Page 92 of Into the Isle

Maybe, with a bit more training, she could fulfill those roles.

“I’m going to Isleton,” I said in a low voice.

That, by itself, was not a shocking secret. “Okay,” she said hesitantly. “I’ve been meaning to shop around with Dagny for some new clothes. She said Isleton is the place to go.”

“I’m not going to Isleton to shop, little fox.”

A small smile played close to her lips. “I expected not, iceshaper.”

I winced. “Why don’t I like it when you call me that?”

She grimaced, as if thinking she had angered me. “Erm, apologies. I didn’t know it was a slur.”

“It’s not, on its face. But my enemies typically call me ‘iceshaper’ when they want to dehumanize me.”

Ravinica tilted her head. We were caught in a battle of glares. “You’re an odd man, and a riddle, Arne Gornhodr. You seem more self-aware and in touch with your emotions than most men. Yet you offer more questions than answers. Why do you have enemies, as a student of Vikingrune Academy?”

I put a hand out to stop her incessant questions. “And you have a tendency to get off track. I’ll let you come with me to Isleton. I’m intrigued to see if you can handle yourself.”

She perked up in her seat, shoulders rising. It was a beautiful sight, and I had to admit feeling a rush of excitement when I made her happy.

“Really?” She sounded surprised, like she didn’t trust me at my word.

We’ll have to change that. “Yes. Now that I think of it, there are people you might benefit from meeting there.”

“Excellent. When do we go?”

“Tonight. Meet me here after your classes let out.”

She nodded diligently. It was a good look on her—submissiveness. It didn’t seem her natural state, being the stubborn warrioress that she was. Astrid Dahlmyrr can attest to that, I’m sure.

A spark showed on her face. She asked, “Do they sell maps in Isleton?”

I was caught off guard. “Maps of what?”

She gave me a shrug. “Maps the academy might not have.”

I puckered my lip, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Ah. So there’s more than meets the eye to you, as well. Are you up to some subterfuge of your own? I love to see it.

I didn’t want to get her hopes up, so I stood from the bench without answering her question. I leaned over and put my palms down on the tabletop, speaking with my lips a few inches from hers. “You’ll owe me for this, you know.”

The pale column of her throat tensed, swallowing. “I expect nothing less, Arne. What will you want?” Her eyes searched my face for an answer I wasn’t willing to reveal.

Maybe I was a riddle, after all. Better than being a sociopath like Magnus, a mope like Grim, or a wretch like Sven.

Curling my lips into a smile, I said, “I’ll think of something, I’m sure.” I searched every inch of her beautiful face, landing on her eyes.

She blinked, gulping and nodding again.

I stepped aside from the table after smelling her fresh scent of lavender with a quick inhale. Five feet away, aware she was watching me, I looked over my shoulder. “Oh, and little fox? Bring your spear.”

Ravinica met me at the side of the western mess hall just after sundown. Her spear was strapped to her back, a stern expression on her face when she approached.

I looked at her head to heel, noting the ragged tunic and pants she wore, straining against the muscles and thickness of her thighs and arms. Maybe we’ll have to go shopping after all. If I know anything about women, I know they can’t live with only one outfit. It’s blasphemous.

I nodded as she approached, and without a word we set off toward the western gate, leaving Tyr Meadow and Gharvold Hall behind us. Ravinica kept close, as if thinking I’d vanish if she took her eyes off me.

At the gate, two armed guards—Huscarls—stood from their positions off to the sides. Up in the towers, two other guards watched us, bows strapped across their backs.

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