The news hits Posca like a slap in the face.

“Aleria? Gods, woman. My poor little ship isn’t going to survive you, is it.”

He lets out a huff of a sigh and leans over the map on Ragna’s war room table, frowning down at it as he tucks a lock of his long hair behind his ear. Hook stands behind him, staring curiously at the candelabrum made of antlers hanging from the ceiling. He reaches up and touches it with a talon, chirping in mild alarm when it begins to sway.

“You know I can cut down the time it’ll take at sea,” says Arcadia.

She’s draped across my lap at the moment, gazing up at the candelabrum as it sways back and forth, making the warm light and shadows slide back and forth across the room. I’m sitting in a big, comfortable armchair bedecked with furs, Arcadia sitting sideways across me, her back resting on one arm of the chair, her legs dangling over the other.

Posca doesn’t look up from the map. “I’m well aware. Even with you aboard, you’re talking about nearly a month at sea. My vessel wasn’t built for such voyages.”

“Is there somewhere we can stop and resupply?” I ask.

He chews his lower lip, his eyes scanning over the map for a few moments. Then he lifts a finger, places it on an island a good distance to the southwest of us.

“Asgoph. At the speeds you get us up to, we could be there in ten days. We can acquire whatever provisions we may need, but the second leg of the voyage would still end on the lean side.”

“Look on the bright side,” says Gredder. He’s sitting in the chair next to Arcadia and I, nursing half a tankard of mead. “We have two fewer mouths to feed now.”

He’s referring to Irvin and Cadie. Evidently he took Arcadia’s offer on the night of the battle, because when it was all over we found Cadie’s cage in the cargo hold of The Dove unlocked and empty. They and their flying machine are gone to who-knows-where. The thought makes me nervous. Arcadia helped him, gave him a chance, because that’s the kind of person she is. But there’s a distinct possibility those two could come gunning for us again.

Arcadia’s gaze settles on the island under Posca’s finger. She studies it for a moment, perhaps raking through her memory to think of anything significant about the place. Her foot begins to kick absently while she’s thinking.

“Asgoph exports wheat and livestock to Ecea. Cattle, mostly. They have a King there, but he’s my mother’s puppet.”

Posca turns his gaze from the map to Arcadia, smirking at her. “There’s no escaping this family drama of yours, is there?”

He intended it as a joke, but Arcadia doesn’t smile. Instead she sighs, and lolls her head back to gaze up at the candelabrum again. “I hope there is. Somewhere.”

Posca studies the island a moment longer, scratching his chin. “We could avoid any potential unpleasantness if we didn’t make berth near Castle Asgoph. Perhaps if we sailed around here,” he places his finger on the western side of the island. “We could find somewhere friendly. I’ll wager there are a goodly number of fishing villages along the coast.”

Arcadia nods absently. “Whatever you think is best.”

Her foot stops kicking, and I feel her body relax. We’ve hit a lull in the conversation that I don’t personally feel the need to fill. But I’m a little troubled by the look on Arcadia’s face as she gazes up at the candles. There’s a slight frown, and sadness in her eyes. Or maybe it’s just fatigue. I slip my hand over hers and she turns it, so she can lace our fingers together.

If I had to guess, I’d say she’s troubled by what happened during the battle. The things she had to do. The thrill of it all is gone, and she’s left with the reality. If we were alone I’d pry it out of her, and reassure her. Sometimes you need to meet force with force. Sometimes ruthless things have to be done. Sometimes the enemy leaves you no choice but to kill or be killed. I grew up with all this, but she didn’t.

Maybe it’s better that way.

I’m about to suggest that we retire for the night, but before I can do so I hear the clanking sounds of mail-clad warriors coming up the hallway. Jarl Ragna is the first to step into the war room, Sigrun a pace behind her. Bringing up the rear are two pairs of Ragna’s warriors, each pair carrying a long, wooden case with steel clasps, one case considerably wider than the other. They shoulder a startled Posca aside, to lay the cases down next to each other on the war room table.

The Jarl pauses to greet us with a small smile and a bow. Arcadia, suddenly embarrassed to be seen lounging on my lap like a cat, blushes and hops to her feet to return the gesture. I do so as well, just because it seems like the polite thing to do.

“Well met, Arcadia and Rekka. It pleases me that you can find rest in my halls.”

Arcadia’s blush doesn’t brighten, but it doesn’t fade much either. She smiles sheepishly back at Ragna. “Ah, thank you for letting us stay a while.”

“It is the very least I can do. Your aid brought us victory in what appeared to be an impossible scenario.”

Sigrun grins as she eases herself into the chair Arcadia and I sat in just a moment ago. “Not just their aid. I’m fairly sure I had something to do with it,” she wiggles herself into the furs, reclining with a chuckle. “Ooh, yes, thanks for warming the chair up for me.”

Arcadia glances between them, then at the cases her men laid down on the table. “If this is about the celebration, I’m sorry we had to—”

Ragna shakes her head. “I understand. Counsel with Sigrun was why you arrived here in the first place. There is no need to apologize.”

“We just wanted to give you a proper sendoff,” says Sigrun. “With souvenirs.”

Arcadia tilts her head quizzically. Ragna gives her men a nod, making them reach over and open the lids of the cases they hauled in.

They open the slender one first, revealing a long staff crafted from burnt iron. It looks like one of the lightning rods she and Irvin fashioned for the battle, but it’s been shaped into something shorter and skinnier, adjusted for Arcadia’s height. The workmanship is remarkable. Norgardian runes and wave designs have been carved into it throughout, while leaving its surfaces flat enough to feel smooth to a hand. Near the top of the staff, the metal twists and bends around a pale blue crystal rod. Light refracts inside the crystal, creating little star-like specks within.

Arcadia’s eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open. She looks over at Sigrun, and back to the staff, before carefully reaching out to lift it from its case.

“It’s beautiful…”

Sigrun beams a crooked smile at her. “Glad you approve.”

“It is called Niamir, Rod of Tempests,” says Ragna. “May it be a worthy vessel for your power.”

I let out a low whistle, and I’m about to compliment it when they open the larger box. It’s… My hammer. The one I used in the battle. But they’ve replaced the wooden haft with a bar of solid steel, lengthened it to about six and a half feet, and capped off either end with a wicked spike. The head of the hammer looks different as well, they’ve fashioned a beautiful likeness of the head of a roaring lion in what looks like solid gold. Its mouth is open, all those rows of steel spikes fitting nicely inside the lion’s gaping maw, its golden mane flowing out behind it as if someone were swinging it full speed.

“Valgrim, the Lion’s Rage,” says Ragna. “A fitting companion for the Lioness of Kellheim.”

Time for my eyes to widen, and my jaw to fall open.

In awe, I slowly reach for the magnificent weapon, grasp the haft in both hands and lift it from its case. It’s much lighter than I expected it to be, unnaturally so. The realization makes me stare at it in confusion. When I glance at Sigrun, she grins and winks at me.

“I made them both light,” she says. “And nice and sturdy. They won’t be breaking on you anytime soon.”

Arcadia beams a goofy grin at me, which I can’t help but return. I face Ragna and Sigrun, and bow to them. “You honor us. I’m deeply grateful.”

“As are we,” says Ragna, with a regal smile. “We could not have prevailed without you.”

Sigrun, who’s looked rather pleased with herself since we first laid eyes on these gifts, grins crookedly and leans forward in her chair. “Right. Put the toys away for now, girls, you’re late for dinner.”

She nods her head in the direction of the door, and Arcadia lets out a sheepish laugh before setting Niamir back in its case. I do the same with Valgrim, and together we file out of the war room to head down the stairs as a group. When we reach the main hall we find there’s a feast already laid out for us, and I end up sitting between Arcadia and Sigrun, with Ragna, Posca, Gredder and Hook taking the opposite side of the table.

There’s conversation over the meal, but I don’t pay much attention to it. I’m aware of Arcadia most of all, how the glow of gratitude on her face fades away and that gloomy look returns. But she’s schooled in niceties, being a former Prince and all, so when she’s spoken to she sort of lights up for a moment to share a joke or answer a question. Then she switches off again.

At one point I slide my hand under the table, grip her leg and give it a little squeeze as I lean over to whisper in her ear.

“Are you alright?”

She stares vacantly down at her plate for a moment. Then she puts a small smile on her face and nods. “I’m okay.”

She’s lying. Maybe I’m the only one who’s noticed, but that doesn’t matter. I begin to plan what I’m going to say to her when we’re alone, try to spell things out in a way that will make her feel better about all this. By the time dinner is over, I feel like I have a good grasp on the debate to come. Anxiety wells up in me as we say goodnight to everyone and climb the stairs. The heat it creates in my gut keeps dinner warm.

But once we’re inside our room and I’ve shut the door behind us, I lose my nerve. We get undressed, lie down together, and she slips into the shelter of my embrace before swiftly falling into a deep sleep. It doesn’t take me long to do the same.

Morning brings the work of packing and loading The Dove, and Jarl Ragna sees to it that we’re well stocked with provisions for the voyage to come. She and Sigrun arrive at the docks to bid us farewell when we’re nearly done, and Arcadia and I come down the gangplank to meet them.

Sigrun and Arcadia hug each other tightly, Sigrun patting her on the back soothingly for a few moments before pulling back, placing her hands on Arcadia’s shoulders.

Arcadia looks up at the old witch plaintively. “Stay safe, okay?”

Sigrun laughs. “I don’t think we’ll see Eceans in these parts for a while. It’ll take them some time to recover from the blow you and I struck, eh?”

Arcadia grins and looks away, before Sigrun gives her another pat on the shoulder and lets her go. As soon as she does, I step in and give the old witch a quick hug as well, which gets a surprised laugh out of her.

“A hug from a K’zar? What’s the world come to?”

“We aren’t a race of monsters,” I say.

“Monsters in battle, maybe.”

I grin down at her. “I’ll give you that. Thank you, Sigrun, for helping us.”

“Thanks for looking after my girl,” says Sigrun. “You keep her safe now, or you’ll have me to reckon with.”

As I step away from Sigrun, Jarl Ragna steps forward and, with a swish of her dark cloak, dips into a graceful bow before us.

“Kellheim and all it’s folk are in your debt,” she says to us. “If your paths should ever bring you to this part of the world again, you will find a hero’s welcome here.”

We thank her. And we thank Sigrun. And then we bid farewell to them both, boarding The Dove just as Posca’s sailors are taking in anchor and hauling up the mooring lines. Posca guides us out of the harbor slowly and we linger on deck, to wave after a grinning Sigrun like we’d just left from a visit to grandmother’s cottage.

Eventually the old witch turns and walks down the dock toward the town of Kellheim, and when I glance at Arcadia I note that her smile fades off the moment she turns her back. She leans over the rail, putting her weight on her elbows, the harbor breeze playing with her hair as I wrap my arm around her shoulders to hug her in close.

I’ll figure out how to ease her mind. We have plenty of time at sea to look forward to, and at the moment I can’t think of anything I'd rather do.