I was on my own.
“Milady!” Fergus called as I raced past. I didn’t stop, only continued to the stables. I couldn’t risk telling Fergus where I was going—if my father discovered Fergus let an exile get away, no matter if that exile was me, he would most certainly be punished. Better if he never knew at all.
My feet pounded against the hard-packed dirt of the stables, and Sleipnir flung his head up. His nostrils flared, and he snorted, as though sensing my anxiety. I stopped only to grab my sword and a bridle. The heavy wooden bar to Sleipnir’s stall clattered to the ground as I released him. He emerged and eagerly accepted the bit. Grasping a lock of long mane, I hauled myself astride, and the massive horse sprang forward.
Before we could make our escape, red hair at the entrance to the stables made my heart seize in my chest. But as the figure stepped into the light, I saw that it was Séamus instead of Fergus. His gaze fell on me, and on Sleipnir dancing in place, my hand on his neck the only thing restraining Sleipnir from galloping over him.
Séamus’s expression was as cold as ever, but I could still hear the sound of his laugh, unbridled and impossible to resist.
I opened my mouth—I wanted to say something—but before I could, he turned and left. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d call out to him, but there was nothing I could say. I had seen the depths of his mind, and I knew his true feelings toward me.
You don’t deserve to live, he had shouted at me over and over as I laid waste to his mental defenses. May the next battle be your last.
I flinched from the ghost of his words, turning my mind to what I’d do when I found the Northman. At least the Northman was unarmed; I could easily confront him once I found him.
I looked back at the castle . . . at my sisters’ windows. They weren’t even here to tell me good-bye. What would they say when they discovered I’d been exiled? When they’d learned what I’d done?
“Forgive me,” I whispered, and touched my heels to Sleipnir’s sides once again.
Sleipnir galloped over the stockade bridge amid frightened shouts, but still I did not slow. We wound down the hillside, and at the crossroads, I sat back on my tailbone and brought Sleipnir to a sliding halt. Which way would he have gone?
South, toward Dubhlinn, I thought, and turned Sleipnir in that direction.
His heavy hooves sent rocks flying in our wake, and the sea crashed against the shore to our left, seemingly urging us on. A caw-caw-caw cried out from above, and I glanced up to see a crow soaring above us. A prickly feeling of unease descended upon me, but with it a feeling of tentative hope that I was choosing the right course. The bird’s black wings beat the air, speeding ahead of us.
“Fly, Sleipnir,” I said, and the stallion surged ahead.
My heart hammered in perfect rhythm with the pounding of Sleipnir’s hooves. I stretched low against his body, and his coarse mane billowed back in my face. We covered much ground, the scenery a blur on either side. We would catch the Northman; we had to.
The crow’s call split the air again, and up ahead, I saw my quarry. He was sprinting at a fast clip on the relatively flat terrain where the rocky ground gave way to green grass. He was faster than any man I’d seen, and my mind whispered with the impossibility of it all—he had been weakened in the cave, injured, and had spent the night in a position guaranteed to stiffen his muscles. Yet he raced ahead as if the wind itself gave him speed.
Still, he was no match for Sleipnir.
I urged Sleipnir on until we galloped parallel to the Northman. Another couple of strides and Sleipnir pulled far ahead. I threw my weight entirely on my tailbone, digging my heel into the stallion’s left side. He skidded to a stop and reared, his flinty hooves a hairsbreadth from the Northman’s face.
With a hoarse shout, the Northman threw himself to the ground and rolled, just missing Sleipnir’s powerful hooves.
Our eyes met and held. In one fluid motion, the Northman vaulted upright. Before I could urge Sleipnir to move, the Northman had launched himself at me.
He pulled me from my horse, and I fell to the ground. Sleipnir trumpeted a warning, his ears flat against his skull, but the Northman kept me pinned against the rock with his heavy body.
“Did others follow?” he demanded, his accent almost too thick to understand.
My sword dug into my spine as I struggled against him, but it was like grappling against a mountain. He pushed me down until I could scarce draw breath, but still he didn’t try to kill me.
“Were you followed?” he asked again.
I didn’t want to tell him—the risk was far too great—and yet, without my ability to control his mind, he had the advantage. “I cannot be sure,” I said in a growl. “I think not.” He needn’t know the truth: no one would come for me, not once they all learned what I had done to my father. Once they learned I was exiled.
The pressure on my arms lessened. “You came alone?” he asked incredulously.
“As you see.”
He rolled off me with a chuckle. “That was foolish. Just what did you plan to do when you caught up with me? Besides having that useless mare knock me on my arse.”
I pushed myself up until I was standing once again, my jaw clenched in anger. In stiff movements, I removed the satchel of the bread and cheese I had tied to my belt. I threw it at his feet. “I brought you the meal you asked for. Payment for what you promised me.”
He scooped it up and examined the contents. “What use is this? This stingy bit of bread and cheese?”
“There was a lovely fish stew to accompany it,” I said in saccharine tones, “only you were not there when I carried it all the way to the top of the cave.”
The sudden call of a crow distracted us both, drawing our attention to the sky. The Northman frowned. “The kráka again.” His gaze shifted to me, his expression turning pensive. “Well, do you still wish to know what it said?”
Warily, I nodded.
“It said it would lead me to a warrior who would help me on my quest. But it lied. It led me to a meyja instead.” My brow furrowed. “A little girl,” he supplied.
White-hot fury shot through me, and I drew my sword. His eyes widened, but he held his ground. He was unarmed, with nothing but a satchel of bread and cheese to defend himself with.
“This kráka you speak of is more than just a crow. It is the Morrigan, the Phantom Queen, the goddess of war and death.” Adrenaline fueled by my anger raced through my blood, pouring strength into my muscles, until my grip on my sword turned my knuckles white. “She revealed a vision to me, one where murderous Northman giants destroy éirinn. Tell me what you know of this, or I swear I will end you.”
For a moment, it appeared he wouldn’t answer me. His eyes flashed a warning, his jaw tightened, but then he said, “You insult me gravely to call such filth by the name of Northman. If you were truly given a vision, then you would know they are not men.”
Cold fingers touched the back of my neck. No, they were not men. “It’s true, then? There are such . . . monstrosities? Men like giants?”
“There have always been tales of giants among my people—the j?tnar of J?tunheimr. Man-eaters, gluttons who are bigger than mountains. We always believed they were confined to their realm. We were wrong.”
“J?tnar?” I repeated, the unfamiliar word sticking to my tongue. “This is the name of the creatures that will descend upon éirinn?”
He shook his head as though frustrated with my lack of understanding. “You needn’t concern yourself, maiden. Run along home and leave such a quest to men with skill.”
Fury flushed across my cheeks. Skill? Wasn’t I the warrior the Morrigan had led the Northman to? And yet he insulted me. “Are you forgetting that I am the one holding the sword?”