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to one another.
    “Bjarni lives in Nidaros, at the mouth of the River Nidelva, way up the coast of Noregr, the Norse land.” The messenger raises his hand in the air as though he’s painting the north country for our imaginations. “He’s here visiting.”
    “Raiding,” says Mother under her breath.
    If Father hears, he doesn’t show it.
    I press my knees together till it hurts. Everyone knows the stories about Viking towns up in the north country. Nidaros and Bjørgvin and others whose names I forget, but that are just as horrible. Wealth means nothing there. The whole lot of them might as well be disgusting peasants, for, rich or poor, they are all filthy heathens with unspeakable rituals. A slave in Eire has a better fate than a queen up there. The thought of living with such brutes—no, no, it’s unbearable.
    “Are the boys who harmed Nuada in Bjarni’s family?” asks Father. He talks in a normal voice. As though this whole conversation is not horrific.
    “Not in his family,” says the messenger in a barely audible voice, “no.”
    “But from his town?” asks Father.
    “Yes.”
    “And where are they now?” asks Father.
    “In Dublin, visiting, like I said. They came for the winter. But they’re leaving next week. For the southern parts of the Nóregr.”
    “All of them?” asks Father. “Bjarni and the two youths?”
    “Yes. And Bjarni wants to take Princess Melkorka with him.” The messenger looks at me. “She’s assured a life of luxury.”
    “How did he choose Melkorka?” asks Father.
    “He saw her on the streets of Dublin. All in red. The day of the accident.”
    “It was no accident,” Mother hisses.
    “I have a counterproposal,” says Father.
    The messenger nods. “I will bring it to Bjarni willingly.”
    “Tell him the act of these two youths has changed the destiny of our family. Nuada is my only son.”
    Mother puts an arm around me. I sit tall to hear more.
    “Tell him that a room full of gems wouldn’t be enough to compensate. Making my daughter his wife isa better attempt at compensation, but an irrelevant one. Melkorka is beautiful, and she would soon be married to an Irish king anyway.”
    Good for Father. He’s standing up for us. He has always hated Vikings. We will go to war against them, rather than accept their shameful offer.
    “Tell him, however, that I am a reasonable man. I loathe violence. If he truly wants to compensate, he must assure us that Melkorka will live the life of a queen. That’s what she’d have here. It’s her due. And he must throw a party on his ship the night he comes for her. An extravagant party. I’ll send fifteen women of my kingdom to keep his men happy. I will pick them myself.”
    Mother forms a fist and bites her own knuckles. Brigid is crying. But I do nothing. I have turned to stone.
    “And tell him to have three more satchels of gems brought to me. Immediately.”

CHAPTER FIVE F EAR
    Father closes the door behind the messenger. Then he closes the three other sickroom doors. That’s against Liaig’s rules. We are just the family now.
    He turns to us. “Get a good night’s sleep.”
    “Mairg ar maccu—
woe to our children.” Mother’s voice is flat, “Have you gone mad?”
    “My brain has never functioned better.”
    “You’re selling me,” I cry, finally finding my voice. I sit hunched in a ball.
    Mother puts her hand on my back. “You want your daughter to bed down with an animal? You want our grandchildren to be
Gall-Gaels—
half foreigner, half Irish? And then you promise fifteen girls to frolic with those savages. We are Christians; have you forgotten? Oh, King, your brain isn’t functioning at all.”
    “I’ll run away.” I sit up straight as I speak, fighting off dizziness.
    Father gives a little laugh. “You? Where would you go? The contemplative life of a convent would never dofor my daughters. And you couldn’t serve anyone, taking orders.”
    “Don’t scold hen Don’t you dare.” Mother’s