Page 12 of The Last Valkyrie (Vikingrune Academy #4)

Chapter 12

Ravinica

WE DID NOT RECEIVE a hero’s welcome upon returning to Vikingrune Academy. By the time we reached Academy Hill, word of our significant losses in the Selfsky Plains had already reached the remaining army at the school.

Hersir Jorthyr and Tomekeeper Dahlia waited side-by-side in Dorymir Hall for a debriefing from Sigmund Calladan. The entire academy was invited to the discussion at the auditorium but attendance was not mandatory.

They struck a curious picture, the tall and lanky blond-bearded Hersir beside the squat, rotund Tomekeeper with a high nest of gray hair atop her head.

Unlike the first packed, energetic assembly from a few days before, where cadets had been relegated to standing-room due to overcrowding, now the seats were largely vacant. Only fifty or so cadets showed up, of which I was one. Everyone else retreated to their halls, their longhouses, and their dormitory quarters to sleep off the rest of the day after our tumultuous nightlong battle.

In my mind, it was insane more people weren’t here. Do the cadets here really not care about what’s going on with the leadership of their school?

I knew the future of Vikingrune Academy hung on the precipice. There would be many tears throughout the following days as classrooms became smaller, Nottdeen and Nottdan Quarters were less inhabited, and people came to the realization those rooms and seats would not get filled until the next crop of initiates showed up from the Isle’s shores.

Friends, lovers, and family had been killed. Our loss at the hands of the jotnar and draug was a gut-punch we wouldn’t soon forget. Hopefully, it would drive us to new tactics and inspired realizations, before it was too late and we all ended up dead.

Vikingrune was driven by arrogance before this event, and the false notion we were the “chosen ones” and special humans because we can do magic. We have never faced foes like that, or anywhere close to it, and they clearly don’t care about our history, structure, or confidence in ourselves. I sighed as I sat and listened near the front row as Gothi Sigmund spoke with Dahlia and Ingvus, relaying what happened and our plans moving forward.

If nothing else, the battle had been humbling and sobering.

My mates attended the debriefing ceremony, settling in near me with hard looks on their faces. It was as if they waited for any sort of misstep from the Gothi so they could chime in and give their opinions.

By the end of the forty-five-minute discussion, none of us had said a word. Sigmund said nothing to the two leaders who’d stayed behind to watch the academy that he hadn’t already said to us out in the field under more desperate circumstances.

“As Thane Canute suggested, I feel inclined to help Hersir Osfen train the soldiers in any capacity I can, sir,” Ingvus told Sigmund.

I didn’t trust him for one second. He had kept Corym a prisoner out of spite, hurting him when it hadn’t been necessary, out of some twisted satisfaction at seeing the elf suffer. Ingvus also didn’t like Grim—hated him, in fact—because the bear had humiliated him by escaping the Steward’s jail cells in the past.

I saw Ingvus Jorthyr as an enemy almost in the same way I saw the jotnar as enemies. Same went with Dahlia Anfinn, who wanted Magnus’ blood and schemed to see his end. She was calculating and cunning, and I was somewhat surprised these two bastards hadn’t tried to usurp control from Sigmund Calladan while we’d been gone.

As always, there is more going on here than meets the eye, I thought vaguely, not really sure where I was going with that thought. It was simply that Dahlia and Ingvus brought out the conspirator in me, to match like minds with like minds.

Toward the end of the meeting, Sigmund faced the small audience. I cringed when I heard a student snoring back on a higher aisle—recently returned from the battle, exhausted. They should have hit their bed rather than this debriefing.

Sigmund made no mention of the sleeping student, surprisingly, and fixed his eyes down the stage at my group.

“I have agreed to allow Corym E’tar to return to Alfheim to gather assistance,” he said to Ingvus and Dahlia, looking straight at Corym.

“The likelihood of the Ljosalfar helping us is slim, sir,” Ingvus said, crossing his arms to join the Gothi in staring at my elven lover.

“Respectfully, Hersir,” Corym began, standing from his seat, “you let me worry about my people, and you worry about yours.”

Ingvus’ eyes narrowed dangerously. His chin trembled, anger making him shake.

Sigmund laughed a humorless sound, glancing over at the Steward. “You can’t deny he has spirit, Ingvus.”

Spirit you couldn’t break, no matter how hard you attempted to, Jorthyr.

“Yes . . . perhaps the elf will surprise me.”

Ingvus spoke about Corym like he wasn’t a living entity, merely a commodity to be traded. I hated it, yet as long as Corym could keep his cool, so could I. He didn’t deserve me trying to insert myself on his behalf, because he didn’t need my aid and it would have been small of me to try.

“Who would you have join me, sir?” Corym asked Sigmund. “You said on the battlefield a human—”

“I know what I said.” Sigmund pulled at his beard, thinking it over. “It can’t be a Hersir. After the loss of Thorvi—”

“Gods rest her soul,” Dahlia chirped.

“—our numbers are too thinned. It will have to be a respected soldier or cadet.”

My brow jumped when Magnus Feldraug stood up beside me. “Allow it to be me then, sir.”

I stifled a gasp, clearing my throat at the abruptness of Magnus’ suggestion.

The Gothi set his stare on Magnus, eyes getting narrower. Now it was Tomekeeper Dahlia who looked ready to pop at the suggestion, thinking she was going to lose her little science project.

Magnus explained himself, waving a hand, “I was made Drengr of my class. I am respected among the Hersirs”—his eyes comically glanced over to Dahlia—“and I have proven myself capable in battle. I am no friend to the elves, yet I have met them after escaping the Dokkalfar by slipping into the portal to Alfheim, alone. I already survived them once.”

There was a pause, a lull in the conversation as his words sank in. He said all the right things, surely, but I could see the hesitation on all three of the Hersirs’ faces.

Dahlia said, “Yes, you slipped into the portal, though we still haven’t had a proper investigation on the deaths of those Huscarls.”

There was accusation in her tone. It was rich, coming from her, considering that if she’d gotten her way, Magnus would have been the only one to die during his scouting mission, from her hired assassins, rather than the only one to live.

Magnus had proven himself against all odds. Knowing that did nothing to dim the pang of loss and despair I felt pulling at my heart as I considered my two mates leaving me for any length of time.

“I will keep a close eye on Corym E’tar,” Magnus added. “I consider him a friend, but I consider the livelihood of Vikingrune Academy an even greater duty. I will succeed in lending Corym assistance where it’s needed, if it’s needed.”

I almost laughed as he painted it on thick. Trying to hide my smile at his sheer bootlicking—none of which sounded true if you knew the bloodrender at all—I turned my head to my other mates.

None of them were smiling. They looked perturbed, because we hadn’t discussed this and it seemed like Magnus was throwing his hat in the ring because he had some ulterior motive we didn’t know about.

After a lengthy bout of silence, Sigmund let out a grunt. It was neither a sign of acceptance or denial, it was simply a grunt. “I’ll bring the proposition up to the other Hersirs. Meeting adjourned.”

With that, he made to move off the stage. As Tomekeeper Dahlia and Steward Jorthyr saluted and went down the rightmost ramp, the Gothi went to the left.

I jumped up from my seat, hurrying after him before he could get behind the curtain and disappear. “Gothi, sir, if I may have a word?”

He froze, slowly turning to face me as the curtain flapped open from Thane Canute behind it, hidden, parting the way for the Gothi to join him.

I read Sigmund’s face for any signs of deceit, betrayal, vengeance—any sign Damon, Eirik, or the other cadets who had seen my dragon wings had spilled the truth to him.

I didn’t see any of it.

“What is it, cadet?” he asked brusquely. “You look exhausted. We all are. Get some rest before classes begin in earnest tomorrow.”

I gulped, feeling the presence of my mates behind me, giving me distance to speak in solitude with the chieftain. “That’s just it, sir. It’s about the letter I received before the battle.”

“From Lindi.”

“Yes. I must return to my village to speak with her. The note said—”

“Your mother is sick.”

My face screwed up. “You told me you didn’t read the letter, sir.”

“It was your mistake for believing me. The Gothi of this academy must be aware of everything going on.”

At least you’re honest in your lying . “So?”

“So what, Linmyrr?”

“I need to see her. I request a short leave of absence to sail on a Wraith to Selby Village, sir.”

He locked eyes with me. “I am not inclined to allow one of our most impactful students leave so soon after a vicious battle, and frankly, it’s concerning you would suggest it.”

I opened my mouth to speak, wondering what he meant by “impactful”— Does he know about my wings?!— but he raised a hand before I could say anything.

“However, Lindi is an old acquaintance of mine, and if she is ill, my heart aches with yours.”

I didn’t believe that. I knew Sigmund and Ma had attended Vikingrune together as students. I had no idea of what their relationship was like, however, which opened up a plethora of new questions for me.

“So, to make sure things are proper, I will go with you.”

My eyes bulged—I couldn’t help it. The startled look on my face was impossible to miss. “Sir?” I scrambled. “Go . . . with me?”

“Yes. In a week’s time, you and I will sail to Selby Village. I have some words for your mother, if she is truly on her last legs. We will not leave before then. Too much is afoot at the academy, and it would look cowardly and suspicious for us to leave before things are settled. Surely you understand.”

My mouth opened and closed, thoughts whirling as he threw this on me. “I—we—wait, sir—”

“Good day, Ravinica,” he snapped, and then turned to disappear behind the held-open curtain, with Thane Canute glaring at me before stepping in behind his liege.

I was left sweating, stunned. My mates walked up.

“What the Hel was that all about?” Grim asked suspiciously, his arms crossed in his customary defiant expression.

“Sigmund wants to . . . join me to Selby Village.”

My mates groaned.

“Like Hel he will!” Sven yelled.

Arne said, “That’s a horrible idea, lass.”

“I know! He didn’t give me a time to argue or make sense of it or anything!” I threw up my arms. “Fuck!”

Corym said, “You have a week until you leave?” When I nodded, the elf glanced at Magnus. “Then that gives us six days to go to Alfheim, speak with Maltor Vaalnath, and return.”

“Wait, what?” I said.

Magnus took over, picking up on Corym’s thread before I could. “So we can go with you, silvermoon. Because there’s not a chance in all the realms we’re going to let you sit on a longship with that conniving motherfucker, alone.”

I blinked. I wanted to ask why, but the answer was clear, written on their faces, just now dawning on mine.

With a grunt, Grim nodded his understanding. “You get on that longship with Sigmund alone, little sneak, it’s the last time we see you.”