Page 145 of Into the Isle

Chapter 41

Ravinica

I STOOD OVER THE TABLE for an unknown amount of time. Staring at the family tree, all the names I’d racked up over the many weeks of coming here. They funneled down to the four names at the bottom of the list.

How is this even possible? What are the odds that something like this is true?

I wondered if it was an omen from the Norns—the wise spirits who controlled our fates. I reflected at my time at Vikingrune, thinking that perhaps a greater destiny had called me to this place only so I could meet the men who had destroyed my family.

Except, they didn’t destroy my family. Right? It was their ancestors who destroyed my ancestors. There was a definite distinction there, and I tried to grasp it and hold it close to my heart.

But my heart was already broken. After what I’d done with Grim, with Magnus just now, even with Arne in the mess hall, and had started to feel a draw toward my adversary Sven Torfen . . . there was no getting over the stab of betrayal deep in my gut.

My flimsy excuse that they’d had nothing to do with the eradication of my family name didn’t hold weight. The facts remained that someone had to pay for our familial destruction. Since the ancestors who caused it were long dead, it would have to be their descendants.

Of course, there was no way for these four young men to know what I’d discovered. They couldn’t know their families had played a part in the dismantling of mine unless they’d done the same research I had.

Even now, when I glanced over my shoulder and saw the gentle rhythm of Magnus’ chest rising and falling, I felt confused and unsure of myself.

Passing Runeshaping Basics and Combat & Strategy midterms had reignited my confidence. The wins had given me a sense of belonging—like I truly was meant to be at Vikingrune Academy, even though I couldn’t yet summon my inherent magic.

As my world came crashing down around me, I now understood it as a false sense of security. I didn’t belong here. I couldn’t trust these men. That understanding made me nauseous and drenched in self-pity.

Magnus’ throat looked so supple as he slept. His tattoos lined nearly every inch of his skin, down to his muscled thighs, his cock, his knuckles and toes. He was a piece of art . . . and I could have easily slit his throat as he slept.

The mere thought of it alarmed me. I jolted back, bumping against the table, shaking books.

Magnus’ eyes jolted open. His head lifted. He stared at my naked form standing in the candlelight of the table. “Silvermoon?”

He had a curious look on his face. I could only imagine I was sporting a sickly one on mine.

I opened my mouth to say something, though I couldn’t bring myself to point out what I’d uncovered. I needed more time to think about all this—I was too stunned and dumbstruck to gather my thoughts.

Something saved me, perhaps another cruel twist of the fates, as a sound clicked through the room, lifting up from the lower levels of Mimir Tomes. It was followed by the soft thudding of boots.

“Fuck,” Magnus hissed, rolling onto his front and getting to his feet. He glanced out the window behind us, noting the placement of the moon. “We’ve overstayed our welcome. Why didn’t you wake me?”

I blinked rapidly, staring at him. The pain and grief settled deep in my bones, because even after the glorious affair we’d just had, rolling around on the floor like star-crossed lovers, I now felt like I was looking at a stranger when our eyes met. Like he was a traitor who didn’t even know how he had deceived me. It was an odd flavor of cognitive dissonance.

“S-Sorry,” I eked out, urging myself to say something, anything. “I guess I got too caught up in my research.”

“Did you find what you need?” he asked, quickly grabbing his clothes from piles on the floor.

“I guess so.”

“Good. Because I’m not sure we can come back here. Grab what you need.”

In a flurry, he stuffed things away in his backpack—the empty wine bottle, the mugs—and stepped into his clothes.

I stood there inert, watching him. A heady daze flitted through my mind.

He paused, looking over at me. “Ravinica.” His voice was a whisper. “They’ll be here soon. Snap out of it.”

With a nod, I came to and started moving. I put my clothes on then closed the texts I’d been working on.

I had half a mind to burn the family tree in the candlelight—the pages I’d painstakingly hand-written over weeks—because the truth of them hurt me more than being left in the dark.

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