Bindrune

Rosy, Yuri, and I stood on a raised dais at the center of the ballroom, our Northern Cunningfolk furs gleaming in the golden light of the shatterglass diamond above that lit the interior of the long hall.

Queen Jarngrimr took her ruby hilted claymore and had us turn our palms upward to the crystalline downpour. Motes of mica rained down upon us as if the diamond was weeping glass. The Watermen, huldrefolk, and Isa held their collective breaths as, at Heith's beckoning, Silje, Maren, and Fylja bound our wrists with scarlet ribbon, a foundling claim. Under the hill, under the harrow, in the fairy hill – we had found a home.

"Rosiel, Yuriel, Turiel – your mother was my bosom companion, Queen Aslaugh of the Isa, and long ago set out for me to be your fairy godmother to protect all nine realms. Arcadia is not safe for those of Isa blood anymore. Ragnarok dawns. Loki and Sigyn ride. Soon, Lord Eleleth will walk, and war will come to Midgardr. Utgardr is a