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Einar had trusted it to him. But Soren trusted Ander and he needed his help, so Soren nodded. “How long?”
    â€œTwo days, three at the most. I have an assignment to complete before I can give my attention to it.”
    â€œThree at the most,” Soren repeated, more to convince himself than to confirm his friend’s words.
    Ander nodded and smiled, like a predator who scents another prey. “And if I give it back to you in two or three days’ time, you might even trust me with the others.”
    â€œThe others?” Soren asked.
    â€œYou keep touching something over your chest. More of the same, mayhap, or something different?” Ander asked, holding out his hand.
    Soren stepped back and shook his head.
    â€œAh, so there is more.”
    â€œNothing really,” Soren assured. “Only something personal from my grandfather.” He met Ander’s green and knowing gaze, hoping the lie worked.
    â€œVery well,” Ander said, backing away and placing the parchment on the table once more. “I will protect this one and you can make up your mind later on the others.”
    â€œI thank you for your help, Ander,” Soren said. He walked to the door and pulled it open. “I will come back at week’s end.” About to leave, he finally remembered the name his grandfather had mentioned. “Have you heard the name Taranis before?”
    â€œAye,” Ander said. And nothing else.
    â€œAnd . . . ?”
    â€œI remember not where or when, but I will seek that out, too,” Ander said, lying as Soren had. The man’s left eye began a slight but noticeable twitch. Soren laughed then.
    â€œLying is a sin,
Father
Ander,” he reminded.
    â€œA weakness about which I pray daily,” his friend said, ushering him out of the chamber. “I will see you at week’s end.”
    Soren nodded and walked down the steps to the main corridor. Almost to the door leading to the outside, Ander’s voice called out to him and Soren paused and turned back.
    â€œI forgot to tell you. Ran has returned.”
    He’d always told himself that he would not react to this inevitable news. The woman had been born and raised here in Orkney. Her father’s shipping business was centered here. She had other kith and kin here—she would return here someday.
    Ran had returned.
    His life had barely returned to a normal one and now she was back. It would be torn asunder, even if he managed to avoid her, just by knowing she breathed the same air he did. Soren found he could not breathe, so he nodded and wordlessly left, seeking something he knew he would never find now—peace of mind.
    He stumbled down the busy streets, not caring where he went or what he did. He mind reeled at the thought that she was on the island. Her father’s business was here in the city. There would be too much to explain and too much he could not explain if they met. Deciding to leave now and go to the broch, Soren realized he’d wandered far from where he’d left his horse.
    Turning back, Soren walked through the marketplace where he found himself, greeting the merchants and nodding to the vendors selling their wares. Kirkwall was a blending place, filled with people from all parts of the north and beyond. Norse, Scots, French, English all used Kirkwall and Orkney for replenishing supplies, stocking ships for travel and trading goods.
    But something this day, now, was different.
    As he walked the streets, Soren noticed a change in the air around him. In the colors of the fabrics offered in the weavers’ tents. In the faces of the villagers. The brightness and hues had been leached from the world in which he lived.
    The realization stopped him between paces.
    He glanced around to see if something had thickened above him and had blocked the sun. The clear, blue cloudless skies answered him. What was happening?
    And then she walked out from one of the alleys.
    Ran