It wasn't as if I had a choice when Arne told us to go for a walk. Arne was insistent on taking us. He left hurriedly with a pouch full of gold krones. Our pace quickened to keep up with him.

 Clara got easily winded so Arne held her the rest of the way.

 “Arne, if I may...” I started.

 “What is it?”

 “I don’t see why I had to come along.”

 “Because we go everywhere together. That is our way. Right, Clara?”

 Clara's head dangled over his shoulder. “Yes, Fa.”

 Yes, Fa. No, Fa. Did the girl know any other words? Arne seems to be the judge of everything.

 I wished I didn't have to go anywhere today. I felt like being stored away for millenia. For no one to see or know me. The idea of war subdued my mind. I hadn't gotten much sleep last night, as cozy as it was. I started this mess. And neither Arne nor his daughter, nor anyone in all of Atlantica were aware of the stakes.

 We footed a path alongside the woods.

 “Where exactly are we off to?”

 Arne didn't answer, but his look promised a surprise. As we continued to a clearing, I saw the little hut made so weakly that you could see the inside through the lean-to of beech tree branches.

 Arne took us closer and I saw the plank of wood resting on two wooden X's to produce a makeshift stand. Upon this were wooden tools.

 “Goddag, Jørgen!” Arne shouted.

 I wasn’t sure who he shouted at, until the man's head poked out of the hut. Noticing us, he smiled. “Arne, old friend!”

 They gave each other a brotherly embrace. “How’s the wife?” Arne asked.

 “Well. She's well. What brings you this way?”

 Arne raised the heavy pouch of coins. A fortuitous jingle came from it.

 Jørgen laughed, “Who did you deliver for this time? The prince himself?”

 “You would be surprised.”

 Arne set Clara down to stand. “My clara needs shoes.”

 “Certainly. I'll just measure her, then.”

 The man went in his hut and returned with a wheel of measuring tape. He began to wrap and discern her feet from as many angles as needed. Then he jotted the measurements down on a slip of paper.

 “What big feet, you've got, Little Clara. Grown much since the last time I saw you.” He turned to Arne. “Afford me a week and I'll have them done.”

 “Yes, but that’s not all. I want four pair.”

 “Four pair?” I interjected. How many shoes did the girl need? She’d grow out of them anyway.

 Arne took me by the arm, shooed Clara off the stool, and sat me down. I was confused.

 Jørgen gave me a once over and said, “Well, this is new. I don't believe I have ever seen you, miss.”

 “Her name is Freja,” Arne spoke for me. “She lives with us now.”

 “Very good. Do allow me, miss.” He lifted my grass-dirtied foot.

 “But, Arne...” I said.

 He held up his hand at me. “I won’t have any of my women barefoot.”

 “Your women?”

 “You know what I mean.”

 Once Jørgen finished measuring my feet, he let Arne know the price, and then Arne paid.

 I was excited to get back to the cottage. Bleating goats welcomed us home. The summer sun shone vibrant on this patch of land. It was peaceful here. Not as busy as the town or even the castle.

 We entered the cozy home. Arne told Clara to steep a kettle and took me away for another conversation in his room. The door left open, of course.

 He had that same wide stance he usually would take when sharing concerns with me. His meaty arms crossed with hands gripping under his pits. Arne possessed all the stoicism of men. But to his credit, it fashioned him a rock unwavering. His yes was never more or less that, same for his no. “I have to go in town to pay taxes. Can I count on you to look after Clara?”

 As far as I knew, Clara was not a challenge to keep. Still, I understood what bothered him. “Arne. I know yesterday was... interesting, but I—”

 “All I need is a yes or no.”

 I loathed the way he brushed aside my explanation as if it stole too much time from him to listen. “Why, sir. You are no gentleman.”

 “If I was a gentleman, we'd be here all day.”

 “Well, I was going to speak to your comfort, but now—”

 “I don’t have all day, Freja.”

 “Yes. You can trust me,” I conceded. I wanted to argue but found it futile.

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 He kissed Clara's forehead before leaving. I sighed and turned to the girl. “So, Clara. What would you like to do?”

 “We have to prepare for supper. We need to go out to the well.”

 “Oh. Alright then.” Arne may have given me a place here but nothing’s guaranteed if I were in fact bad for Clara. This was my chance to prove why he should keep me.

 I let Clara walk in front of me on the way to the well. I carried the yoke on my shoulders, a bucket hanging on each side. Our shadows fell forward over the rich green pasture. A joyful buzzing of cicadas among the hot fields.

 Clara ran ahead when she saw the well. I lumbered on forward. When I reached the well, I gladly dropped the yoke. Clara told me to hook the bucket to the rope. I then turned the handle, lowering it into the well.

 We filled both buckets. Now heavy, they were, as I carried them on the yoke. My form bent. Clara exclaimed, “It’s fun to work with you.”

 “I’m glad you think so,” I grunted. My head covering was slipping to the back of my head. Strands of red flopped over my sweating forehead.

 Clara looked at me with gleaming eyes. “You are so pretty.”

 I grinned. “Not as pretty as you, yndling.”

 She blushed at that. Clara raised her pointer finger with lifted brows, “Fa thinks you are pretty, too.”

 “It is bad to lie, Clara.” I said this sternly.

 “No lie. He does think it. He told me,” she insisted.

 I watched my feet as I took more steps. “Hm. Well, if he did, then I suppose that's nice of him.”

 “Freja, I'm glad Fa let you stay.”

 Her words were warm on my heart. “I am, too, yndling.”

 She skipped alongside me. “I can’t wait to tell Ida about the castle.”

 “How long have you and Ida been friends?”

 “Since birth, Fa said. Close as our mothers.”

 “Really? What kind of games do you and Ida play?”

 “We love playing graces, and when I visit her, we play with Ida’s doll. But when we aren't doing that, we go around selling her mor’s eggs. One time, the old man Baggi gave us six krones for five eggs...”

 The rest of the way was filled with laughter and stories of things that go on in town. So much joy came from a short walk. I wondered if Arne was having as fun an evening as us two.

 Coming into the cottage again, I realized I needed to tell Clara an embarrassing truth. I didn't know how to cook.

 Clara frowned at me. “That won’t do. Won't do at all.” She tapped her chin, pacing away from me then back. “I can teach you. It is simple.”

 The girl ran to the larder. I followed. We were enclosed in the small space of arrayed jars, barrels and sacks. Clara asked me to get the pickled lettuce on the top shelf. She picked some potatoes from the sacks on the floor. Then we opened one of the barrels for the salted pork.

 We returned to the kitchen with our items, ready to roast and slice and gravy.

...

 By dusk, a savory aroma circulated the little house. A fine dish had been prepared. But the man of the home hadn't come. Enough time had been in our wait, so taking initiative, I told Clara to go ahead and eat before our food cooled.

 Clara said grace before we ate. Afterwards, I took her to bed. Dissappointment rested on her little face. “I wanted Fa to see what we'd done.”

 “He will still appreciate it whenever he returns. But it is your bedtime, yndling.”

 She yawned, “I am glad to be getting shoes. Are you?”

 “Yes.”

 “Fa is so nice to us for that. You will thank him for me?”

 My eyes shared her twinkle, “Surely, I will.”

 She yawned again. “Sing to me, please. Fa always sings.”

 “Sing what?”

 “Fa sings Den Lille Ole.”

 “I’m afraid I don’t know it.”

 “That’s alright. I would like to hear something new. What do you know?”

 It had been ages since I last sang. I was aware of my voice's affect on humans, Eric specifically. It could do more than lull but lure one into subconsciousness. I hated this and swore to myself never to sing again. Because I wanted our love to be real.

 But Clara was just a pike. And one short lullaby for her comfort was a good reason to break a rule. “There is a song my sisters would sing me to sleep with.”

 “What?”

 I sat myself on the edge of the bed, pulled her up from under the sheets, and cradled her in my arms. The way Arista had cradled me when I was yea small. I brushed from her temple to her cheek with the side of my hand as I hummed before saying:

Down in the heart of the ocean,

there's a blue whale there in motion.

With lots of little creatures.

In his belly, they abide.

He gorges through the water,

and he sucks in all the current.

A-flowing, soon it weren’t,

when he ate the rippling tide.

His heart, all but resounding.

His way, all but unbounding.

The sea

and he

share a mutual respect.

Far older than your father,

More loyal than your brother.

To one

and one another,

A strength do they reflect.

 I watched her eyes, the same cobalt as her father’s. They seemed dazed. She slipped into the net of inebriation I cast her. Her body fell back, lacking any ounce of resistance. I leaned close to her bright face, kissed her forehead, and she was out like a candle. I laid her down and tucked her in.

 Just as I was walking to the sitting area, the door of the cottage creaked open. “Clara is alseep,” I immediately stated before the man walked in. “Your food is in the kitchen. It is cold, so you know.”

 Arne denied my presence, going into the sitting area. He plopped himself down by the crackling hearth. One hand on the arm of the chair holding his head.

 “Arne?”

 The flames in the hearth reflected in his eyes. His blank stare slowly gained emotion. Overwhelming pain grew in his eyes before he closed them, sliding his hand through his hair. He body bent further, shoulders moving with each restrained whimper.

 Before he had come home, I was ready to give him a talking to about the way he had spoken to me earlier this evening. But now I see, that this man is not as heartless as he meant to convince me. He was nothing but a smoldering coal. I could have taken his ignoration as a sign to leave him alone. But I did not do that.

 I neared his body quietly. I was unsure whether to touch him or say something, so I crouched to the floor and sat by the leg of his chair.

 He was not noticing me as he kept on crying into his palm. This brought to me flashes of the night with Eric again. When Eric had cried, all I wanted to do was hold him and make his pain go away, forgetting all the pain he caused me.

 And now, I could faintly see all the pressures that hovered over this man, all that made him a ruin in this chair. He was not a prince; no army to lead or country to protect. But I realized you don't have to have all those things for chaos to inhabit the mind. I sat, stared, and studied.

 “It is Josephine,” his deep voice explained. “She had a stroke.”

 “I’m so sorry.” I raised my hand, not sure what it would do or where it would land. I chose to hold his knee. “It will be alright. She is home now. And she is whole. While you and I walk, she flies. We have our legs, and she has wings. That much she can hold over us now,” I hoped my notion had at least amused him, silly as it sounded.

 To my relief, Arne’s sob had stopped. The new sound I heard from him was wry chuckle. His head lifted off his hand to see me. There was a gloomy glow in his eyes, but he tried to smile. “You can go now. I’ll be fine, I think.”

 I stood, nodding. “Goodnight, Arne.” I turned to leave.

 “And Freja.”

 I looked back at him. His tensed forehead calmed. “Thank you. We should spend more nights in conversation, if you like.”

 I nodded, “Certainly,” then went off to bed.