The poor woman who’d ended up trapped in the stacks with that horrid warrior. His type thought they could get anything they wanted by taking it—and often they could. But the brute underestimated Yrjan’s order. They simply didn’t allow that sort of thing to happen among their sacred books!

Yet there was nothing to do about it now. Instead he was asked to soothe the young woman’s rattled nerves. Poor thing. She appeared so stricken by that animal!

She was a wee, plain thing and, like Yrjan and his order, most likely spent the majority of her time in the safety of books. She wore small, round spectacles, as did many of his library brethren, and the unadorned wardrobe of a true scholar. Yrjan was sure the brute had targeted her as he would a small deer or elk.

“You’re quite safe now, my lady,” he promised, putting a cup of hot tea in her hands. “I can call the city guards, if you’d like.”

“No. Please don’t. It’s unnecessary. I’m fine.”

He didn’t blame her. The city guards were not much better than the warrior who’d mauled her, though his order did have some influence with them. But he wouldn’t push if she’d prefer it.

“You can stay here as long as you’d like, my lady and—”

“Actually, Brother, I came here for a reason.” She placed her untouched tea onto the table and looked at him. “I need your help, if possible.”

“If it’s in my power, I’ll do what I can.”

“I am in search of an order of monks.”

He smiled, feeling confident. The different Northland and Southland orders of monks were among his several areas of expertise. “I actually know most of the orders. Which one do you search for?”

“The Order of the Warhammer?”

“Ahhh, yes. A great order. We have many of their books and documents in a special room. I’m sure I can get you permission to—”

“No, no, Brother. I need to get in contact with the Order itself. I was told their monastery is near Spikenhammer and was hoping I could get directions.”

Yrjan blinked in surprise and leaned back in his chair.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“My lady … the Order of the Warhammer no longer exists.”

She frowned thoughtfully. “What are you talking about?”

“They were destroyed.”

Her hand flew to her chest, her eyes widening in horror behind her spectacles. She looked absolutely devastated by the news. “No! That’s not possible!”

“I’m sorry, my lady, but it’s true. The books and papers we have are all that’s left of them.”

“And Brother Ragnar?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never heard of Brother Ragnar.”

“You must have. He’s one of the leaders of the Order.”

“Brother Ölver was leader at the time of their destruction, my lady.” She looked so distressed that Yrjan placed his hand on top of her gloved one. “Perhaps you have the name incorrect. There are many war-god based orders and I’m sure—”

Her eyes suddenly locked on his, and Yrjan felt a fear he’d not known since he left his father’s house to join the Order.

“Do you have any of their robes or clothes? Anything they may have worn?”

“No. We assumed all that was destroyed—”

“When?” she growled.

“My lady?”

“When was the Order destroyed?”

Yrjan took a deep breath to calm his shaken nerves. “According to my readings, eighty-six to eighty-seven years ago during the winter of—”

He didn’t get to finish as her small fist struck the table and she jumped up, her chair falling to the marble floor. Many of the other Brothers rushed into the reading room and watched as the weak female paced angrily before them.

“My lady, I’m sure there’s—”

“Liar.”

Yrjan was insulted until she bellowed, “That bastard liar!” and he knew she was not speaking of him.

“My lady, please!”

She stormed toward the exit, and when his Brothers blocked her way, she screamed, “Move!”

They did, scattering like ants.

Yrjan followed after her until she stormed out the main doors, slamming them behind her.

Shaking and panting, he went back to the reading room and the Brothers rushed to get him his own hot tea and some soothing herbs to calm his nerves.

Abstinence. A very good decision.

Dagmar stalked out of the Great Library. She stopped on the third step down and looked around. Where has that idiot gone?

By reason, she was angry. Angrier than she’d ever been in her life. Angrier than she knew it possible to be.

He’d lied to her. Not for a few days or over a particular issue, but full lies for two bloody decades!

Dagmar had never felt so betrayed. So hurt. Ragnar had hurt her as no other could.

A sudden attack of pure anxiety and panic swept through her and she ran down the steps and to the side of the enormous building. Slapping her hands against the stone wall, she leaned over and brought back up all those biscuits and tea Saamik had fed her.

Her bouts of panic rarely caught her this badly. Usually she could control it with deep breathing or by focusing on something else entirely. But she couldn’t focus on anything else but this.

Who had she been dealing with all these years?

Her father’s words came back to haunt her. “Always so sure you’re right, little miss.”