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The lives of two women—one desperate to save her missing sister, the other a witch destined to become queen of Norway—intertwine in this spellbinding, powerful novel of Viking Age history and myth from the acclaimed author of The Witch’s Heart.

Oddny and Gunnhild meet as children in tenth century Norway, and they could not be more different: Oddny hopes for a quiet life, while Gunnhild burns for power and longs to escape her cruel mother. But after a visiting wisewoman makes an ominous prophecy that involves Oddny, her sister Signy, and Gunnhild, the three girls take a blood oath to help one another always.

When Oddny’s farm is destroyed and Signy is kidnapped by Viking raiders, Oddny is set adrift from the life she imagined but determined to save her sister, no matter the cost. Gunnhild, who fled her home years ago to learn the ways of a witch in the far north, is on her way to her exalted destiny. But the bonds—both enchanted and emotional—that hold them together are strong, and when they find their way back to each other, these bonds will be tested in ways they could never have foreseen in this rich, searching novel of magic, history, and sworn sisterhood.

Genevieve Gornichec earned her degree in history from the Ohio State University, but she got as close to majoring in Vikings as she possibly could, and her study of Norse myths and Icelandic sagas became her writing inspiration. She lives in Cleveland. Learn more online at www.genevievegornichec.com.

THE WEAVER AND THE WITCH QUEEN Excerpt

A horn sounded across the water in two short bursts.

Upon hearing it, Gunnhild Ozurardottir dropped her spindle and distaff and ran, ignoring the admonishments of the serving women she’d been spinning with under the awning. They would scold her later, but she cared little.

Her friends were about to arrive. And at such times she found it hard to care about anything else.

Gunnhild rounded the corner of the longhouse and sprinted up the hill, making for her father’s watchman on the eastern side of the island. He was stationed on a small platform overlooking the water and always had a blowing horn on hand.

“One ship!” he called over his shoulder at the other men milling about, not noticing as Gunnhild hiked up her dress and scrambled up the platform’s short ladder. “It’s Ketil’s!”

Before he could protest, Gunnhild grabbed the horn off its peg and blew it twice. As she lowered it she heard noises of disappointment coming from the children on the incoming ship, and she pumped a fist in victory. “Yes!”

“Oi!” the man said, snatching the horn from her. “That’s only for emergencies!”

“This is an emergency,” Gunnhild replied with gravity. She pointed to a dark shape in the water. “As soon as they pass that big rock in the bay, they blow the horn. And if I don’t respond before they dock, I owe them a trinket. Two blasts for ‘hello,’ three for ‘goodbye.’”

“Aren’t you a little old for games, girl?”

“Not when I know I can win!” With that, Gunnhild scampered back down the ladder and ran for the shore, leaving the watchman shaking his head.

As she approached, Gunnhild could see Ketil and his son, Vestein, tying up their ship at the rickety wooden dock. Three other people disembarked: Ketil’s wife, Yrsa, and their daughters, Oddny and Signy, whom Gunnhild practically tackled in a hug. Sighing and shifting the bedroll in her arms, Signy rummaged in her rucksack and handed over a single glass bead, which Gunnhild snatched up with an air of triumph and stuffed into the pouch at her belt.

At twelve years old, Gunnhild was exactly between the sisters in age-Signy a winter older, Oddny a winter younger-and the girls rarely got to see one another except at gatherings, which made this day even sweeter.

“You’re too fast,” Signy complained as Gunnhild threw an arm around each of her friends and herded them up the hill toward her father’s hall.

“Or maybe you’re not fast enough,” Gunnhild said, “because when I visit you I still win. I have a collection to prove it.”

Oddny sniffed and picked at one of the furs in her bedroll, her thin shoulders hunched, her pinched face looking more so than usual. “Maybe we’d win every once in a while if Signy ever stopped daydreaming and paid attention.”

“Hush, you. I pay attention,” Signy said lightly, but her green eyes were brimming with mischief. Gunnhild appreciated that about her: Whether it was stealing oatcakes from the cookhouse or pulling a well-timed prank on the farmhands, Signy was always up for a little fun, whereas Oddny was more likely to sit back from whichever of her chores she was dutifully performing and give them a disapproving look. Oddny wasn’t much fun, but at least she never tattled on them.

As they entered the longhouse, Gunnhild saw that preparations were well underway for the ritual and feast taking place that evening. Near her father’s high seat at the far end of the hall, a small square platform had been raised for the visiting seeress to sit on, so she could look out over the crowd as she revealed their futures. It sat just under the wooden statues of the gods Odin, Thor, and Frey, which loomed beneath the jutting lintel above the entrance to the antechamber where Gunnhild’s family slept.

Gunnhild had never seen her father’s hall looking quite like this: buzzing with activity, the air charged with excitement. The seeress’s impending arrival had turned the entire household upside down, and Gunnhild considered herself lucky to have escaped from her spinning in the chaos.

Excerpted from The Weaver and the Witch Queen by Genevieve Gornichec Copyright © 2023 by Genevieve Gornichec. Excerpted by permission of Ace. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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