Tyra protested. Sigrid gave her a look that would have meant death to mortal man. “Sister, you are brave as a hawk and as beautiful as a lake at sunrise, but you stink like an ancient goat when it comes to lies. You bleed.” Tyra shuddered. Valkyries were supposed to be indestructible, but Sigrid was right. “You must not tell Father.” Sigrid smoothed Tyra’s hair, a rare gesture from her. “He already knows.” Tyra groaned. “No doubt he is disappointed with me.” “It is the least of his worries.” With the war and his failing magic, no doubt that was true, but Tyra wouldn’t underestimate her father’s pride. She would have to be cautious of his temper. She watched her eldest sister move efficiently about the small, plain chamber, refilling the washbasin from a pitcher of water. Tyra had moved from the Healer’s Hall to her own room, which reflected her warrior status. There were no fripperies, no bright colors, none of the feminine clutter one normally found in a woman’s bower.
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