The kingdom of Maerr,

"You'll die if you don't fight harder."

Jorund Odellsson lifted his sword. His arm was burning, and sweat slid down his bearded cheeks. He had been fighting for hours, but his opponent would never yield. Alarr was right. He would die if he didn't learn to be a stronger fighter. Jorund started to lower his sword, but the warrior struck with more force, the blow ringing against the metal.

"Don't back down," Alarr warned. "I didn't agree to train you only to have you turn weak on me now. If you want to be a better warrior, you have to be stronger." With his sword pressed against Jorund's, he reached out with his other hand and touched his shoulder. "Not here." He tapped Jorund's forehead. "Here. Your mind will give your body strength it doesn't know it has. It will give you purpose."

Jorund raised his weapon again, pushing back against the pain. Alarr circled him, his voice falling low. "Remember what they did to your sister and your family. Let that memory give you strength."

Alarr was right. This was why he had journeyed here, to train with the strongest warrior in Maerr. Jorund craved vengeance for their deaths. He was alone now, and he had traveled from the north, seeking the knowledge he needed. There were constant raids and unrest, and he intended to hunt down his enemies and make them pay for what they'd done.

Again, he struck his sword against Alarr's, though he could feel the tremor in his muscles. He hadn't been strong enough to save his loved ones. But he would train with the warriors of Maerr until he was breathless, until he found the strength he needed.

There came a slight shift in the air, and Jorund couldn't quite define the disturbance. He circled Alarr, his gaze shifting until he saw what it was. Or who it was.

Kirsten Arensdottir. The greatest distraction he could have imagined. Her golden-white hair was pulled back in a knotted braid, carelessly wild as if she'd just dismounted from a horse. A smile warmed her brown eyes when she approached.

"Would you like water?" she asked, holding out a deerskin. "You look thirsty."

But she wasn't speaking to him. No, her attention was on Alarr Sigurdsson, their king's second-born son. Though everyone knew he was meant to marry Gilla Vigmarrsdottir, Kirsten seemed to hold on to her hope.

Yet Alarr had no problem deflecting Kirsten's interest elsewhere. "I'm certain Jorund is very thirsty, aren't you?" He gave a pointed look toward him.

Actually, he was, but he didn't want to interfere. He had enough to practice right now, and he could take himself elsewhere. But Kirsten surprised him when she offered the deerskin. "Would you like some?" Her voice was friendly as she smiled.

Jorund nodded and reached out to take it. Her fingers brushed against his, and the slight touch flared between them. For a moment, she studied him, and he never took his eyes from her as he drank. Kirsten wasn't the quiet sort of beauty—she had a reckless, fiery nature, as if she would fight for those she loved. He had never met anyone like her before, and he could not deny that he wanted to know her better.

Even if her interest lay with Alarr Sigurdsson.

Kirsten had seen the stranger training with Alarr, but she had never met him up close. Jorund, she'd heard Alarr call him.

As he drank from her water skin, she found herself studying his features. His dark brown hair had threads of gold, as if he'd spent a great deal of time sailing. Had he gone a-viking to distant lands? Though he looked only slightly older than herself, there was a sorrow that weighed upon him. His blue eyes appeared weary, but they were staring at her now with undisguised interest.

She had offered water to quench his thirst, but for a moment, he looked as if he wanted to kiss her. Her heartbeat quickened, and she nearly pulled back the water skin.

"I—I don't think we've met," she said, to fill up the empty space between them.

"Kirsten," Alarr interrupted, "this is Jorund, son of Odell. He traveled to us from the north after his family was killed in a raid."

"I'm sorry for your loss," she whispered. So that explained the shadows in Jorund's eyes and the freshly healed scars on his forearm and side. "I bid you welcome to Maerr."

Again, he could only nod. Was he shy? Or was it simply that he had nothing to say?

"Keep working on the training I showed you," Alarr told him. "I need to go and speak with Gilla's father now."

Kirsten had always liked Alarr, though she knew he was betrothed to Gilla. It was an arranged alliance, and he barely knew the woman. They were friends, that was all. Although Kirsten had no intention of coming between them, if Gilla ever broke the betrothal, she wanted Alarr to know of her interest.

After he'd gone, she turned back. Jorund was moving his sword through a series of motions. She ought to leave, but instead, she stayed for a moment to watch. "May I join you?"

The slight shrug was the only indication that he had heard her. Kirsten took that as an invitation and chose the smallest sword. She set her water skin down on the ground and went to stand beside him.

She watched his movements and tried to imitate him. Left, right, lunge. Her brother, Balder, had taught her to fight years ago, against her father's wishes. Kirsten believed that every woman should know how to fight. It was her secret wish that she could be a warrior alongside the others. Men might believe her to be helpless, until she unsheathed her own weapon and proved them wrong. She lacked their strength, but she knew how to move faster.

Over and over, they practiced in silence, but after a time, he set his weapon down on the rack and returned to her side. "Are you leaving now?" she asked.

"Not yet." They were the first words she'd heard him speak. His voice was deep, resonant like a caress. Jorund reached out to her wrist and corrected her grip. "Hold the weapon like this."

She did as he instructed and slowly went through the motions again. He went to stand behind her, and as she moved the sword, he adjusted her angle. "Again." She obeyed, fully conscious of his presence behind her. "Did someone hurt you once?" he asked, when she moved the sword. "Is that why you fight?"

"He tried to," was her answer.

Jorund's expression turned grim, and he nodded. "Did you kill him?"

She shook her head. "My brother did. But I don't ever want to feel helpless again."

He took the sword from her and hung it up beside his own. "Come back in the morning at dawn. We'll train together."

It was the last thing she'd expected him to say. Men never wanted her to train alongside them. Most times, they treated her as if she were useless, good only for fetching water or cooking. But she found herself smiling at Jorund. "I will be there."

Jorund sat alone, a good distance away from the sons of Sigurd. Brandt was the eldest of the king's sons, and he sat with his pregnant wife, Ingrid, on one side, his father on the other. Alarr remained apart from them, and he appeared distracted.

A motion caught his attention, and Kirsten came to sit beside Jorund. In a low voice, she remarked, "They don't look right together, do they? Alarr and Gilla, I mean."

Her abrupt words took him aback. "It's his choice who he wants to marry." Her presence was unnerving, for he could smell the light aroma of herbs and female skin.

Kirsten seemed to think about it as she tore off some cheese. "Did he really choose her to wed, or did his father choose her?"

"He will be content with her," Jorund answered. Her shoulder brushed against his, and the slight touch distracted him. Why was she beside him? Was she trying to learn more about Alarr? Or was there another reason?

His question was answered when he stood to leave, and she caught his hand. "Oh, do sit down. You shouldn't eat alone."

He saw no reason to intrude on others. "It doesn't matter. I'm only here for training."

She finished her cheese and eyed him. "If all you do is train, that sounds quite dull."

"It's not." Though now that she had mentioned it, he realized that it rather was. Each day was much like the last, and he hadn't seen any true progress. But he held faith that it would be better soon.

"I disagree. I was fighting alongside you, remember?"

He did remember. The sight of Kirsten's lithe body moving sinuously had been a strong diversion. He had never met anyone quite like her.

"Are you going to fight in any of the contests tonight?" she asked. "I've heard that Sigurd may give silver to the winners after the wedding feast."

"I've no interest in the contests."

"Why not?"

Because I would lose. He despised being the center of attention, and he would much rather watch other fighters. "It's not something I want to do."

"Do you know, Jorund, I think you are the shyest man I've ever met. You practice in the shadows. You eat your meals in the shadows."

"You did not have to join me," he reminded her.

"I know that. But I am curious about you."

"Why?  There are dozens of men more interesting than me. All of them are more interesting than me." He couldn't understand why she would choose to be near him.

"That can't be true." She studied him closely. "Men who say nothing about themselves generally are the most interesting of all. They are usually hiding something."

He couldn't agree with her on that. "There's nothing to hide. Raiders killed my family, and it was my fault they died. I intend to avenge their deaths. That is all." In his eyes, it was a simple matter.

"And afterward? Once you have your vengeance?" Her face softened with sympathy. "What then?"

He shrugged. The truth was, he half expected to die in the attempt. But then, his death would hold honor, and he could take his place in Valhalla. She seemed to think it over, and he decided to redirect her attention to another subject. "What about you?"

Kirsten laughed quietly. "I don't know. What I want for my life and what will happen are not the same. I wish he would find me fascinating." Her attention shifted back to Alarr. "But he doesn't even know I'm alive." She took a drink of ale, staring off into the distance. "I'm not sure any of them do."

But she was wrong about that. Kirsten had thoroughly caught his attention. And though nothing would come of it, he found himself looking forward to training with her again.