texted again, as if suspecting he was about to push me over the edge. I sent him a short text and hoped my abrupt tone carried over.

Did you send me here to marry yet another man?

I hated him for texting fast, too. Whew. Thought you were done talking to me.

I muttered curses.

Yes.

No other explanation. Just yes. Go marry some sweaty Viking you’ve never met.

“Why?” I asked aloud while I typed.

By my calculations, you’re probably experiencing a health issue right now.

My brow furrowed. I thought you vaccinated me against everything?????

This isn’t a disease, he replied. Well, I guess it could be considered one. He tacked a smiley face onto this message.

God, I hated this man.

The bubble telling me he was writing another text appeared. I waited.

You’re pregnant, Josie.

I laughed.

Really.

My smile faded. Was he serious? I glanced down at my stomach, as if it could speak to me. My thoughts went to the two men I’d had sex with recently and to the fact I’d used no protection with either. Taylor, I had slept with once over four months ago. If I’d gotten pregnant, I would know.

But Batu … I was about to tell Carter he was way off when I realized I hadn’t had my period in a few weeks at least. That could have been the effect of time traveling. Or …

How would you know? I demanded of Carter.

Historical record.

Of course. The vague timeline of history only the evil mastermind seemed able to access. He had to be from the future. How could I possibly have offended someone from the future enough for him to drag me through time?

I didn’t believe him.

As if he could read my thoughts, he typed another message. Morning sickness. Moodiness (more than usual!) Another smiley face.

I glared at the phone. If I ever see you again, I’ll murder you, I typed and shoved the phone in my pocket.

Carter would tell me anything to get me to do what he wanted, like scare me into marrying a Viking.

Yanking the door open, I was about to open my mouth to tell Asvald I would never marry anyone ever again when I saw he was gone. He had poured more broth into the bowl on the table.

Hating his thoughtfulness in that moment as well as Carter’s aloofness, I sat down and glared at the broth.

Protection or not, there was no way in the history of the world I was going to be pregnant and give birth in a time without epidurals or hand soap.

* * *

I dozed off waiting to angrily confront Asvald. When the door cracked open sometime after dark, and the cold air hit me, I lifted my head from the table.

Asvald entered and closed the door.

“Asvald,” I started groggily.

“Are you unwell again?”

“No, I feel … hold on. Did your vision tell you I have a health issue?”

He nodded. “It is why Thora was happy.”

I didn’t understand any of this.

A knock at his door drew both of our attentions. He hadn’t lowered his hood, leading me to believe he was expecting someone.

Asvald opened the door. He spoke quietly and closed it. “Come,” he said to me and motioned for me to follow. “Bring your clothes.”

“I’m leaving?”

“You must. Before others discover you are here.”

The mystic grabbed a thick wool and fur cloak, handed it to me, and went into the bedroom. I grabbed my Mongol clothes and hugged them to me, the last physical reminder of Batu.

Asvald moved the trunks on one side of his room to reveal the shape of a door. He opened the backdoor and stepped into the quiet space behind his home. I had not noticed what lay in this direction before this or that his cabin was set apart from the rest of the village.

Behind his house was the wilderness he spoke of, dark forests whose branches were shrouded by fog. A two-wheeled cart pulled by a single horse waited. The man and woman who visited earlier were bundled up and waiting anxiously, looking around as if they didn’t want anyone else to see them.

Asvald faced me and took my arms. “You will be safe,” he said with rare confidence. “I promise you on Odin’s single eye.”

I believed him. Rather, I believed Asvald believed what he had been told was true.

I wanted to cry again and instead nodded. This humble man, already ostracized by his own people, didn’t need to be drawn into the madness of my life.

“If not, will you give them your Death Goblet?” I whispered.

His laugh was short and self-conscious. His hood turned towards the couple and immediately away. Was it improper for someone who saw the future to have a sense of humor? I didn’t know.

“I will,” he said. “If not, I will come for you myself and take you back to the ocean, where you can return to the otherworld.”

On second thought, maybe it was a good thing I was leaving, if he thought the entrance to some other world was in the middle of the ocean. “Thank you again for your kindness,” I said.

He released me.

I turned towards the newest adventure I had to figure out how to escape and went towards the wagon. Thora’s husband helped me up beside him. The two exchanged another hopeful look.

Twisting, I waved at Asvald, who waved in return.

Why were the men I liked always homicidal?