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“Look alive!” Serpent kicked at my mother’s ankle, and she yelped, scrambling away from him. The guard grunted something unintelligible at Serpent. The antlers on his reindeer mask tilted as he eyed his fellow masked Grimward and waved for him to back up.

Serpent didn’t listen.

I shot to my feet, the crystal shard still in my fist, lifted and poised as if to strike him with it. Serpent only stared down his crooked nose at me, ignoring the silent Reindeer. Serpent didn’t need a mask to look like the slimy, forked-tongue creature he’d chosen for his executioner’s garb.

He coughed a pathetic laugh, baring his yellowing teeth at me. “What are you going to do? Stab me with your rock?”

My lip twitched. “Don’t touch her again.”

Serpent grinned as his boot shot out again, aimed at my mother’s leg. Blinding rage carried me into the next moment.

Only once before had I tapped into this power I’d gained from killing Odin and absorbing his abilities, and only when I became angry enough during a fight would I see my opponent’s actions seconds before they occurred.

Before the tip of his leather-covered toe made contact with my mother, I lifted the heel of my boot and smashed it against his kneecap, stomping hard enough to snap his leg in the wrong direction. A nauseating crack split through the white noise of waves and wind, but it didn’t completely break, because he still stood. I should have kicked harder.

The Serpent went silent with shock and then stumbled back, favoring his good leg. Fury must have masked the pain of his injury because his salt-coated lips curled over wheat-colored teeth and his face contorted. “You little bitch.”

Odin had once given me that same lovely little nickname. I almost smirked. That was before I killed him.

“What the fuck are you doing, Ulfur?” The Boar shouted from his place at the front of the ship. “Land is in sight, focus, you idiot.”

“Drakkar’s stupid little wife decided she wants to start this battle with a broken face.” He leaned forward, as if daring me to spit in his face. “The defected king is rolling over in his grave thinking of how ugly his queen will look with all her front teeth missing.”

“Leave it, Ulfur. She can fight better than the rest, and we want to bring back as many slaves as we can.”

He laughed. “Nah, she lost all her fighting abilities, or else she would have taken her throne back. She’s just another pair of arms and legs to put on the front lines now.” That was what Vylheim believed about me. After seeing me gut so many vampires, they understood I was a huntress, but they never grasped what that meant. The last they’d seen of me was bowing before my sister as she took Drak’s throne, our throne.

“Say his name again,” I spat.

His hand shot out and grabbed my throat. Or it would in one second, according to my power through Odin’s foresight. I let him grab hold of me, letting him believe he had this duel under his control.

“Say. His. Name,” I said, though it was difficult to push out the words as his fingers closed around my throat.

“What the Hel are you talking about?” He seethed.

“Your king. Say his name.”

“He’s not my king.”

“He will be again.”

“Drakkar’s in the dirt⁠—”

I didn’t let him finish because I saw what he was going to do the moment he stopped talking. He would shove me backward so that I’d fall on my ass before him, and despite his injury, he’d then kick me in the face. Apparently kicking was his favorite mode of fighting. The coward.

Before I was out of his reach, I brought my knee up and connected with his groin as hard as I could. Legs really were his weakness today.

He howled in pain, his grip loosening. I shoved his hand off my throat and caught glimpses of him coming toward me in the seconds after he recovered. I darted to the side of his bad leg. To him, I was moving faster than he could think, maybe as fast as a vampire, but my speed was unchanged from that of any basic human. I simply knew exactly where to go to counter his moves.

With as much strength as I could muster, I slammed my shoulder against him, and he stumbled into the side of the longship, hissing like the snake he was. Before he could react, I saw him reaching for the ax at his belt. He’d whip it out at the same time that the waves tilted the ship toward him, which would throw me into him. If I wasn’t careful, the sea would do the work for him, tossing me against the sharp edge of his ax.

Instead, I ducked the blade and used the heel of my free hand to shove him up and over the edge of the ship. With the aid of the tilting wave, he flipped over the side easily, never having a chance to swing at me.

His body landed in the sea with a satisfying splash, and the Boar grunted in frustration.

The fact that we were so close to West Anglor was the only flaw in this plan. Ulfur could easily swim to shore, so The Drowning could not claim him today.

Like the rest of us, Ulfur would end up at the waterline of West Anglor where black and grey clouds hung like a threat. Today, we’d capture hundreds of innocent men and women and take them to serve as vessels and farmers, forcing them to worship Freya and Loki, Thor, and the memory of his father Odin in Silver’s attempt to win favor and control over selfish gods.