The wind carried the scent smoke as Eivor rode through the gates of Lunden. Beside him, Sigurd talking his ear off about the last night's feast. The city built of Roman ruin and Saxon ambition. Soldiers lined the avenues, eyes sharp, hands near hilts, while the banners of the English crown snapped above the rooftops.

Word had reached the Raven Clan that the King of England demanded audience. Eivor knew men like this king: threats behind crowned smiles, negotiations laced with quiet menace.