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Garwulf. Had her uncle suspected that Garwulf’s troop would be returning when he’d decreed that she would bear the mead to the men today?
    The wooden gates shut, pushing in front of them a band of bedraggled people roped together—new slaves for the kingdom. Mord, the leader of the horsemen, wheeled his horse around and rode directly at the slaves. They startled back, their eyes wide. Their ropes made them pull at each other and cry out in confusion as they tried to get away from the horse’s hooves. Mord’s laughter rang out over the din. Just like him to make sport of helpless slaves, Hild thought, and all to earn the praise of an audience of children. He seemed to have forgotten what everyone knew: the gods might decide who would be slaves and who would be free, but they expected free people to care well for their property.
    Another horseman turned, and she breathed out heavily in anger, unwilling to witness a second warrior acting so dishonorably. But it was Garwulf, and instead of repeating what Mord had done, he dismounted as he neared the slaves. Hild watched, gratified, as he put a hand on a male slave’s shoulder, speaking words that she couldn’t hear but that obviously calmed the man, who in turn spoke to the others.
    As Garwulf mounted his horse again, he looked in her direction.
    Her breath caught in her throat. Had he seen her?
    He had! He bowed, then raised his head, his eyes meeting hers, before he rode for the stables.
    A thrill ran through her and she looked down at herself, wondering how she had appeared to him. She still had on her everyday gown. She had to go home now if she was to get to the hall in time. If she was to welcome Garwulf with the mead horn.
    She picked up her skirts and ran.

TWO
    A T HOME, THEY WERE READY FOR HER . T HERE WAS A JOKE in the kingdom that if an invisible dwarf spoke to you wordlessly in a lightless cave, three people would already know what he’d said before he finished his message. That was how hard it was to be the first person in the kingdom to hear something. Hild thought of the joke now as her mother stood at the door watching for her, urging her to hurry, somehow already aware of the raiding party’s return.
    Inside, Unwen, the slave who had served the family for years, was brushing out Hild’s good red gown. A clean linen shift lay over the bed.
    As Hild struggled to unfasten the brooches that held up her everyday gown, the door opened and her sister Siri rushed into the room, a stream of sunlight illuminating her from behind. “Did you see them ride in? Aren’t you excited?”
    “We don’t have time for chatter,” their mother said, then pushed Siri toward the stool. “You sit and rest so your baby will be healthy.”
    “I don’t need to rest. I didn’t with my first three, and look how healthy they are,” Siri said as she reached for the shift. “Here, Hild, raise your arms.”
    Hild smiled at her, the two of them amused by their mother’s solicitude. It was an old story, the way she tried to keep Siri from working during every pregnancy, and the way Siri always did exactly what she wanted to do.
    “I know you girls are laughing at me,” their mother said. “But we don’t have time to joke. This is too important.”
    The shift went over Hild’s head and she inhaled deeply. The linen garment had been washed with lavender, and the scent quieted her agitation.
    “You were at the lake early,” her mother said, holding out the red gown. Again, Hild thought of the invisible dwarf. She hadn’t told anybody where she was going when she’d left that morning.
    “Did you see Sigyn?” Siri asked, her voice quiet.
    Hild shook her head. Neither her mother nor her sister needed any explanation to know what that meant. Hild was hardly the only one Sigyn had turned away without seeing. It was hardest on Siri—it wasn’t her fault that she had three children and another on the way, while Sigyn had miscarried twice, once just after Wonred’s death.