Page 77 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

“Sienna—”

She whirls to face me. “I didn’t kill her. I know how it looks. I know I had reasons to want her gone. Better reasons than you knew ten minutes ago. But I didn’t do it. I swear.”

The declaration hangs between us while a seagull screams somewhere below. Honestly, same.

“Do you believe me?”

“I want to believe you,” I tell her, and it’s the truth. Every word of this woman’s story has hooks in my heart. But wanting and believing are two different animals, and only one of them has teeth.

“That’s not a yes.”

“It’s the most honest thing I’ve got.”

She holds my gaze a moment, then nods slowly, like a woman who’s learned not to expect better. “I suppose that’s fair. I wouldn’t believe me either.”

We head back across the bridge together, and I hear shouting before we even reach the main fortress area.

“NETTIE, NO!”

That’s Bess, which means Nettie is absolutely doing whatever she’s being told not to do. Some laws of physics you can set your watch to.

We round a corner to find Nettie halfway inside a massive cannon. Her legs stick out at an angle no chiropractor would endorse while her muffled voice echoes from inside the artillery.

“I WANTED TO SEE IF I’D FIT!”

Bess stands beside the cannon with her arms crossed, and I can tell she’s mentally updating her will to exclude everyone present. “WHY WOULD YOU NEED TO KNOW THAT?”

“IN THE NAME OF SCIENCE!”

A moment passes, and then the barrel adds, “AND FOR POSTERITY!”

“Your contribution to science ends today,” Bess informs the cannon.

A small crowd has gathered. Tourists film the spectacle on their phones, the Velvet Vikings double over with laughter, and the Finnish fortress staff look baffled and vaguely concerned, which I suspect is the national maximum for public alarm.

Wes and Marina appear, and Wes takes one look at the situation and blows out a slow and steady breath. The man steers a floating city through gale-force winds without blinking, but Nettie in a cannon has him praying to the maritime gods.

“How,” he says slowly, “did she get in there?”

“Determination,” Bess reports, flat as week-old soda. “And poor impulse control.”

“I CAN HEAR YOU!” Nettie’s voice booms from inside the barrel.

“GOOD!”

Magnus is absolutely delighted, and I’ll admit I’m relieved to see the sparkle come back. “Your friend is magnificent. A true warrior spirit trapped in the body of a chaos agent.”

“She’s trapped in a cannon, is what she’s trapped in,” I mutter.

Ransom arrives on cue, because nothing summons my husband faster than the words Nettie and disaster occurring within the same square mile. He takes in the scene, and I watch him run the numbers. He’s extracted Nettie from tighter spots before. Emotionally, anyway.

“Can you get out?” he calls to the cannon.

“NOT EASILY!”

“Can you breathe?”

“YES!”