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disdain.
    Ragna mantled to the young wolf king. “We thank you, Great Hunter, for attending our farewell. It honors our fallen. We hope you’ll join us for feasting on the Sun Isle. We know your hunting has been not much better than ours on land, but now that we’ve returned to the sea, we eat well.”
    Ahanu, the wolf king, dipped his head.
    Ragna cast a look to several fledges, who straightened to attention, then with her nod they trotted away to fetch something from behind the tall boulders at Ragna’s back. “And we also offer you a gift.”
    Ahanu raised his head, as did the other wolves. The fledges reappeared from behind the boulder, dragging heavy pelts. Wolf pelts. Ahanu’s gaze drifted to them, then back to Ragna’s face, neutral, reserving judgment.
    “The act of skinning was a desecration of your fallen kin,” Ragna said, her gaze slashing over the Aesir gryfons in the gathering. “We return these to you to lay to rest as you will. All those who fell under the conquerors’ reign.”
    She will never stop punishing us, Caj thought, meeting her gaze when it swept by him. He wondered how Shard would act when he returned—if he did return—if he would work toward restoration and harmony. He had grown up with the Aesir, after all. It was, apparently, what his true father had wanted, for Shard to be raised among the Aesir as a brother, so that when he learned his birthright, he could bring peace to the prides. Privately, Caj thought Baldr a coward, leaving his son a legacy he himself couldn’t bring to pass.
    I made him strong, Caj thought, a sense of injustice heating his chest. I lied to Sverin and to Per, and took him under my own wing as my son, even if he never recognized it.
    If Shard thought that justice would mean exiling Aesir who had made the Silver Isles their home, or more likely, kill them, Caj knew it would only be the vengeance of war. But, when he thought more reasonably about it, he couldn’t see Shard giving an order like that.
    He wasn’t so sure about Ragna.
    Caj couldn’t read wolf faces well, but thought Ahanu’s looked deeply troubled at the sight of the skins, but moved by the gesture nonetheless.
    “Thank you,” murmured Ahanu. After a moment, as if he listened to some suggestion from the wind on the rocks, he said, “Let them rest here.” His gaze searched the face of the Widow Queen, then drifted to each wolf and gryfon gathered. “Let it all rest here. All that has passed. Black Rock is a place for the dead. Let our enmity be dead, here.”
    The fledges exchanged glances, then respectfully bore the wolf skins to lay beside the dead gryfons. Caj shifted his feet, chilled without the warm down of a Vanir.
    A waste, all of it. A dead wolf had no use for its skin and they’d done better lining gryfon nests.
    But then, he reasoned, how would I feel to know that my father’s feathers lined a wolf den?
    The wolves raised their voices, and the gryfons shifted uncomfortably as the long, low notes soared through the air. Caj wondered how many, wolf or gryfon, would actually lay their prejudice to rest on that black isle. He’d had to leave his in the snows of Star Island, that night he’d awoken among caring wolves to find that they’d saved his life.
    “Let us return,” Ragna said. “Those who wish to learn fishing, or still remember the ways and would help me, come to the Star Cliff. Others, shelter and keep warm. I fear another storm brews.”
    With that dismissal, Ragna opened her wings and bounded into the sky. The fledges followed, eager for the adventure of the seashore and the strange art of hunting fish, as did several of the old Vanir. Caj noted, with interest, that Einarr’s mother left with them, after a last comforting word to Astri.
    A coldness grew in Caj’s chest, the tight, horned discomfort of unfinished business.
    The pride was well in wing, sorted out enough that Caj needn’t worry about anyone starving, nor fights breaking out. The Aesir who were