For many nights Ragnar weighed his decision. At last, he resolved to bring Aslaug north with him.
In truth, she could not have been more different from Queen Sola. Where Sola was proud and distant, the daughter of an ancient house who spoke like one accustomed to command, Aslaug was of humble birth and open temper — bold in laughter, fierce in drink, and as deft with a throwing axe as she was with bow or chessboard. The nobles, who shrank from Sola's icy hauteur, warmed quickly to Aslaug's rough charm.
Thus, when the royal procession finally turned its wheels toward York, she rode at Ragnar's side. And as the last of the gilded wagons vanished into the north, Rurik stood by the roadside, watching the dust of their departure fade into the horizon.
He sighed. "Now," he murmured, "the real show begins."
