Page 25 of The Last Valkyrie (Vikingrune Academy #4)

Chapter 25

Ravinica

“WHAT ARE THE ODDS YOU think your mother tries to poison our food, eh?” Sven asked with a grimace as he lifted his spoon and let the brown stew slop down into his bowl. “Did you see the look on that woman’s face when you told her?”

I chuckled, shaking my head.

“Eyes that could cut glass,” Magnus murmured, drawing more amused smiles from the guys.

“My mother’s fish stew is legendary around here,” I told Sven, shouldering him. “You’ll love it.”

“. . . Shortly before it kills me.”

I scoffed, slapping his arm.

Sven sat next to me at the table, with Korvan to my right. Villagers had brought over a large, rectangular table outside our longhouse for the feast, as well as chairs. Others brought cauldrons of food, platters of fruit and vegetables, and tried their best to make it as welcoming and hearty as possible.

It all smelled lovely, and it smelled like home. I never got this sort of treatment from my bigoted neighbors when I’d lived here. It was a big deal with the Gothi coming in town, shirking his big-time responsibilities up in Vikingrune Academy to pay homage to the little folk.

We sat at the table with Hallan at the head and Lindi at the other end. Next to Hallan, going down his left in line, sat Gothi Sigmund, Swordbaron Korvan, me, Sven, Arne, and Corym.

Ma apparently wanted to sit near Corym to ask him all about Alfheim, which I found funny. She hadn’t said a word after I told her the truth of the situation, that I’d fallen in love with our enemies. She’d simply nodded, a forlorn expression on her face, and walked outside.

I assumed the discussion was not over, and she’d lambast me more in private later this evening.

Going down Hallan’s right sat Thane Canute across from Sigmund, Damon paired with Korvan, Grim paired with me, Magnus across from Arne, and Eirik at the end across from Corym, next to Ma. One seat was empty between Eirik and Magnus.

The villagers ran off after helping us set up and erecting four torchlight poles to give us some warmth and light. The moon was weak tonight, the clouds strong as another storm looked imminent. A few villagers loitered nearby, eager to stay close and get a good look at the “royal procession” that had shown up on their doorstep.

Food was doled out shortly after, a rustling of grubby hands and clanking bowls as arms reached, fingers grabbed, and we began to eat.

The small talk died. All of us from the Gray Wraith were ravenous. As light conversation became hushed, my mother cleared her throat and gained everyone’s attention while we feasted.

She put her spoon down, clasping her hands together on the table. “What is this I hear about a letter proclaiming my sickness, Sigmund?”

“Hmm?” he asked, lifting his head while chewing off a piece of bread.

Ma’s face darkened. I wondered if it was best to talk business out in the open like this, while we were eating. Isn’t there a time and place for that? Like a secretive conference meeting after we stuff our bellies?

She seemed more urgent these days—eager to get her words out and discern the truth, rather than hiding in the shadows like she used to.

“The letter,” she grunted. “You know I never wrote one. I never sent one. I can only think of one person at this table who would have the motive to do such a thing.”

Gothi Sigmund put on a good poker face, playing the part of bewildered nobody well, rather than a diabolical accomplice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about or insinuating, Lindi.”

Any whispers or clattering plates from before hushed in an instant. All eyes looked up, between the two. Tension fell over the table immediately. It was an abrupt change to the climate.

I felt suddenly off . Wrong about things. Furrowing my brow, I thought, We came here for a purpose. That purpose was my mother being sick. Yet we’ve joked around the few hours we’ve been here, other than when I mentioned my botched assassination job.

Ma was right, and she had a reason to be pissed. A simple mistake didn’t explain away the letter. It had been calculated by someone , and she was smart to put on her investigative hat to try and get to the bottom of it.

I had feared this whole time that the dragonslayer chieftain had discovered my secret. That I was in danger. While I felt safer with my mates here—infinitely so—the familiar sensation of impending dread and fear settled deep in my bones. Sigmund Calladan had been the one to insist joining me here, and the question why still remained.

It was time for brass tacks and brass balls, even if the others at the table wanted to remain deaf to whatever was going on. Surely Sigmund didn’t write that letter just to create an excuse to come here, I thought off-handedly, incredulous.

My gaze focused on his bearded, wart-ridden face, past the body of Korvan. I scrutinized every twitch and flinch of his features, trying to discover his truth.

“I’m insinuating what I’ve thought all along,” Lindi said with an exasperated sigh. “That you were never truly able to get over me, were you?”

I inhaled sharply, coughing out bits of food.

“Wife,” Hallan growled in warning.

Odin eat my ass, you’ve got to be kidding me! Ma and Sigmund were a thing ?!

My foolish notion about Sigmund being my father, however improbable and ridiculous it sounded, flared to life with renewed vigor. My eyes bulged in my head as I darted looks between the two of them. “Um, Ma, I’m begging you to explain what the Hel you’re talking about.”

“I don’t need to, daughter. It’s written all over the Gothi’s face.” She flapped a hand vaguely in his direction, as if she’d seen enough of his presence and was disgusted with him.

Lindi was strangely calm and collected, even as the rest of the table started to get uncomfortable and awkward. Sigmund looked ready to pop, smoke practically coming from his ears.

“Still have that famous tongue on you, don’t you, Lindi?” Sigmund sneered with a half-smile, and then nodded his chin down to his soup bowl. “Almost as famous as your stew.”

Hallan leaped up from his seat, hitting his knee on the edge and clattering dishes. “Gothi Sigmund! Do not speak to my wife like—”

“Oh shut your face, you fucking peasant,” Sigmund calmly interjected. “It’s a secret only to the younglings here that we were once an item. Get your knickers unwound and sit your ass down.”

My mouth dropped open. Part of me positively loved seeing Hallan getting put in his place, shot down like the piece of shit he was. The other side of me was worried with the trajectory of this dinner, and how things had already begun to unravel.

The truth of why we were here was coming to light. Sigmund would only make it clearer in the next few minutes that changed my life forever.

“Tiptoe around the issue all you’d like, Sigmund,” Lindi said, noticeably not coming to Hallan’s aid as my emasculated stepfather sat down with a pale face and wobbling legs. “You penning a letter in my name is desperate, yet it explains why you’re here. So have out with it.”

“I never wrote such a thing,” Sigmund spat through gritted teeth.

A moment of intense quietness fell over the table. I could hear murmurs behind us, coming from the nosy villagers on the fringes just past the square outline of torch poles. Word was already spreading through town of Ma’s past relations with the current chieftain of Vikingrune Academy. The gossip would fuel the town’s rumor mill for months, surely.

The tension became so thick I stopped breathing. Sigmund gained control of his temper and leaned forward in his seat, steepling his hands together. He glared down the table at Ma, and seeing him quiet and furious was much more unnerving and scary than seeing him blustering and angry.

“I’ve had my suspicions about her, Lindi.”

My neck hollowed, my body instinctively tautened, every muscle flexing. There were only two “hers” at this table . . . and he was speaking to one of them, so this clearly wasn’t about Ma.

Next to me, I felt Sven’s arm jostle. When I looked down I noticed his hand on the hilt of his sword under the lip of the table. I scanned the table down line and across from me. My mates, one and all, were abruptly ready for battle, with hard looks and narrowed eyes atop deep-set frowns. I imagined the rest of them were also fisting their blades where no one could see, getting ready in case things popped off.

Ma said, “Suspicions about whom, Sigmund?”

“Your half-elf girl, woman. Who do you think? I’ve kept my eyes on her. I’ve watched her grow.” The Gothi’s voice became a brooding drawl, gruff and low in volume.

Across from him, Thane Canute sat straighter. At that moment, the giant shield he always had across his back looked like a monolith, and I could tell he was itching to swing it out in the middle of all this.

“And yet,” Sigmund said, raising a finger, “two questions still remain, which I required the answers to before you . . . expired from your sickness.” He finished with a sneer before counting off on two fingers. “ How and who ? How did she come to be, born between your youngest and eldest sons? Clearly Ravinica is not from Hallan’s loins. So, if not him, then who is her father?”

Despite the obvious embarrassment and humiliation, Hallan said nothing. I would have felt bad for my stepfather if he was any other man. Sigmund was alluding to adultery.

My steady heart quickened, beating furiously against my chest. Oh gods. Is this the moment? The moment Sigmund uncovers what he knows about me, tries to kill me, announces the truth about his connection to me? Why now?!

I wondered, Why would he question who my father is if he himself is that man? The answer was obvious: Because he isn’t that man. He isn’t my deadbeat father. A deadbeat, sure, but not dear ol’ Da.

I had always wondered the same thing as him, of course, yet I’d never been so brazen to speak about it in the open, in public. Being the Gothi of Vikingrune Academy afforded you certain luxuries I’d never had growing up here.

I darted my eyes to the foot of the table, where Ma held a placid expression on her face. She looked . . . unimpressed.

“You may have two questions, Sigmund, but I have three to counter yours with.” She leaned forward menacingly, gray-black hair falling over her soup bowl. “Why do you care? What business is Ravinica’s lineage to you, and why have you exerted such special focus on her? Have you still not gotten over the pain of our distancing?”

Sigmund snarled, leaning his neck out. His face twisted. “You know why it’s my business, Lindi.”

“Say it, Gothi.”

“Because I must fulfill my bloodline’s oath. Same then as it is now. I have . . . suspicions . . . and my queries must be answered.”

“No they mustn’t, Sigmund. You’re no inquisitor. You’re not King Dannon or any of your ancestors, as much as you think you are. You are simply a disgruntled ex-lover grasping at straws—”

“Enough!” Sigmund roared, slamming his fist on the table.

Everyone jumped from the rattling. I yelped, nearly falling back from my chair. I was glad Korvan was between us, because the deathly mask on Sigmund’s face was cracking.

“Do not play games with me, woman. If you are housing dragonkin then I must know ! My fate ordains it!”

Surprisingly, Swordbaron Korvan snorted, which I found odd because, far as I knew, he didn’t have a dog in this race. With a strange smirk tilting his lips, Korvan turned to me next to him. He put a hand on my shoulder, and for some reason I shivered, my skin crawling.

Smiling at me, Korvan said, “Despite all the blustering this man is doing, Ravinica, I’d like to thank you for bringing Sigmund past the protection of his academy’s wards.”

I croaked, “W-What?”

Sigmund opened his mouth to speak on the other side of Korvan, likely to chastise the Swordbaron.

A blur of silver between the two seated men made me flinch and blink, and Sigmund’s words come out as a gurgle—

As a geyser of blood sprayed from Gothi Sigmund’s neck, clear across the table, spewing crimson onto Canute and Damon next to him.

Time froze as my focus edged past Korvan’s shoulder to see a sword in his hand, extended off to the side where he wasn’t looking, dragged clean across Sigmund’s throat. A razor-thin red line had gaped open, spilling Sigmund’s life all over the table and himself.

The Gothi of Vikingrune Academy choked in shock, blood filling his beard and mouth and falling down his chin. He twitched and didn’t even get a chance to grab at his throat futilely before falling forward, head slamming against his soup bowl and the table and sending cutlery flying.

Lindi shrieked.

Swordbaron Korvan, the man who had raised me, smiled in a rictus grin I’d never seen from him or even known he was capable of.

Before chaos could erupt, in the liminal space between time, he winked and spoke in a low voice meant only for me.

“And thus the reign of the dragonslayer ends.”