Prologue

PROLOGUE

W as she making a mistake?

Eyja’s hand tightened over the knife’s handle. No, she wasn’t. It had to be done, her hair was just too long to pass as a boy’s, so it had to go. There was no other choice. In any case, the length of her tresses hardly defined who she was. Her indomitable spirit did, and she would prove it forthwith.

With slow deliberation, she cut the first lock of hair. It would grow back soon enough anyway.

Everyone berated her for her lack of feminine grace and delicacy, calling her boyish but really, after growing up surrounded by three brothers and their friends, what else was she supposed to be? And why was it such a problem to be strong in mind and body anyway? If she’d been a boy, she would have been praised for her grit and resourcefulness. But because she was a female, people expected her to be gentle, soft-spoken and calm. No one saw that it took great determination and stamina on her part to keep up with a band of men in their prime.

Well, she was about to put these two underrated qualities to good use. Dressed as a man amidst other men bent on a mission, she would not stand out for once. She would be judged on her courage and ability alone, not her sex. It would be quite liberating, she imagined.

But first, she had to make herself look like a man.

Another lock of hair fell at her feet.

The clothes she was wearing felt loose, and unfortunately she had no way of knowing how she appeared in them but she was not unduly worried. As far as people were concerned, someone with short hair and braies was a man, and that was all there was to it. They wouldn’t look at her twice, as they would be too busy worrying about the battle ahead. Yes, she was confident they would take her on, glad of every recruit they could find. After all, the more people joined the army, the better their chance at victory.

By a stroke of luck this morning she had overheard Moon, one of her brothers’ friends, mention his desire to join the army King Harold had assembled to go and stop the Norse invaders who’d landed on their shores earlier this month. Born in this country to a Dane father and a Saxon mother, Moon had explained to Torsten that he wished to stop the raiders who would wreck the land and cause innocent people to suffer.

She understood his reasoning and shared his urge to defend their country. Her own father, Wolf, was an Icelander, who’d found a home here after being sent into exile more than thirty years ago, and married a Saxon as well. Eyja was therefore in the same situation as Moon, and if she could help, then she would.

The last lock of hair fell to the floor in silence. There, the transformation was complete, and the die was cast.

She was going to war.