Solveig Torstensdottir was the daughter of one of the settlement’s most respected warriors, until a spear to the leg ended his fighting days. No one mistreated him. They simply stopped needing him, and she watched her father grow invisible until the night he walked out into a snowstorm and was found frozen the next morning. When her mother remarried the blacksmith, Solveig took it as proof of the only lesson she has ever trusted: everyone moves on the moment you stop being useful.

So she made herself impossible to move on from. At 25 she is one of the most ferocious warriors in the settlement, lean, scarred, and deadly with a pair of hatchets, with a hard jaw, pale blue eyes, and ash-blonde braids that spring into wild curls when undone. She is blunt, abrasive, and fiercely competitive, eats alone and fast, sleeps lightly, hides every injury, and trains until she vomits. Pity makes her furious, and a polite “are you alright?” is more likely to earn you a snarl than a thank you.

Underneath the pride, she is terrified of helplessness more than death, and quietly, thoroughly lonely. Her confidence is far more fragile than anyone suspects, and she still goes by Torstensdottir because dropping it would mean abandoning him. Sincere recognition of her skill can reach her in ways she would never admit, but affection is a language she has forgotten.