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The next person to mention my dead husband’s name was going to end up at the bottom of Drukna Sea.

Even if the witches whispered about him admirably, I couldn’t bear to hear it. Not after listening to the executioners say Drak’s name with so much hatred. The way they threw his name around a dozen fucking times with venomous words sent rage burning through my veins, rising with the rhythm of the oars plunging into the inky dark sea. The longship surged forward from the effort of those who propelled it through the water. I curled my blue, freezing fingers into a fist, and glared at the Grimward shouting at the rowers after daring to say my husband’s name.

“That coward abandoned his throne,” an executioner with a boar’s mask shouted over the rising waves. Lucky for the boar-faced bastard that I didn’t hear him say Drakkar. I only saw the shape of the name on his lips.

The idiot shouted harder, his face turning red despite the frigid weather. “Just more proof that we made the right choice following Queen Silver.”

I ground my molars together, feeling the crunch of bone against bone. I glared at another executioner who’d peeled off his serpent’s mask and nodded in agreement. Fury left me unfocused, staring at the stupid mask these cowards often hid behind. Salt from the ocean’s water had dried in flecks over the melded clay and bone in his hands.

“For the gods,” the serpent-man said. “She’ll win their favor again.”

I scoffed. The gods were selfish, sometimes even cruel. And my sister, the queen, was the last person to earn their good graces.

Waves thrashed against the side of the ship like foamy, chilled fingers splashing me with their touch. With every rock and sway of the creaking longship, seawater drenched me. The chill bit deep as my wet trousers clung to my legs, and the short, aproned dress I wore over the top of them plastered to my chest and arms. Only the leather boots allowed the water to slide off the surface, protecting my feet from the perpetual wetness.

Shivering, I curled within myself and kept my eyes fixed ahead. Beside me, my mother slept, and at the back of the long ship sat one of my closest friends. All three of us had almost survived crossing Drukna Sea—which was a miracle, a blessing, and one of the few pieces of hope I clung to while soaked and frozen, listening to executioners slander the only man I’d ever loved as if he were trash under their boots. The guard at my mother’s side left my nerves frazzled, though.

I internally kicked myself for not noticing earlier. He was always hovering, his reindeer mask gaunt and pointed as it fixed on Laurella. Though he never touched her, he was just there, nearby, and when I asked why, he insisted Queen Silver had assigned him to watch my mother. He said nothing else, and his presence didn’t seem to bother her, so I dropped it, assuming Silver didn’t want our mother escaping to freedom.

I stared out at the other ships that traveled alongside us as they tilted and bobbed in their slow progression toward West Anglor. Drukna stretched on and on behind us, but ahead, I knew we approached land. I could see it, not with my eyes, but with the power I’d taken from Odin. Despite the tormented tales of Drukna Sea—more commonly called The Drowning—the water would end and land would find us again.

Despite my strong desire for land, our obligation as prisoners demanded we fight and raid. A bolt of disgust shot to the pit of my belly, and my heart twitched with the reminder of its weakness. This war was what Queen Silver wanted when she reinstated The Age of Exploration. The objective was to seize the people of West Anglor and transport them to Vylheim. People to till the land, people to feed the vampires, slaves, vessels.

My stomach churned, and it had nothing to do with the sickening sway of the ship. The waters calmed gradually, easing us forward and into the unknown, toward a kingdom our people hadn’t seen in centuries. Hundreds of years ago, Drak and I came here as Rune and Myrah, in our first lives. It was the first raid to find more farmland that later turned into defending against our neighboring country; now I was returning alone.

After releasing a breath, I squinted ahead again, hoping to catch a glimpse of land. I clutched ‌the crystal shard in my fist and brought it to my chest.

“Is a piece of you there?” I whispered to the shard as if Drak could hear me. This was part of him. Part of his soul, anyway, so I liked to believe that he understood me, or felt me, or something. Our souls had been bound lifetimes ago, so I trusted that I'd reach him again as I brought him back to me piece by piece.

This was the only hope that traveling to West Anglor gave me: that the light in this crystal shard would continue to grow brighter and brighter, and that this shard of my husband’s soul would lead me to the place to find the next shard. Little by little, I’d restore him.

I’d bring him back to me.

Together we’d take back the throne and stop this madness: slave and vampire armies, and trying to control the gods.

The sun set behind us, and the dim glow coated the sea with a tint of red, making the water resemble blood. I frowned, and my mind wandered back to Brynhild’s journal, the record of the first attempt at restoring a shattered soul. Her attempt had ended in failure, but Brynhild was a witch, not a witch-turned-god. I could do this with Odin’s power flowing through me. I could bring back the man these asshole executioners denied as their king. But my victory hinged on finding the next shard, and then the next.

My grip tightened around the sharp crystal, just large enough to curl my fingers halfway around it. The shape almost matched the diamond embedded in my wedding ring.

I stared at that damn crystal until my eyes ached and my stomach groaned. I was sick of eating tasteless grey porridge, like sludge or clay that’d melted from the very walls of the castle I used to hate. Now I missed Mara’s Keep. I missed hiding out in that maze of grey and falling asleep in my husband’s arms after we’d both reached the peak of pleasure. The memories were one of my few comforts on Drukna, as if they protected me from the ceaseless wind and the soaking rain, and the seawater. Thoughts of his cock buried deep inside of me, his tongue parting my lips accompanied me. Just the thought of his smirk, and how he’d loved to fuck with me and call me his wife even though our marriage had been fake, comforted me. Regardless of officiality, he was and always would be my husband.

After staring at the crystal, my eyelids slid shut, and I let sleep take me until a flash of something white and glinting from the other side of the thin skin startled me awake. Drak’s soul brightened. I tightened my hold on the crystal, my breath slipping away as the shard gleamed. Or was I imagining it? I stared for so long, desperate to see if it’d do anything else, for something—anything—that proved the glowing I’d sworn I’d seen was real and leading me to the next piece.

“We’re here!” someone shouted.

I snapped my head up as the last of my breath swept from my lungs, and my pulse doubled. A dull brown shape broke up the endless red sea.

Land.

West Anglor.

Not only had we finally arrived, but the piece of Drak’s soul glowed with the proof that I was nearing the next shard. Proof that he was reaching out to me and showing me the way. Our souls were bonded, and this was where he wanted me to go. Here, I’d find another piece of him. According to Brynhild’s journal, the location of the first shard related to his fate at the time of losing his soul. The second was his mind at the most important part of his soul’s existence—before he became a vampire. These were the clues I had to find the next shard.

“Get up!” The Boar shouted. He marched up and down the longship, leering at the witches. “Get up and prepare for battle.”

The serpent laughed, the sound coarse and raspy as he shoved weapons into the witches’ hands. We were expected to be the front line, the bait, the sacrifices before the executioners, armed with both swords and axes, to charge at the people of West Anglor.

“They’ve spotted us,” the Boar said. “Their people stand on the shore. We must be ready.”