Page 178 of Into the Isle

Half the people would not believe him. The others, the wiser folk, would believe him . . .

And that was all right with me.

Let them come. It was why we had returned to Midgard, after all.

We certainly wouldn’t be bringing a bloodless human like him to our camp. A traitor to his own people. I told Logaithn as much, though I wasn’t sure he heard my words.

Our hunt had gone successfully, clearing our grounds of nearby invaders. It was the humans’ dumb luck to travel through the region we now called our own. Though, when it came to this treacherous race, I knew luck never played a part in it.

We returned to our northern camp an hour after leaving the blood-streaked meadow. The women of our camp welcomed us back with smiles and fierce embraces.

For the women, they could not wait for us to return to Alfheim.

Deitryce asked me when we arrived, “Did you find the Ancient One?”

I shook my head, frowning at her hopeful face. “We did not. We come with something else, however.”

I gestured toward the hooded girl at my side.

Deitryce furrowed her thin brow. “What is it?”

“A human woman.”

She flared her nostrils. “Disgusting.”

“And part elf.”

Deitryce flattened her features, pouting. “Not quite as disgusting.”

I laughed and took our captive’s shoulder. She tried to yank it away, but when I grabbed it a second time she did not resist.

I ripped the hood off her face, and she breathed heavily, face flustered in a peculiar shade of red.

“Had I known you were going to take me prisoner, I would have told you to kill me along the creek, elf.”

Her voice was spiteful, filled with rage.

I understood why, since the man she had so clearly loved had betrayed her. I didn’t need to know this woman, or the pretty human at the creek, to understand their feelings for one another.

I couldn’t fault her for her rage.

“You are not our prisoner,” I said. Even as I said it, I walked her toward our corral. It was a closed-off space where we could talk.

I stared down at her once we were alone. “I am Corym E’tar.” My hand remained on her elbow. She looked down at it. Slowly, I removed my grasp.

“Ravinica Lin . . . deen.”

I tilted my head. “Why do you hesitate when introducing yourself to your liberator?”

She scoffed. “Liberator?”

“Looked like you were shackled when we found you.” I shrugged. “Am I wrong?”

Ravinica dipped her chin, the red hue of her face turning pink. “I hesitated because some people call me ‘Linmyrr,’ even though it was never a name I was given. It means—”

“Daughter of Lin, bastard, swamp-born.”

Her eyes widened. “How do you know?”

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