Page 37 of Into the Isle

I smiled at him. “Not allowed in there, yet you know who to turn to for help?”

The corner of Arne’s lips curled in a smirk. “Just because I’m not allowed inside doesn’t mean I’ve never been inside.”

My smile widened. “Glad to see you’re not a stickler for the rules like my brother.”

“Eirik has expectations to keep. I’m a bit more fluid in how I operate, little fox.” He winked at me.

A thrum of excitement jolted through me as he winked his pretty eyes. A pool of heat gathered at the base of my belly, which was surprising but not unwelcome.

“I know when I can bend the rules,” he added. “Keeping the men, women, and nonbinary separated is an Old Way tradition that has faced backlash in recent years. I don’t disagree with the reprisal. Just look at Loki as precedence for the arguments; it doesn’t get more ‘Old Way’ than him.”

The trickster god was a prime example of a genderfluid deity who could change his shape, gender, and sexuality when it suited him. Arne was right: mixed-gender and gender-neutral dormitories made sense for followers of our history and pantheon.

“Modernity has taught us to separate and individualize ourselves,” he said, surprising me with his rhetoric. “I disagree with it, as do many others here. Community goes a long way.” He shrugged. “We hold little sway or power though, and I’m not about to jeopardize my studies over a simple disagreement.”

That’s where you and I differ, Arne. I will risk my schooling and my freedom for the right cause—the right disagreement.

“Anyway,” Arne said. “I’ve got to be going. People to see, things to do.” Without an embrace, salute, or handshake, Arne dropped the discussion.

First Eirik abandoned me, then him. Although it made sense seeing that men weren’t allowed in Nottdeen. “Damn,” I teased, “does everyone here have a secret club they’re part of?”

He grinned. “I’ll introduce you to them in due time, little fox.” Before turning away, he added, “Be at Dorymir Hall after breakfast tomorrow. It’s between Fort Woden and the Tomes. You can’t miss it. Just follow all the people.”

He gave me one more smile before leaving, eyes twinkling, and I watched him go.

Just what has this academy made you, iceshaper? I was utterly curious about the graceful, strange man, who walked alone but talked about community, could pass as a woman but could take down the largest man in the room, and sounded like a rebel storyteller and a military commander in the same breath. He idealized how things should be, yet accepted the norms of our society.

I thought, if anything, Arne Gornhodr exemplified Loki’s dual nature more than anyone I’d met in my life.

Turning away from him, I gazed at Nottdeen Quarter and took a deep breath. I marched right past the gaggle of women at the front and went inside.

It was bustling with activity, with different women showing new initiates where to go. There was a beautiful muscular girl with her brown hair shorn on the sides, pointing and directing traffic down the various halls of the longhouse.

A staircase to my side creaked as people went up and down. Another woman was motioning initiates up the steps, this one with two red braids bobbing on her shoulders. Loud voices, soft feet, and a lot of movement.

A cat sat on the front desk, and I had to squeeze by some traffic to get to the counter. The cat tilted its head at me, and I noticed half its face was black, half of it white, split right down the middle.

“Hello, cutie,” I said to the little guy, and then looked over the desk. No one was manning the post. Because of the influx of people showing up at once, all the resident assistants seemed busy.

I turned around from the desk and scratched my head, calling out, “Does anyone know Dagny Largul?”

Students kept shuffling by without answering me.

I sighed loudly, my shoulders drooping.

A wispy sound behind me drew my attention. Furrowing my brow, I spun.

A woman stood behind the counter now, ducking out of sight as she pulled up a lanky dress from the ground to cover her nudity.

She smiled crookedly at me, finishing with the shoulder straps of her dress. “I’m Dagny.”

My head lurched. “Oh. Hi. Where did you come from? I swear no one . . .” My voice cut out as I noticed her hair: straight bangs down her forehead and a bobcut, black on the right, white on the left.

Realization dawned on me as I swiftly cycled through my studies in my head. Bygul and Trjegul, famous felines from our lore. Dagny’s last name is Largul. “Gul” must be the suffix for cat shifters.

“Shit,” I said. “You’re the cat.”

“Guilty as charged. Who are you?”

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